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Rennie Ament
I was born in a room with no angles.
A contagious strain of why
took over my blood.
Road, ice, sky—
I want sentences made up of knots—
hair, ears, snow—
I get up, go outside,
linger with winter
to ensure cold infuses my words here.
The English language is
a hunting snake
constricting thought—
if I knew eighty languages
accuracy might be
possible, like when
an old woman standing behind
a mother in labor
rattles off random names
and the child comes out of the womb
when she hears herself called.
from the journal ITERANT
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Rachel Eliza Griffith's black and white self-portrait standing high on a rocky path
"Rewriting Travel in Poetry and Photographs"

"I’m not invested in technical perfection either....though I think we’re all too often encouraged, across genres, to feel that we have to sacrifice emotions in order to achieve technical fluency. I like to trouble these rules because they don’t exist as a this-or-that binary in my process. For now, the space of the lyric feels the most dynamic and useful in terms of my photography, poetry, and prose."

via ORION
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Cover of the translation of Rene Char's The Brittle Age and Returning Upland
What Sparks Poetry:
Jody Gladding on René Char's The Brittle Age and Returning Upland 


"There are other more comprehensive volumes of Char’s work in translation....But this one offers a wonderful bookness. There’s an integrity to the object, the physical form with the page as its basic unit, the short poems set in that space, nothing to distract me as I turn the page, or don’t. It fits in the hand, rests on a shelf, travels in a pack."
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