Review by Sonia N. Gonzalez Ships carrying captured and enslaved men, women and children first arrived on the shores of Puerto Rico in the early 1500s, as Spanish colonizers on the island looked to Africa for human labor. A Woman of Endurance, the sophomore novel by Afro-Puerto Rican author Dahlma Llanos-Figueroa, opens more than three
Shearsman Books, 2020 Review by Hilary Sideris Mervyn Taylor’s most recent collection of poems is about contrasts and contradictions, as its title, Country of Warm Snow suggests. Taylor, who grew up (and spent the pandemic) in Trinidad, has lived in New York City for many years. He often crafts poems out of conversations, distilling the
Turning Point Press, 2022 Review by Lee Rossi “What is it then between us?” Walt Whitman asked his readers and, not wanting to keep them in suspense, answered immediately, “Whatever it is, it avails not—distance avails not, and place avails not.” Poet-historian Peter Neil Carroll might give the same answer. Like Whitman he is fascinated
New York Quarterly Books February, 2022, 124 pages, $18.95 ISBN: 978-1-63045-082-3 Review by Susana H. Case The pun in the title of Barry Wallenstein’s new and eleventh poetry collection, It’s About Time, is that of impending mortality, the diminution of the number of years left for vital living. “The cornucopia is no longer / overflowing”
by Michael Passafiume We were in your red van on our way upstate to another Miracle Legion show because they were the fucking coolest band & only you & I knew that & you were trying to tell me something. We were having a picnic at Beethoven Park & god, I was wearing those stupid
by Susana H. Case I was nineteen in Ohio. Mornings, the phone rang with my assignment. I’d run down the hill to catch the bus— a different school most mornings— clutching a bag of M&M’s for lunch. Principals said, just keep the students quiet. Poor Maurice—same size as me, but mentally a six-year-old—all deficits and
by Pamela L. Laskin Going to grow a gorgeous garden with wisteria blooming between begonias and roses ripe with longing. I had the seeds, the soil. All was ripe for blossoming. even the way I measured the distance between where the seeds were planted. How could I have known the heat was venomous, the waters
by John Reed You and I are everywhere but here. Down on Gansevoort at the swanky bar, the cherrystone clams are ready for us, on ice on a platter, on the half shell– and the sprinklers time-on at the great lawn– and an orange skirt is somewhere walking– and drivers are adjusting their mirrors. We’re
by Barry Wallenstein Passing by a mirror, he pays no attention and gazes in the other direction. He pushes forward without looking back. It’s enough to know it’s there he thinks; placing one small thought behind another, he banishes envy, spite, rancor and courts a breeze on its way across a field of heather. Well