Writer Cynthia Ozick laments the state of affairs in a 2011 commentary in the National Book Critics Circle blog. "Increasingly
This essay originally appeared in Best American Poetry. Here's how it goes. The poems are printed and placed on all the tables
David Morrell's latest novel, Inspector of the Dead, is a sequel, featuring De Quincy and his iconoclastic daughter, Emily. When a killer begins targeting London's elite, Scotland Yard again seeks De Quincy's help.
"Suicide is more respectable."
I feel too many women -- poets or not -- are asked to explain themselves, their bodies, their desires. I want to present a world which is already stripped down; its foundation is that it does what it wants. I would like that of my life in many ways.
Reading all of the foregoing, one might wonder, "How can metamodernism claim to enable a vertical layering of ideas and identities in which no idea or identity is privileged over the others, when by all rights that should be both a physical and metaphysical impossibility?"
Fear means you know you may be incorrect. You may find that when you read your poem as you -- when you abandon those auto-subscribed notions of sound and musicality -- you will reach and offer a much deeper attachment to your work.
I'm not sure why I love reviews so much and find the reading of criticism so difficult. Maybe it's because reviews are more fun. But it's been helpful to think of criticism not as the enemy of creativity, but as its complement.