Author Archives: Lost Roads

Susan Scarlata on D.A. Powell and language

In his poem [splat in the oatmeal: granddaddy facedown] D.A. Powell provides an inkling of ars poetica and/or growth and knowledge of his understanding of language. He writes: …biblical words latched onto the vernacular. challenges and curses sometimes a prayer … Continue reading

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Susan Scarlata on Danielle Pafunda & Animals Set Loose

Danielle Pafunda’s “Beshrew Upon The Fence” is as much a spell as a poem. In it, the speaker reveals the following: This is how I get you to come in the yard. I set the bees loose. I set the … Continue reading

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On Linnea Ogden, Mice and that Ring by Susan Scarlata

Linnea Ogden’s poems and the lines within them are entirely matter-of-fact. In her poem “Powderhorn Park,” (forthcoming in Hick Poetics,) this line demonstrates exactly what I mean: I am holding a dead mouse when the phone rings. In ten words … Continue reading

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Susan Scarlata On the World & the Earth in Aaron McCollough’s “Rank”

Toward the end of his poem “Rank” Aaron McCollough calls up a differentiation between the words “world” and “earth” and the various things they each represent. He writes: the world is coming, but it’s not the world, what’s coming is … Continue reading

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Susan Scarlata on Ada Limón, yonder

Okay, so this is two lines with a lot of goodness sandwiched between them, but I want to write about both the first and last lines of one stanza in Ada Limón’s poem “During the Impossible Age of Everyone.” Limón … Continue reading

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Susan Scarlata on Collier Nogues, grime and waiting

Collier Nogues’ “A Small Hot Town” starts with a parallel reference to its title through a pronoun immediately standing in for the noun “town.” With the tiny possessiveness within “its” we are shown how tightly connected the river and this … Continue reading

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Linnea Ogden on Crystal Wilkinson, conservation and desire

if you just could have seen the hair rise up on their arms like that, like offerings to god, when their elbows touched, if you could have seen her longing dissipate just a little as he came through the door, … Continue reading

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Linnea Ogden on Dara Wier’s distance

In the city and in the country were not in the same centuries. [from “A Civilian’s Journal from the War Years”] The preposition in this line creates a pattern that it also breaks—“in the city” offers a geographical boundary matched … Continue reading

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Linnea Ogden on G.C. Waldrep and the collapse of the self

Deer graze along the brow of my old age. You are not a dream, the sparrows’ silver needles sew you into a calendar’s trim signature. Spring arrives as prescription eyeglasses discarded at the crime scene. [from “Forage Psalm”] I like … Continue reading

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Linnea Ogden on Connie Voisine, doubling back, and the pleasure of a boneless fish

My God was delicious, like a fish with no bones. [from “Once”] The first thing that strikes me about these lines by Connie Voisine is a subtly disconcerting quality. Yes, at the point that I experience a fish with no … Continue reading

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