183 books match the query 'Places' and 4 start with i
Jason Bredle
University of Massachusetts Press, 2026
Poems that question the world with tenderness and restless introspection
In I Love You But I Don’t Speak Your Language, brushes with the profound may lead to brushes with the mundane, or vice versa. Cause and effect become unreasoned and transcendent, at times lifting the arbitrary into the sublime or the sublime into happenstance. Intuitive leaps pull us through oscillations between humor, introspection, and the surreal. These poems don’t follow a straight path; instead, they capture the way thoughts shift, contradict, and collide.
Inspired by the poet’s dreams, as well as travels throughout central Europe, the West Indies, and Central and South America, the poems are alive in voice and detail, yet the speaker’s connections, and more so, disconnections, turn toward isolationism, solitude, and loneliness. At times, the collection leans into restless emotion: “I want to cry / when I think of how / I’ll look back at this moment someday / and cry.” Other moments pull the reader to “a far away place / of limitless palm trees and sunsets.” This is poetry that doesn’t try to fit into a traditional form. It questions, observes, and rethinks the world around it. Some moments might seem absurd, others deeply reflective, but all of them work together to create a book that is both thought-provoking and unpredictable.
Marion Starling Boyer
Michigan State University Press, 2023
Ángel García
Tupelo Press, 2025
Cortney Lamar Charleston
Northwestern University Press, 2026
An incantation of strength and solace for persisting in twenty-first-century America
“History doesn’t repeat, it rhymes.” In his sweeping third collection, Charleston brings a poet’s ear for echo and rhythm to bear on American history and life after 2016. For Charleston, these rhymes cut two ways: the long tradition of American racism and fascism, and the steady pulse of Black persistence. The collection’s titular invocation frames each poem, at times an oratory to rally a crowd, in other moments a private prayer whispered as the speaker gathers himself to face another day. Charleston insists that should we cede memory of our national biography—whether to repression or indifference—we will witness the country’s dissolution into something unrecognizable to many, yet all too familiar to its most marginalized people. But with each reiteration and riff, he also invokes a tenuous hope—that if we summon an American history of Black resistance, we might still make a more perfect union.