Blog: Zoilus

Weird. In what I can only guess is The New Yorker's attempt to join in this month's spirit of hope, unity and a post-ideological politics of citizenship, this week it's published a poem that is at once from the avant-ish side of the aisle and not by John Ashbery or Charles Simic or some other safe grey eminence but in fact by a grad student . Or, put another way, a poem by a young poet that is not about mourning one's spouse by the slant of winter light on lobster bisque. Quick, someone [...]