Category: Hart House Review
Help us celebrate the launch of the 24th annual Hart House Review.
The Hart House Review 2015 features new writing by Souvankham Thammavongsa, Jess Taylor, Jacob Wren, Ben Ladouceur, Bardia Sinaee, Laura Ritland, and many vibrant beautiful others.
from MAN-PIANO: 20 homolinguistic translations
changed: I: the
in the end what
. like a dream (why’s
. wrong, it’s
‘Cause the things
I thought: to die, to feel
so old for…
“Beatrice in a Tunnel” won first place in the 2014 Hart House Poetry Contest and was published in the Hart House Review 2014.
Feel the music course through your veins, pulsating as the rain
rushes in. A river rising. You’re wading waist deep in mud and
cracked styrofoam cups. Buoys rocking in the torrent…
Published in the 2014 Hart House Review.
Translations of Du Fu’s 梦李白
(dreaming of Li Bai)
my knowing and your
the exile of its possibility
in my throat.
Two-time Pushcart Prize and Kentucky Poet Laureate nominee, Sheri L. Wright is the author of six books of poetry, including the most recent, The Feast of Erasure. Wright’s visual work has appeared in numerous journals, including Blood Orange Review, Prick of the Spindle, Blood Lotus Journal and Subliminal Interiors. In 2012, she was a…
An internationally acclaimed playwright and librettist, the poetry of David James Brock’s recently published collection, Everyone is CO2 (Wolsak and Wynn, 2014), fuses musical prose with the thoughts, feelings, and observations of an uncommonly astute observer.
These poems appeared in the 2014 Hart House Review.
“Skinning” was published in the Hart House Review 2014.
on wooden boards
look like crokinole
only with death.
I cannot tell what animal
you used to be –
something humble I suppose,
like my grandpa, killing something
inferior about himself.
Hunting, shooting, skinning,
animal games and our paws
are loaded. It doesn’t matter
I don’t know how I’m expected to think
with all this nature screaming in my ears
the tiny yellow goldfinches building nests in my hair
the black-and-white juncos pecking at my bare toes
the incessant cackling of sparrows fighting
for a spot on my lap. I don’t know how I’m supposed to think
over the heavy…