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There is no word for the place between the dying hand and the living hand that holds it, but there is a space between those hands. Spoke & Dark dwells there, in the tensions that inhere between one thing & another: lost & found, future & past, life & afterlife. Using typographical symbols (#, /, and especially &) to delineate these phantom spaces, Spoke & Dark explores the wild fluctuations in the nature of the known, searching for a language for the unknowable.

The Los Angeles Review is a literary journal of divergent literature with a West Coast emphasis. Established in 2003, LAR publishes both the stories of Los Angeles, endlessly varied, and those that grow outside our world of smog and glitter. LAR seeks voices with something wild in them, voices that know what it means to be alive, to be fallible, to be human.

How did one of AmericaÆs most gifted fabulists come to write a collection of poetry? For thirty years, Ron Carlson has joked about writing one poem a year, and to look for his book of them in 2012. The joke came true: Room Service: Poems, Meditations, Outcries and Remarks is a genre-bending collection of traditional verse, prose poetry, microfiction, and—why not?—a play or two, dancing easily from the lyrical to the surreal to the comical, capturing the long sweep of lifeÆs simple necessities and small triumphs. Brimming with CarlsonÆs signature good humor, these pieces were written over many years in many places, and are unified, as befits a first book of poetry, by hope. Room Service reminds us why poetry is necessary, and will leave you wondering what took him so long.

Bart EdelmanÆs latest poetry collection, The GeographerÆs Wife, explores how our sense of environment creates and frames the world we choose to inhabit. The speakers in EdelmanÆs poems perpetually find themselves in conflict with the world around them. The choices they make sometimes free them to discover a life full of promise, sometimes cast them into uncertainty, and sometimes condemn them to regression. Again and again, the landscapes they visit serve as both boundary and horizon. This sense of place—east, west, north, and south—directs the physical and spiritual movements we often take for granted, as we pass through the days and nights that dictate each one of our journeys.

Miracle Day: Mid-Life Songs, Sebastian MatthewsÆ second book of poems, explores the main themes of midlife—sex and death, marriage and parenthood, work and play, friends and foes, travel and staying put. Moving back and forth between couplets and the single-stanza poem, Matthews writes about the world he is immersed in, whether listening in on an impromptu barbershop quartet with his son or driving through urban Philadelphia on a misguided whim. Matthews continues his interest in jazz and musicians but has broadened his palate to include ruminations on everything from the 1948 summer session at Black Mountain College to Jack BennyÆs legendary corn-belt comedy routines.

A HalfMan Dreaming conjures into existence an apocalyptic storyline that takes its narrator, Lupe, from a childhood encounter with the Enola Gay on the edge of the Californian desert, to the war in Vietnam, to prison in Detroit. Filled with confusion, anger, and shame at the things that he has seen and done, Lupe struggles to find his way out of the maze of violence and racism that is Postwar America. With lyrical intensity and pyrotechnic prose, A HalfMan Dreaming weaves together history, archaeology, and mythology in a Melville-ian quest to discover the Leviathan heart of AmericaÆs love affair with death and destruction.

On a wintry morning in 1974, Hank Preston makes a semen delivery to the New York Hospital Fertility Clinic. Running late, he takes the elevator rather than the stairway earmarked for such deliveries. A woman enters, the recipient of his semen, and a relationship develops that threatens to blow their already rocky lives to smithereens.To add to Hank's problems, his transgender boss at the Strand Bookstore is in love with him. But I'm straight, Hank protests. And I'm a woman, Joey insists.The odd intermingling of these vibrant characters makes for an unforgettable story. Hank needs to come to terms with what happened to him in Vietnam. Karen, the would-be mother, needs to clarify the difference between fantasy and reality. Joey, the sanest of the three, despite or maybe because of her gender mix-up, shares her wisdom and tries, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hold them all on course. Secrets are revealed as a twisting plot erupts in a fiery conclusion.Offspring is a story of longings, thwarted dreams, and the search for truth of family, and our fervent need to belong.

Reality has begun to show its age, have you noticed? Joe has.Calamity Joe is the pen name of the mysterious narrator in a new kind of poetry collection. Spending his days in a lab, talking to mice & microbes, he will soon be the last living member of his family. More and more life seems to hint at its syntax and Joe feels that he can just make out the page he inhabits. Drastic measures are called for, but for what?Poet Brendan Constantine hasnÆt crafted another \u201cnovel in verse,\u201d but a secret life revealed by poetry. Open it anywhere and be rewarded with poems that stand alone; read it from the beginning and discover the deeper context that ties every image together. As with his previous collections, Constantine employs countless approaches to poetry and no single style dominates. Looking through JoeÆs eyes we understand that life has no single story, that love is not a single feeling, and that consciousness may be an act of sheer will.

Libretto for the opera The scarlet letter composed by Lori Laitman.

Winner of the Benjamin Saltman Poetry Award, But a Storm is Blowing From Paradise emerges at a time when science is discovering more and more about the mystical particles that make up our universe and our bodies. From tidal forces and prairie burns to ruminations on racial identity while standing at the foot of Mount Rushmore, these poems chart a travelogue through mental and physical landscapes and suggest that place, time, love, and bodies are all shifts in the \u201cundulate cosmos.\u201d Straddling the lyrical and experimental, these poems conjure and connect the cosmological, the carnal, and the personal in a country—and a universe—that is gobbling itself into oblivion. But a Storm is Blowing From Paradise is in love with the universe of language—its forms, its sounds, and even its static.

We Did Not Fear The Father: New & Selected Poems contains the best of forty years of Charles Fort. Ranging easily through a dizzying array of forms—sonnets, villanelles, prose poems, sestinas, elegies, blank verse, haiku, and modular poems, for starters—Charles Fort here demonstrates, unequivocally, that he is a master of his craft. By turns surreal, tender, terrifying, absurd, and soulful, FortÆs work churns with passionate, forceful expression.

The Los Angeles Review is a literary journal of divergent literature with a West Coast emphasis. Established in 2003, LAR publishes both the stories of Los Angeles, endlessly varied, and those that grow outside our world of smog and glitter. LAR seeks voices with something wild in them, voices that know what it means to be alive, to be fallible, to be human.

Genevieve Kaplan's in the ice house offers an innovative meditation on domestic life and the physical world that surrounds it, chronicling "at least the beginnings of some disaster" taking place in a landscape that "had no symmetry." Deftly channeling poets like Wallace Stevens and John Ashbery, as well as invoking Kaplan's own distinct poetic sensibility, these poems reveal an atmospheric and wondrous world filled with odd and compelling images. Readers confront the menace of the ordinary, "the whale-faced spout of the drainpipe, the cluck / of the chicken-bird" and how "the light attacks / the window and the stress of the shining / does not ease." The poet's insistent evocation of elemental images-the birds, the ice, the water-becomes almost incantatory, as the speaker seeks escape from "the frantic outside" she's trapped within. Kaplan's sky "has the depth / of an ocean," and this book deeply articulates how "silence is the only word that can replace loss." Moving artfully between internal desires and incisive observations of the external, these stunning poems radiate with both heat and ice.

A child dies on the border between California and Mexico. This is nothing new: immigrants die crossing the border all the time, escaping from poverty and violence in Latin America. They bake in the desert. But this death is different. Someone has taken body parts from the child. FBI Agent Romilia Chacón, a Salvadoran American, follows this case into a world that swallows her with its horror, a world that exists alongside ours, where children are bought and sold like cattle and shipped to men all across the country. The dealers in this blackest of markets have no moral barometer, only a lust for cash. And one among them has taken murder to a level beyond serial killing. Romilia comes to this case already broken: the man she loved and yet had to hunt--drug runner Tekún Umán, a regular on the FBI's Most Wanted List--is gone. Romilia has two friends, her partner Nancy Pearl--who lives a double life between the Feds and the cartels--and a bottle of booze. Romilia's mother is on her back to get sober; her son drifts further and further away. And the killer is taking away pieces of Romilia's life, day by day.

The Los Angeles Review is a literary journal of divergent literature with a West Coast emphasis. Established in 2003, LAR publishes both the stories of Los Angeles, endlessly varied, and those that grow outside our world of smog and glitter. LAR seeks voices with something wild in them, voices that know what it means to be alive, to be fallible, to be human.

From python hunting to Swami Keerti s laughing meditation, from a death in the family to a burial on the rural acres where he s stood his ground for a decade, Gaylord Brewer extends and explodes his career-long obsessions in Give Over, Graymalkin. This 8th collection of poems is a journal of loss and recovery, departure and surprising return, fleeting hours in a world diminished yet wondrous. Seas writhe with uncharted beasts. Horsemen gather, conflagrant beneath sword and cross. A daughter mounts a bicycle and a divorce has the Harley delivered. From India to France to Spain, to the birdsong and day lilies of his unruly garden, Brewer continues as poetic conquistador mapping our longing, melancholy, and joy. With his characteristic wit and compassion, signature sculpted lines, and incantatory vigor, buried metaphors arise, holy days pass, toasts are raised, suns set over the desert of the animate dead. And the weary traveler? He approaches a dark corridor that may or may not be the way home."

The Alphabet Conspiracy takes its name from a 1950s-era school filmstrip of the same title. With a cast that includes patron saints for country girls and criminals, a Revolutionary War hero, the Wolfman, a sin-eater, John Wayne, and Johnny Cash, these poems swagger and sulk through an educational film turned film noir, replete with femme fatales in love.The Alphabet Conspiracy is about the ways in which language itself can function as a plot, keeping us estranged from ourselves, but also about the way it can be used as a tool for recovering our truest selves.

Río De Sangre tells the story, in Spanish, of the overthrow of a dictatorship in a fictional South American country. In the aftermath of a coup d'état, the new leader of a Latin American republic embarks on an idealistic course for his nascent government. Faced with numerous problems and no one to trust, our protagonist Delacruz realizes that the good of the country and the protection of his own family may be more than he can achieve. A series of catastrophic events follow--earthquakes, kidnapping and assassination, combine to allow the rise of an adversarial wolf in sheep's clothing. The outbreak of a riot affords the opportunity for this adversary to assume control of the government, thus perpetuating the tragic cycle of oppression. The passion and color of the South American heritage, and the triumphs and struggles of its people throughout its history of oppression and tragedy suggests music of monumental drama.

One critic said about Some Help From the Dead, "These are flawless poems, poems I like as much as any of W.S. Merwin's poems (at his best)." In this, her third collection, Ally Acker continues her fascination with how the familiar proves to be mysterious, how the present, past and future all to merge as our lives progress. As Elizabeth Bishop once wrote, the art of losing isnÆt hard to master. And so with her ear tuned to the ground, garnering wisdom from those who have passed, Acker listens for the lyrical cadences of nature on what is lost, and found again.The mundane becomes surreal (as in The Window, where "the photographs are where / the building once was: / Cows, mountains, streams. / But her landlord will do nothing…", and in her extraordinarily inventive interpretations of the paintings by the Surrealist, Remedios Varo), and the surreal transmutes into the quotidian. What arises is a miraculous resonance in the everyday, and a poetry that celebrates the living.