Sunday, April 12, 2026

Kaie Kellough, Interposition

 

beuz i can’t think

in this star-powered new conclusion

this streaming autobiographical noise

in which the protagonist

dissociates & enters

forever as a brand

 

                        & the universe rewards

w/ subscriptions & emojis

 

            i can’t think

until a re-

shaped jawline

emancipates my can-do

& i transform into the wolf

of self-motivation (“to be”)

The latest poetry title from Montreal-based “poet, fiction writer, and sound performer” Kaie Kellough is Interposition (Toronto ON: McClelland and Stewart, 2026), a book that follows his Griffin Poetry Prize-winning Magnetic Equator (McClelland and Stewart, 2019) [see my review of such here]. Composed as a book-length suite in three extended, expansive, accumulative sections—“to be,” “between” and “betweens”—Kellough blends performance swirls and punctuated language to immediately establish the book’s intentions. “these words declare // who i is,” he writes, near the opening of the first section, “across all platforms [.]” There is a way Kellough’s lyric opens into critical explorations across conversational and visual space, comparable to such as the ongoing works of American poets Jessica Smith and Melissa Eleftherion, M. NourbeSe Philip’s classic Zong (Toronto ON: The Mercury Press, 2008; Invisible Publishing, 2023) [a book I reviewed for The Antigonish Review when it was first appeared, see such reprinted here] or even New York poet Christian Schlegel’s more recent The Blackbird (Brooklyn NY: Beautiful Days Press, 2025) [see my review of such here]. There is something big and stretched in the way Kellough pulls at the lyric, a clear performance element articulating the self amid the climate crisis, data mining and culture wars, and where any individual sense of being, purpose and even reason might sit amid the chaos of all that noise, far too often presented with equal or disproportional weight.

x          never wanted but it happened in spite

of a void of am-                       bition x was raised

by arrivants to over-

come                imperium of doubt                   & do not

 

fixed caste                                heredity alterity &

non-consensual

collective consciousness           & others’ expectations

invaded x & the (“to be”)

 

Working an enormous amount of loose threads, Kellough’s book-length expanse examines and critques anxiety, achievement, culture and chaos, attempting to navigate through the bombardment and into clarity, utilizing the space of the lyric not as an end unto itself—whether witness or document—but a means through and to it.

 

(now i understand that in my poems, this                diegetic contrivance

 

                                                        when the speaker of the poem

 

                        oscillates btwn music               & matter

 

this freedom suite

 

                                    africa brass

 

this contrivance returns like a chorus –

 

 

Saturday, April 11, 2026

Touch the Donkey : new interviews with Haiun, Cannon, Lawrence, Hadbawnik, MacDonald, Jones, Dickey + Thibodeaux

Anticipating the release on Wednesday of the forty-ninth issue of Touch the Donkey [a small poetry journal], why not check out the interviews that have appeared over the past few weeks with contributors to the forty-eighth issue: Adam Haiun, Frances Cannon, Monroe Lawrence, David Hadbawnik, Tanis MacDonald, Jessie Jones, Laressa Dickey and Sunnylyn Thibodeaux.

Interviews with contributors to the first forty-seven issues (nearly three hundred interviews to date) remain online, including:
Sarah Rosenthal, Susan Gevirtz, Aidan Chafe, Kirstin Allio, Joseph Donato, Beatriz Hausner, Nicole Markotić, Lisa Pasold, Lina Ramona Vitkauskas, Dag T. Straumsvåg, brandy ryan, Misha Solomon, D. A. Lockhart, Dominic Dulin, Jordan Davis, Larkin Maureen Higgins, J-T Kelly, Jennifer Firestone, Austin Miles, Alice Burdick, Henry Gould, Leesa Dean, Tom Jenks, Sandra Doller, Scott Inniss, John Levy, Taylor Brown, Grant Wilkins, Lori Anderson Moseman, russell carisse, Ariana Nadia Nash, Wanda Praamsma, Michael Harman, Terri Witek, Laynie Browne, Noah Berlatsky, Robyn Schelenz, Andy Weaver, Dessa Bayrock, Anselm Berrigan, Alana Solin, Michael Betancourt, Monty Reid, Heather Cadsby, R Kolewe, Samuel Amadon, Meghan Kemp-Gee, Miranda Mellis, kevin mcpherson eckhoff and Kimberley Dyck, Junie Désil, Micah Ballard, Devon Rae, Barbara Tomash, Ben Meyerson, Pam Brown, Shane Kowalski, Kathy Lou Schultz, Hilary Clark, Ted Byrne, Garrett Caples, Brenda Coultas, Sheila Murphy, Chris Turnbull and Elee Kraljii Gardiner, Stuart Ross, Leah Sandals, Tamara Best, Nathan Austin, Jade Wallace, Monica Mody, Barry McKinnon, Katie Naughton, Cecilia Stuart, Benjamin Niespodziany, Jérôme Melançon, Margo LaPierre, Sarah Pinder, Genevieve Kaplan, Maw Shein Win, Carrie Hunter, Lillian Nećakov, Nate Logan, Hugh Thomas, Emily Brandt, David Buuck, Jessi MacEachern, Sue Bracken, Melissa Eleftherion, Valerie Witte, Brandon Brown, Yoyo Comay, Stephen Brockwell, Jack Jung, Amanda Auerbach, IAN MARTIN, Paige Carabello, Emma Tilley, Dana Teen Lomax, Cat Tyc, Michael Turner, Sarah Alcaide-Escue, Colby Clair Stolson, Tom Prime, Bill Carty, Christina Vega-Westhoff, Robert Hogg, Simina Banu, MLA Chernoff, Geoffrey Olsen, Douglas Barbour, Hamish Ballantyne, JoAnna Novak, Allyson Paty, Lisa Fishman, Kate Feld, Isabel Sobral Campos, Jay MillAr, Lisa Samuels, Prathna Lor, George Bowering, natalie hanna, Jill Magi, Amelia Does, Orchid Tierney, katie o’brien, Lily Brown, Tessa Bolsover, émilie kneifel, Hasan Namir, Khashayar Mohammadi, Naomi Cohn, Tom Snarsky, Guy Birchard, Mark Cunningham, Lydia Unsworth, Zane Koss, Nicole Raziya Fong, Ben Robinson, Asher Ghaffar, Clara Daneri, Ava Hofmann, Robert R. Thurman, Alyse Knorr, Denise Newman, Shelly Harder, Franco Cortese, Dale Tracy, Biswamit Dwibedy, Emily Izsak, Aja Couchois Duncan, José Felipe Alvergue, Conyer Clayton, Roxanna Bennett, Julia Drescher, Michael Cavuto, Michael Sikkema, Bronwen Tate, Emilia Nielsen, Hailey Higdon, Trish Salah, Adam Strauss, Katy Lederer, Taryn Hubbard, Michael Boughn, David Dowker, Marie Larson, Lauren Haldeman, Kate Siklosi, robert majzels, Michael Robins, Rae Armantrout, Stephanie Strickland, Ken Hunt, Rob Manery, Ryan Eckes, Stephen Cain, Dani Spinosa, Samuel Ace, Howie Good, Rusty Morrison, Allison Cardon, Jon Boisvert, Laura Theobald, Suzanne Wise, Sean Braune, Dale Smith, Valerie Coulton, Phil Hall, Sarah MacDonell, Janet Kaplan, Kyle Flemmer, Julia Polyck-O’Neill, A.M. O’Malley, Catriona Strang, Anthony Etherin, Claire Lacey, Sacha Archer, Michael e. Casteels, Harold Abramowitz, Cindy Savett, Tessy Ward, Christine Stewart, David James Miller, Jonathan Ball, Cody-Rose Clevidence, mwpm, Andrew McEwan, Brynne Rebele-Henry, Joseph Mosconi, Douglas Barbour and Sheila Murphy, Oliver Cusimano, Sue Landers, Marthe Reed, Colin Smith, Nathaniel G. Moore, David Buuck, Kate Greenstreet, Kate Hargreaves, Shazia Hafiz Ramji, Erín Moure, Sarah Swan, Buck Downs, Kemeny Babineau, Ryan Murphy, Norma Cole, Lea Graham, kevin mcpherson eckhoff, Oana Avasilichioaei, Meredith Quartermain, Amanda Earl, Luke Kennard, Shane Rhodes, Renée Sarojini Saklikar, Sarah Cook, François Turcot, Gregory Betts, Eric Schmaltz, Paul Zits, Laura Sims, Stephen Collis, Mary Kasimor, Billy Mavreas, damian lopes, Pete Smith, Sonnet L’Abbé, Katie L. Price, a rawlings, Suzanne Zelazo, Helen Hajnoczky, Kathryn MacLeod, Shannon Maguire, Sarah Mangold, Amish Trivedi, Lola Lemire Tostevin, Aaron Tucker, Kayla Czaga, Jason Christie, Jennifer Kronovet, Jordan Abel, Deborah Poe, Edward Smallfield, ryan fitzpatrick, Elizabeth Robinson, nathan dueck, Paige Taggart, Christine McNair, Stan Rogal, Jessica Smith, Nikki Sheppy, Kirsten Kaschock, Lise Downe, Lisa Jarnot, Chris Turnbull, Gary Barwin, Susan Briante, derek beaulieu, Megan Kaminski, Roland Prevost, Emily Ursuliak, j/j hastain, Catherine Wagner, Susanne Dyckman, Susan Holbrook, Julie Carr, David Peter Clark, Pearl Pirie, Eric Baus, Pattie McCarthy, Camille Martin and Gil McElroy.

The forthcoming forty-ninth issue features new writing by: Joel Chace, Andrew Brenza, Jake Kennedy, Hannah Brooks-Motl, Salem Paige, MA│DE and Sara Gilmore.

And of course, copies of the first forty-seven issues are still very much available. Why not subscribe?


Included, as well, as part of the above/ground press annual subscription! 2026 now available!

We even have our own Facebook group, and a growing above/ground press substack. It’s remarkably easy.

 

Friday, April 10, 2026

12 or 20 (second series) questions with Yamini Pathak

Yamini Pathak is the author of poetry collection Her Mouth a Palace of Lamps (Milk & Cake Press, 2025). She has published poetry chapbooks Atlas of Lost Places (Milk & Cake Press, 2020) and Breath Fire Water Song (Ghost City Press, 2021). Yamini is a member of the 2025 Poets & Writers' Get the Word Out Poetry Cohort and serves as the editor of Inch with Bull City Press. A recipient of an Individual Artist Fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts, her work has been supported by Vermont Studio Center, Tin House, Kenyon Review Writers Workshops, and VONA. She was nominated for Best New Poets and was a finalist for Frontier Poetry’s Global Poetry Prize (South Asia). She holds an MFA in poetry from Antioch University, LA and her poems appear in West Branch, Poetry Northwest, and Tupelo Quarterly, among other journals. Born in India, she lives with her family in New Jersey.

1 - How did your first book or chapbook change your life? How does your most recent work compare to your previous? How does it feel different?

My first chapbook, Atlas of Lost Places, was published in 2020 during the pandemic. I would say the publication did not outwardly change my life. At the time I had also started a low-residency MFA at Antioch University, LA so I was very much focused on that. However, I did register it as a private win. Having a small book of poems in print, one that I could hold physically, felt like the accomplishment of a dream.

My most recent work, Her Mouth a Palace of Lamps, which is my debut full-length poetry collection feels like a more complete expression of the work I had begun with my chapbook. I have learned a lot with the publication of this book — arranging a full-length collection is no easy task and it required multiple iterations until I was satisfied. I attended a publicity incubator in 2025 for debut authors, conducted by Poets & Writers. The program taught me that book publicity is a necessary step of publication — as important as proofing or cover design. Also, I learned that the publication and publicity paths can be very different for each poet depending on their preferences and circumstances and that there is no one way for a book to live in the world.

2 - How did you come to poetry first, as opposed to, say, fiction or non-fiction?

I first started by writing short, flash personal essays and wrote a couple of short stories but realized very soon that my stories lacked plot and I was more interested in capturing moments and emotion, especially the negative space occupied by the unsaid. Imagery felt important to me as a means to convey deep emotion. I was drawn to the compressed nature of poems. A poem puts language under pressure, and I felt I could say more in very few words.

3 - How long does it take to start any particular writing project? Does your writing initially come quickly, or is it a slow process? Do first drafts appear looking close to their final shape, or does your work come out of copious notes?

I’m a slow thinker and writer. It takes me time to find the shape of poems and projects. This can be frustrating and scary, because not knowing where I’m going with the work is difficult. I am learning to be patient and to follow the different threads that may be pulling on me at any given time. I am learning to have faith that the threads will weave together eventually, and I will have clarity. I don’t make copious notes, but I tinker with the poems for months on and off until I’m satisfied. I tend to write over my poems when I revise and keep very few versions.

4 - Where does a poem usually begin for you? Are you an author of short pieces that end up combining into a larger project, or are you working on a "book" from the very beginning?

A poem usually begins for me in a state of uneasiness or curiosity, and I start with a question in my mind. I circle around the question, and sometimes research and dig deeper. It’s not necessary that the question is answered by the end of the poem but unless I feel that I have made a discovery of some sort in the writing of it, the poem is not a keeper. I write about whatever’s on my mind on a particular day. By some magic, the poems coalesce towards some common themes.

5 - Are public readings part of or counter to your creative process? Are you the sort of writer who enjoys doing readings?

Poems come alive when read aloud, especially by their authors. I love reading in community with other poets and enjoy the shared energy of readers and audience. Being in community and sharing space with poets and artists makes me feel that I am part of something bigger than myself and brings me so much joy!

6 - Do you have any theoretical concerns behind your writing? What kinds of questions are you trying to answer with your work? What do you even think the current questions are?

I’m always concerned by craft aspects of poetry, in particular, formal aspects of the poem. I feel I have a lot to learn about the subtle aspects of form, meter, and grammar that undergirds the poem. At present, my thematic concerns are about aging, the failures of the body and spirit, the beauty contained in those very failures, and the compassion they deserve. I feel that much of society undervalues older people and sees them as irrelevant to society and I am concerned with creating a framework of living and viewing myself as a relevant, contributing member of my communities no matter what age I am. The biggest current question that I see around me is how to live in relationships of mutual care with oneself, the people around us, the earth and all its living creatures.

7 – What do you see the current role of the writer being in larger culture? Do they even have one? What do you think the role of the writer should be?

I see the role of the writer as an agent who offers and/or analyzes ideas that are important to the culture or society in which they live. A writer is an observer or witness but also one who dares to express an opinion, which might lead to desired changes in the ways we think and live. I think the role of the writer should be one of influencer or at the very least, a source of ideas and productive discussion.

8 - Do you find the process of working with an outside editor difficult or essential (or both)?

An outside editor was essential for me in putting together my collections. Being more removed from the details and less emotionally vested in it, they gave me a better sense of the overall shape of the collection. They identified which poems did not fit and where gaps existed in the arc of the narrative. They also offered feedback at the line level. Sometimes the feedback can be difficult to hear, but I am grateful to editors. They almost always make my collections better.

9 - What is the best piece of advice you've heard (not necessarily given to you directly)?

Pay attention, be slow, and don’t be afraid to ask questions.

10 - What kind of writing routine do you tend to keep, or do you even have one? How does a typical day (for you) begin?

A typical day begins for me, at 6 am. I pack lunch for my son, and when he leaves for school, I briefly look at my emails and try very hard (not always successfully) to stay away from my phone and social media. Depending on my mood, I either practice meditative breathing for about 20 minutes or I read —usually poetry or non-fiction. After reading, I turn to my current work. It could be a poem I’m writing or one I’m translating, or editing, or simply a journal entry. During the day, I don’t have a lot of time to dedicate to writing because I take care of the home and my 85-year-old mother who lives with us. I try to fit in a walk or go to the gym. Writing takes place in the early part of the day or late in the evening.

11 - When your writing gets stalled, where do you turn or return for (for lack of a better word) inspiration?

When I feel stalled, I usually call a poet friend and try to talk through the difficulties. I also turn to reading poems or prose that inspires and makes me want to write. I copy phrases and passages that speak to me into my notebooks and explore those concerns in my own writing. Sometimes I take a break from my desk and visit a local museum for inspiration. I’m lucky that I live close to Princeton University, with a newly opened art museum and plenty of pop-up art. Another favorite escape is the Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton, NJ, an outdoor sculpture museum and gardens.

12 - What fragrance reminds you of home?

The scents of cooking— dal and spices remind me of India and the home where I grew up.

13 - David W. McFadden once said that books come from books, but are there any other forms that influence your work, whether nature, music, science or visual art?

All of these are influences for my work. When I’m feeling out of inspiration, I take myself on an artist date to a nearby art museum. Ekphrasis or responding in writing to art is the easiest way to break out of a writing block. Walking outdoors is an important part of my daily rituals. I especially love walking to a marsh behind my neighborhood and listening for birds and frogs there. Even though I walk the same paths every day, there is always something new to observe and feel astonished by. I feel that science and poetry are closely related in that they investigate the mysteries of the world--- both are fueled by curiosity and wonder, both are capable of invoking awe. The writings of Carl Sagan, Robert Macfarlane, and Diane Ackerman are a few popular science writers who have inspired me.

14 - What other writers or writings are important for your work, or simply your life outside of your work?

I read widely, wherever my curiosity takes me. While I’m constantly reading poetry written by friends and contemporaries, these days I’m leaning more towards non-fiction. At present, I’m reading Is a River Alive? by Robert Macfarlane that studies three river systems in different parts of the world to seek an answer to that question. I’m also reading The Art of Gathering: How We Meet and Why it Matters by Priya Parker.

15 - What would you like to do that you haven't yet done?

I would like to travel more, especially exploring history, art, and artists in my home country of India. I would also like to learn visual art, astronomy, and singing Indian classical music.

16 - If you could pick any other occupation to attempt, what would it be? Or, alternately, what do you think you would have ended up doing had you not been a writer?

Before I was a writer, I designed and developed software for investment banking. I was very good at that work but it’s not something I want to go back to. If I could do anything, I would love to study astrophysics and research the origins of the universe.

17 - What made you write, as opposed to doing something else?

I’ve always enjoyed the way books and stories have the power to transport me to extraordinary places. I suppose I wanted to create stories that could do the same for myself and others. I love playing with language and its subtle arrangements. I grew up in India surrounded by multiple languages and regional accents. The sounds and movements of language in play are fascinating to me.   

18 - What was the last great book you read? What was the last great film?

Enchantment: Awakening Wonder in an Anxious Age by Katherine May. I loved this book about anxiety, gathering attention, and hierophany in a world where our attention is increasingly fragmented. The last great film I saw is a Bollywood film from 1975 called “Mausam” (which translates to “Season”). A musical with poetry for song lyrics, it is an inter-generational story of the way shame can be a barrier to giving and receiving romantic, filial, and platonic love.

19 - What are you currently working on?

I am translating poems by award-winning poet Kirti Kesar from the Hindi language into English. Her poems have a strong bend towards social justice and draw on Indian epics to comment on the Indian political situation of the 1990s to early 2000s, which I find fascinating and challenging to translate.

12 or 20 (second series) questions;

Thursday, April 09, 2026

Laurie D. Graham, Calling It Back to Me

 

Under Russian’s boot,
under England’s boot, 

they sailed off
to become the boot 

of the plains, stamping
out the grasses and trees— 

investment companies
bulldozing the windbreaks, 

filling in the sloughs, flattening
hills and houses, seeding the ditches, 

every arable, pilfered inch— 

the settlement story going sour
in the heat and the haze. (“Toward an Origin Story”)

Edmonton-born Peterborough, Ontario-based poet and editor Laurie D. Graham’s latest, following Rove (Regina SK: Hagios Press, 2013), Settler Education (Toronto ON: McClelland and Stewart, 2016) and Fast Commute (McClelland and Stewart, 2022) [see my review of such here], is the poetry title Calling It Back to Me (McClelland and Stewart, 2026). Composed as a book-length and quartered suite—with extended sequence-sections “Calling It Back to Me,” “The Great-Grandmothers,” “Toward an Origin Story” and “A Good Closing”—Graham writes specifically of maternal lines, “her great-grandmothers’ lives before and after they left their homelands and settled on this continent,” tracing and trailing the stories of women who traded one homeland for another, exploring broken memory, history, geography and genealogy, and the inherent colonial impulse they carried. “Still the urge is for / story. She wants to give.” Graham writes, on the opening page. “A bright yellow moon / rises in her mind. // A small pink curl / of cloud. // No language / for any of it.”

One can argue the length and breadth of Graham’s explorations through poetry, and the book-length poem, have their solid foundations in the prairie long poems of the 1970s—think of Barry McKinnon, Andrew Suknaski, Monty Reid, et al—blending with the archaeological precision and craft of Tim Lilburn or Don McKay, as well as contending with the more contemporary lens of the legacies of colonialism. “Northern Ireland    in the 1920s // and not a word,” she writes, across the expansive second section, a long poem stretched across fragments of visual space. Further along the same thread, offering: “Her eldest daughter teaches her children      her grandchildren // that they came from a place      it appears    they never lived in /// All  her brothers   already here // and cousins    and uncles        then husbands   then her // a siphoning [.]” Through Graham, each subseuqnet collection provides new ways for her to think through histories both intriguing and deeply complicated, rooted in those prairie stretches. Given the length and breadth, the distances, of her work so far, it would be intriguing to catch a selected and new volume of her work, for the sake of articulating a wider overview of her work-to-date. But for now, through Calling It Back to Me, Graham attempts to articulate a people seeking stability amid the upheavals of history, and the benefits of the author’s hindsight; and seeking a language to match with their experiences, too fresh and unfamiliar to quickly do anything but come up short. As the opening section continues:

Edges of the photographs
disintegrating. Names 

on the census misspelled.
Creases erasing the facts 

from the birth certificate.
The town history’s broken spine. 

The story as he told it
in his last years 

from a distance. All this
is coming into my hands. 

A one-word answer
on an immigration form 

becomes our imagined

founding, what we say
about our being here.