Alex Miller is a staff writer for <i>The Curator</i> and the co-author of <i>A Bow From My Shadow</i> (Ecco Qua Press, 2013), a collection of poems written in dialogue with poems by Luke Irwin. His wo
It would be difficult to find two less kindred twentieth-century cultural
figures than Roland Barthes and Czesław Milosz. The first, a cigar-clutching
Frenchmen for whom his own country’s literature was the center
In the United States, few poets have endured the kind of censure that Ted Hughes
has experienced since the death of Sylvia Plath. Hughes’ role in the weird
melodrama which led to Plath’
The health of a marriage involves cruel revelations. When these turn up, the
moral fiber of both parties is proved by their capacity to laugh. I had been
married for a year when,
The Acropolis was locked. It hadn’t occurred to either of us that the seat of
Western culture would operate under loosely the same hours as a museum over
Thanksgiving weekend. It was
Not recognizing himself
He wanted only himself. He had chosen
From all the faces he had ever seen
Only his own. He was himself
The torturer who now began his torture.
—Ted Hughes,
