The Penguin Modern Poets are succinct guides to the richness and diversity of contemporary poetry.
Every volume brings together representative selections from the work of three poets now writing, allowing the curious reader and the seasoned lover of poetry to encounter the most exciting voices of our moment. ". . . by the bollocks I mind, by the virgin I'm like,by the smell of teen spirit, the punch that I spike,"by hydro and chronic and eight-legged sparks,by G-strings and tassels, by bummers and narcs,"by the temples I razed with a swish of my tail,by the models of Jupiter I built to full scale,"I am a man of few words, each one a thrown switch. Shall I name the mouth-breathers at whom I pitch"with superstitious loathing these excretions oozing bile?Then pull up a chair.
This could take a while."- MICHAEL ROBBINS, 'Space Mountain'"I was born as a woman, I talk you to death, or else your ear off,or else you to sleep.
What do I have, all the timein the world, and a voice that swings brass backand forth, you can hear it, and a focal point wheremy face should be.
What do I have, I have absolutepower, and what I want is your money, your drool,and your mind, and the sense of myself as a snake,and a garter in the grass . . . Why do I do it is easy, I am workingmy way through school.
Give me the money for Modernism, and give me the moneyfor what comes next."- PATRICIA LOCKWOOD, 'The Hypno-Domme Speaks, and Speaks and Speaks'". . . we just hugged, sat on a high up benchsomewhere not that secret reallyoff the Lewes road, afternoon of goldand magpies on a cusp.
But no wholly"depth-charge branch is too white, paddedshot a mushroom cap a cheapened rinkice age glass of frozen, uplit tonguesunleaven how I never meant for you to drink"a glass of day-old wholly sincerespit who under maketh spring sewtongues into my pocket tongueof day-old really salt-sincere snow"bell ringlhude singand not just sitting on a benchhow much we want to fuck in circling spring . . ."- TIMOTHY THORNTON, 'Broadcast'