poetry

John Edgar Wideman counters the official record of Emmett Till’s father with a more empathetic version.

I was skeptical. Then I heard a poet read one of his poems.

Escapism can be delightful. But artistic creation also uses the fodder of daily life.

An anthology of poetry mourning the demise of the Church of England

It's Advent. What are we waiting for?

Here at CC, we have some recommendations for your shopping list.

Readers won't easily trace Edna St. Vincent Millay's personal life in this collection.

How is it that the poems of a 17th-century aristocrat still resonate with us?

Need a book to replenish your political and spiritual imagination this election season? I recommend Adrienne Rich's Collected Poems.

"I've learned a lot from working with trees. More important, I've worked with people on imagining how to love each other."

This slim volume of poetry gives voice to the women of the Bible, named and unnamed.

The reversals in this book aren’t easy. There is nothing sentimental or giddy about them. They are real. They are ordinary.

Williams was at once theologian, mystic, poet, novelist, editor, playwright, and critic, not to mention (possibly) a living Anglican saint.

This collection is suffused with one of poetry’s most fundamental aims: making meaning out of suffering and loss.

From his youth Lax experienced a love of God that would not abate, calling him toward both solitude and engagement with others.

In the latest issue of the Century, Philip Jenkins writes about how the veneration of Mary cuts across religious difference in Egypt. Egypt was the place where Mary first lit up the imaginations of Christians, but apparently her appeal is not limited by culture or religious heritage. Lately I’ve come across a couple of enchanting books that illuminate this for me.

Simple, measured, and settled, the poems in Ted Kooser's new collection were composed by an artist with nothing further to prove.

E. E. Cummings and James Laughlin didn’t write with metaphysical or philosophical ambition. But that doesn’t mean their poetry doesn’t matter.

Barbara Crooker enters the shades and brush strokes of daily life with such reverence that readers want to take notice, live better, and die better.