Julia Mallory

Sep 29, 2023 | theoffingmag.com | Mimi Wong |Mary Pappalardo |Julia Mallory

Jennifer Baker is the author of Forgive Me Not (Nancy Paulsen Books). Her story “Where Dads Go: A Soundtrack for My Unborn Child” was published in The Offing’s Enumerate department on February 17, 2021. Q&A conducted by Mimi Wong, Editor in Chief. This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity. Donate to The Offing! Our Patreon supporters received exclusive access to the video Q&A with The Offing contributor Jennifer Baker, along with two bonus, curated playlists.

Aug 16, 2023 | pw.org | Julia Mallory

In April, Rowan Ricardo Phillips was named editor of the Princeton Series of Contemporary Poets, which publishes emerging and established poets through Princeton University Press and has nurtured many critically acclaimed verse makers over its nearly fifty-year history, including Jorie Graham and Robert Pinsky, whose first books appeared in the series. The editorship was previously held for ten years by Susan Stewart.

Apr 12, 2023 | pw.org | Julia Mallory |Jonathan Vatner |Rigoberto Gonzalez |Devon Walker-Figueroa

The new editor in chief of the Rumpus, Alysia Li Ying Sawchyn, discusses what sets the magazine apart and what she looks forward to in her new role.

Apr 12, 2023 | pw.org | Julia Mallory

In January, Major Jackson became host of The Slowdown, a popular podcast that each weekday presents a poem and reflection in a five- to ten-minute segment. Jackson succeeds U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón, who followed U.S. Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith as host of the podcast, which is produced by American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation.

Feb 14, 2023 | theoffingmag.com | Kimiko Hahn |Chris Abani |Kamilah Aisha Moon |Julia Mallory

https://theoffingmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/29_Sep_2022_09-27-54.m4aIn Our Living Room after Elizabeth Bishop’s “In the Waiting Room”The waiting room was brightand too hot. It was slidingbeneath a big black wave,another, and another. Mother was always with the babyor father in another room. Tonightunder the windows’ dark winter,we were two sitting aloneon the sofa, spot lit in a circlefrom an overhead. Hereanother, and anotherof her words sounded likeMaui Auntie’s black beachor clammy cave.