Stuart Greenhouse is he recipient of a 2014 fellowship from the New Jersey State Council of the Arts and his poems have appeared in journals such as Antioch Review, Bellingham Review, Chelsea, Fence, Paris Review, Denver Quarterly, Laurel Review, North American Review, and Ploughshares. He is the author of two chapbooks, What Remains, which was chosen for […]
If you had a rock in a sling, a tangent is what would happen if you let it fly. Death, were you what my grandfather heard in those last years or where his hearing went, in place of? Can’t hear us now, pop, earth shot deep: six feet of dirt in your ear. […]
When we came back to my mother’s house, the year my father left and I sickened almost to death, the moths in the kitchen thickened in their numbers and gathered around what we put in our mouths to nourish us; and I could barely eat, my stomach was a swamp, a sluggish […]
In the thin stand, mist and thought though my thought jars little but my eyes, jumping through them over the lichen—sometimes within itself, sometimes sidewise after two squirrels— each start starts more branches than a tree has, for my heart is like a teapot whose mist neither settles nor rises […]
Let circumstance be breeze. At once: shells rush, rub ocean, is it sure or is it unsure? You are unsure then sure. On shore, then are shore. Sink, shell, not once as one but down to one ten thousand thousand ones. Now you are thought approaching thought. A thought that moves like breeze, not surf—an […]
It leaves turds shaped like rice grains beside the jar of rice grains, and dry as them. It is not behind the stove now. It is rummaging in my sink. It is a simple thing, hungry like you or me. The residue of my life passes through it as we are the residue of lives […]
are the open last October day of warmth arisens which we cannot but mistake for spring. Think April; think Perdita blushing, proof that art is what we are most when most ourselves—I don’t mean art like lying whispered out ears, making up what those ears hear like dolls of eden-stuff we foul out […]
Stuart Greenhouse author of the Poetry Society of America award-winning chapbook What Remains, discusses the formal strategy he employed in his poem The Smell of Warm Grass, and Shakespeare’s Majestic Silence.