“I stopped and worshipped a reproduction of the Grand Canyon/ I witnessed El Greco’s Agony in the Garden (1590) through the cool glass of a car windscreen…” Weekend poem, by Rowland Bagnall.
“Back in the pale end of winter/ Rosso looked at me as if he couldn’t quite remember/ who I was…” Weekend poem, by Rowland Bagnall.
Rowland Bagnall on ‘the art of not quite saying what you mean’ in Ben Lerner’s ‘Leaving the Atocha Station’.
“A friend of mine told me recently that Jonathan Franzen used to blindfold himself daily, touch-type for 6 hours and then get drunk on vodka with his wife. I don’t do this.” Rowland Bagnall, The Missing Slate’s Poet of the Month for February, talks to Audrey Ryback.
“Maybe we, in the end,/ knew all the world there was/ in an unidentifiable whisper.” Poem of the Week (February 18), by Rowland Bagnall.
“The publishers would like to/ Gratefully acknowledge themselves.” Weekend poem, by Rowland Bagnall.