His Previous Life as a Lichen

He did not go far, and the journey was long. It seemed his quest was to enact the shadow of a distant ridge, until it was the distant ridge that became somehow the shadow of him. This freed him to swaddle an entire stone, to be a cloak, to gown the gray granite of a… More

Frozen Fawn

Robert Wrigley Funny, by which I mean mysterious or eerie, the way I just happened to look out the western window of my shack at exactly that moment the morning sun— via the same opening in the heavy brush I glanced through—made the carcass shine unmistakably in the shape of what it was. Still, I… More

Proust

Robert Wrigley By the light of my reading lamp, she regards me, or regards the shape of me where I sit, the shadow I am, she being mostly blind. She’s lying on the couch, and it may be she is uncertain I am even here, for she was asleep when I entered the room and… More

Robert Wrigley

In an intimate interview, the prolific American poet discusses process, politics, and his acclaimed new collection, Beautiful Country. More

Review: Robert Wrigley’s “Beautiful Country”

Robert Wrigley’s newest book is entitled, Beautiful Country. (It is Wrigley’s eighth book of poems.) The title is drawn from a quote from John Brown, the American insurrectionist. In Brown’s reference to “country,” perhaps he was talking about the countryside of Charlestown, Virginia; perhaps he was talking on a larger scale about the sprawling national identity of the United States, itself. Wrigley, too, likes to work on a terrain that can shift from remote instinct … More

Blackjack Imaginings

Robert Wrigley In fact, it’s a beautiful thing: expertly made, the egg of lead in the business end and the flexible leather braid leading to a bulb for the hand and the loop for the jacker’s wrist, kinetic energy far superior to a fist’s. It’s perfect also for holding a book open to a certain… More

Catechism

Robert Wrigley Next door the old pipe organ no longer wheezes. Here, the new one’s electric and hums. Here, too, upholstered pews, a last-twice-as-long-as-Jesus miracle fabric called Herculon over foam the bums of bums will appreciate. And me, sixteen, sneaking out, faking a coughing spell and bound for the old church next door, alone, but… More