Eileen Myles’ singular voice cuts through clutter with a profound sense of place. Exclusive interview, an essay and the clarity of work: poems and a fragment from “Inferno”, a poet’s novel. Eileen Myles photographed by Viktoria Krane Eileen Myles: Loving This World By Edwin Torres What an ear on Eileen Myles— to not only uncover, but to capture the underlying truth out of the simplest... 

by Eileen Myles I told my therapist about the fire I guess in New York they told the landlord there were five of them but there was eleven practically all of them died there was a picture of one woman crying some were her kids it’s impossible to know where the fray of bright red cloth came from on the grass if the power’s off for a second it’s fun better is the second it all starts coming on,... 

by Eileen Myles I’ve walked past your childhood several times and friends of mine babysat your friends. The enormous calm this morning kernals flowing through my clenched fist into an old fashioned milk bot- tle exactly I’ve constructed that time, I thought waves, wooden ones no flames. As a good middle I climb on top and then politely move over. I was sexually abused by an entire house every shake... 

by Eileen Myles I’m trying to figure out what kind of fucked up flower a reflection is when everything dances in a bowl of aluminum day’s on no extra light just the color scheme of the gym & thinking about that the tile is that exact shade which is not quite white they chose it and it’s why the feeling is not exact I’ve got to lie down on the mat to see the frond peeping through the window sitting... 

by Eileen Myles I’m not even a boat I’m where a boat crashed I put my impossible body in your hands is this a pen View all of Eileen Myles’s content What do you think? Join the conversation!  Read More →

by Eileen Myles I may not have the time for all of this but A) I enjoy the slap of my flipflops on the stair & though my name is not Roxanne I remember when I would’ve liked that like a girl playing witch in her yard with jars & spider webs & the world was misty. A) almost took it all. Even if I’m not Roxanne I know you liked my voice in the dark & I did too B) Rabbits like to... 

by Eileen Myles It’s very hard to hunt from indoors I’ll say that for you. And text is at best an attenuated warning sound has a range of many desires not just map. I subscribe to the grandpa bunny bunny school of theory I mean genesis to write is a form of accounting & approximate promise in the sunny mouth of time. A horny bet. Or else hunters lolling around the fire what did you get. How... 

by Eileen Myles The crows were never here I don’t remember them and you could put your hand in the water & hit a fish or two now you gotta go look. She was the first one from India to outer space. I don’t remember those trees and I don’t remember it being so hot but winter used to be really cold You remember that. I know to hold back tends to keep the thing going but I don’t I like it kind... 

by Stacy Szymaszek Stacy Szymaszek: We recently had a brief conversation in the Poetry Project’s office about Leslie Scalapino, where I learned you were friends. In honor of Leslie, I thought we could begin with her in our interview. As a response to the Gulf War, she sent her writing to newspapers she thought would publish her, but none of them would – this grew into her book Front Matter,...