I liked 101 poems in last year's Fulcrum; this year there were about 25 pieces of writing I'd want to see again. What came off as articulate intelligence in the previous issue veers here into bloviation and self-regard -- way too much expostulation in the poetry about what poetry is. Not to be confused with the all-too-missing category of the breathtaking boast: what poet wouldn't you laugh off the page if they tried to pull some "best poet alive" or "realest shit I ever wrote?"
Speaking of "pieces of writing" (
Jordan - #