There is a phrase near the centre of Mamang Dai’s poem that rewards the kind of slow, repeated reading that most poems ask for but few receive: “I am the […]
Before this poem was a poem, it was something older. That is not quite a figure of speech. When Mamang Dai writes about a mountain speaking, about a shaman laying […]
Nature poems are supposed to be peaceful. That is part of their appeal — you enter them the way you enter a garden, leaving the noise of the world behind. […]
Here is the first puzzle Mamang Dai sets for her reader: who, exactly, is talking? The title says the mountain. But read a few lines further and the speaker is […]
