John Wall Barger

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John Wall Barger

Goodreads Author


Born
in New York City, The United States
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Member Since
February 2012


John Wall Barger (1969-) was born in New York City and grew up Nova Scotia, Canada. His poems and critical writing have appeared in American Poetry Review, The Kenyon Review Online, Zyzzyva, The Cincinnati Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, Poetry Ireland Review, and Best of the Best Canadian Poetry. He's the author of six books of poems, including Smog Mother (Palimpsest, 2022). A contract editor for Frontenac House, Barger lives in Vermont and teaches at Dartmouth College. ...more

Average rating: 4.45 · 73 ratings · 20 reviews · 9 distinct works
Smog Mother

4.53 avg rating — 17 ratings2 editions
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Mean Game, The

4.47 avg rating — 17 ratings3 editions
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Resurrection Fail

4.60 avg rating — 15 ratings
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The Book of Festus

4.71 avg rating — 7 ratings — published 2015
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Hummingbird

4.33 avg rating — 6 ratings — published 2012
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Pain-Proof Men

3.50 avg rating — 6 ratings — published 2009
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The Elephant of Silence: Es...

4.50 avg rating — 4 ratings2 editions
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Resurrection Pie

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings2 editions
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Quotes by John Wall Barger  (?)
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“Tracy K. Smith, in her essay “Survival in Two Worlds at Once: Federico Garcia Lorca and Duende” argues that we poets can’t assume that the goblin will roost in our art. If there’s duende in our poems, it’s a happy accident, a result of living in such a way that makes the goblin curious enough to visit. She loves the concept of duende, she says, because it supposes that we don’t write poems to win the reader’s approval: we write poems in order to engage in the perilous yet necessary struggle to inhabit ourselves—our real selves, the ones we barely recognize—more completely. It is then that the duende beckons, promising to impart “something newly created, like a miracle,” then it winks inscrutably and begins its game of feint and dodge, lunge and parry, goad and shirk. . . . You’ll get your miracle, but only if you can decipher the music of the battle, only if you’re willing to take risk after risk. If we write poems that face our unique struggles, attempting to find “our real selves,” duende might grant us a “miracle”: that is, the poem. Duende, it seems, doesn’t care who the artist is or what they believe, but only that the work reeks of human struggle. Of feelings exposed. Of the “bare, forked animal” smeared in blood and mud.”
John Wall Barger, The Elephant of Silence: Essays on Poetics and Cinema

“A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.”
James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

“Two aesthetics exist: the passive aesthetic of mirrors and the active aesthetic of prisms. Guided by the former, art turns into a copy of the environment's objectivity or the individual's psychic history. Guided by the latter, art is redeemed, makes the world into its instrument, and forges, beyond spatial and temporal prisons, a personal vision.”
Jorge Luis Borges

“And the air was full of Thoughts and Things to Say. But at times like these, only the Small Things are ever said. Big Things lurk unsaid inside.”
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

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