Winner of the Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poetry, The Rinehart Frames questions the boundaries of diaspora and narrative through a tethering of voices and forms that infringe upon monolithic categorizations of Blackness and what can be intersected with it.

The poems in The Rinehart Frames seek to exhaust the labyrinths of ekphrasis. By juxtaposing the character of Rinehart from Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man with the film 24 Frames by Abbas Kiarostami, the poems leap into secondary histories, spaces, and languages that encompass a collective yet varied consciousness of being. Cheswayo Mphanza’s collection questions the boundaries of diaspora and narrative through a tethering of voices and forms that infringe on monolithic categorizations of Blackness and what can be intersected with it. The poems continue the conversations of the infinite possibilities of the imagination to dabble in, with, and out of history.

Chapters on Historicism, the Victorians and Pre-Raphaelites, the Secessionist movements (Art Nouveau, Symbolism), Impressionism, and early Modernism examine the relationship between picture and frame in the years 1850 and 1920.

This dazzling debut announces a not-so-new voice: that of the spoken-word poet Tjawangwa Dema. Winner of the Sillerman First Book Prize for African Poets, Dema’s collection, The Careless Seamstress, evokes the national and the subjective while reemphasizing that what is personal is always political. The girls and women in these poems are not mere objects; they speak, labor, and gaze back, with difficulty and consequence. The tropes are familiar, but in their animation they question and move in unexpected ways. The female body—as a daughter, wife, worker, cultural mutineer—moves continually across this collection, fetching water, harvesting corn, raising children, sewing, migrating, and spurning designations. Sewing is rendered subversive, the unsayable is weft into speech and those who are perhaps invisible in life reclaim their voice and leave evidence of their selves. As a consequence the body is rarely posed—it bleeds and scars; it ages; it resists and warns. The female gaze and subsequent voices suggest a different value system that grapples with the gendering of both physical and emotional labor, often through what is done, even and especially when this goes unnoticed or unappreciated. A body of work that examines the nature of power and resistance, The Careless Seamstress shows both startling clarity of purpose and capaciousness of theme. Using gender and labor as their point of departure, these poems are indebted to Dema’s relationship to language, intertextuality, and narrative. It is both assured and inquiring, a quietly complex skein that takes advantage of poetry’s capacity for the polyphonic.

Derek Walcott Prize for Poetry Winner Julie Suk Award Winner Nigeria Prize for Literature shortlist Your Crib, My Qibla interrogates loss, the death of a child, and a father's pursuit of language able to articulate grief. In these poems, the language of memory functions as a space of mourning, connecting the dead with the world of the living. Culminating in an imagined dialogue between the father and his deceased daughter in the intricate space of the family, Your Crib, My Qibla explores grief, the fleeting nature of healing, and the constant obsession of memory as a language to reach the dead.

Life is hard. We often find ourselves walking through stories that don’t feel like they should be ours. And yet here we are. We wonder where our good God is in the midst of it. But we are not left without hope. In fact—we have the greatest hope of all. Through vulnerable stories and rich insight, Paula Rinehart and Connally Gilliam point to the Larger Story that carries all the anxiety, longing, and beauty of your life. The backdrop of the big gospel story—creation (how life ought to be), the fall (how life is), redemption (how life can be), and restoration (how life will be one day)—gives context to our lives and hope for walking forward. The grand story of the gospel of Jesus Christ frames our every step. Discover renewed strength and joy in the middle of your ache . . . and the goodness of God that will give you the courage to remain yet undaunted.

In the face of amnesia, how does one exist? In this poem, Hawad speaks directly to Azawad, a silent figure whose name designates a portion of Tuareg lands divided among five nation-states created in the 1960s. This evanescent being, situated on the edge of the abyss and deprived of speech, space, and the right to exist, has reached such a stage of suffering, misery, and oppression that it acquiesces to the erasure implicit in the labels attached to it. Through an avalanche of words, sounds, and gestures, Hawad attempts to free this creature from the net that ensnares it, to patch together a silhouette that is capable of standing up again, to transform pain into a breeding ground for resistance—a resistance requiring a return to the self, the imagination, and ways of thinking about the world differently. The road will be long. Hawad uses poetry, “cartridges of old words, / a thousand and one misfires, botched, reloaded,” as a weapon of resistance.