BOA Editions, Limited

James Ciano’s debut collection, The Committee of Men, explores the cycles of violence men inflict on one another and themselves, examining how silence, shame, and inherited expectations shape masculine identity. Rooted in the speaker’s experience as a college athlete from a family of athletes—including a father who is a high school football coach—these poems confront the emotional weight of tradition and the often-unspoken struggles of male intimacy, mental illness, and familial pressure. Through sharp lyricism and emotional honesty, Ciano delves into themes of belonging and exile, accountability and forgiveness, and the quiet damage done by historically unexamined masculinity, asking what it means to break these generational cycles without severing connection, and how healing might emerge in places where vulnerability is discouraged or denied. The result is a collection that is both unflinching and deeply humane—an urgent, resonant debut that refuses to look away. The Committee of Men also includes a foreword by acclaimed poet David St. John, whose introduction situates Ciano’s work within a broader conversation about masculinity and poetic tradition, and underscores the collection’s emotional depth and significance.

August, September, October is a deep, vulnerable meditation on fatherhood, time passing, and survival in a world reshaped by crisis. In two long, diaristic poems and a constellation of lyrical reflections that accrue into a day book of sorts, this collection traces the daily experiences of a poet—someone very much, though not exactly, like Craig Morgan Teicher—through the emotional and existential terrain of caregiving during the COVID-19 lockdown. In the title poem, “August September October,” the speaker tends to his medically fragile son during a harrowing stretch of illness and hospitalization while pondering the deathbed book of Irish poet Ciaran Carson. The second extended poem, "Midsummer Days,” takes off from Bernadette Mayer’s classic Midwinter Day, following the speaker as he fails to write a memoir and climbs his way back to poetry and toward faith in a world overwhelmed by upheaval. Surrounding these central poems are shorter poems that meditate on grim games, the music of Sonny Rollins, memories of being a young writer, the tyranny of TV screens, and the insane politics of our time. August, September, October offers a profoundly human snapshot of a family navigating disability, grief, and fleeting hope, all while trying to keep the imagination alive in an age of catastrophe.

At the Gate gathers more than seventy previously unpublished poems by the iconic American poet Lucille Clifton written over the last two decades of her life. Discovered in digital archives by poet and scholar Kazim Ali, these poems span a prolific and reflective period in Clifton’s career as she shifted from typewriters to word processors and desktop computers. Many were originally drafted for publication, but set aside—until now. Edited by Ali, this collection includes a contextual Foreword and detailed notes that illuminate Clifton’s late writing process and the editorial journey of these poems—deepening and expanding the themes that defined Clifton’s celebrated body of work. At the Gate is a profound and necessary addition to Clifton’s legacy—one that reaffirms her place as a poet of the body, the spirit, and the deep truths that we must endure—her voice as intimate, fearless, and luminous as ever.

“In my new life, I must learn everything again,” begins Splashed Things, Leigh Lucas’s dark humored and deeply moving debut that examines the chaotic terrain of grief following the suicide of a former boyfriend. With startling honesty and emotional precision, these poems tell the story of a woman in her twenties navigating loss, from the funeral service and her dead-end job, to her therapist’s office and the subways of New York City, revealing the way her beloved’s death infiltrates every corner of her life. The speaker searches for traces of the departed in unlikely places—the physics of splashes, the history of seasickness, the science of depression—while confronting the limitations of elegy and the futility of trying to contain sorrow in words. Splashed Things is not a neat arc toward healing, but a testimony to the unwieldy shape of mourning and the persistence of love in its wake. Selected by Maya C. Popa as winner of the A. Poulin, Jr. Poetry Prize for its emotional courage, inventive language, and haunting beauty, Leigh Lucas’s Splashed Things marks the arrival of a powerful new voice in contemporary poetry.