What does prophetic poetry look like now, in the first decades of the twenty-first century, and what could it become? The poets of this Afterword – Rob Halpern, Hezy Leskly, Anne Carson, and M. NourbeSe Philip – take up the countertradition of “weak prophecy” in various ways. They turn toward what is weak and ungainly, torn, stuttering, glitchy, and leaky, in order to “untune” (as Halpern calls it) national melodies, to reach into the “stinking, eviscerated innards” (Philip) of the language of oppression, to suggest a new way of organizing what is inside and outside, “another human essence than self” (Carson). Their prophetic untuning does not represent (only) a lack or a loss; it is not merely the expression of the poverty, violence, and suffering of the contemporary moment. By marking this poetry as “prophetic,” we can say that it means, through its very weakness, to use a dialectic gaze to actively redeem the past together with the future.

The overlap of poetry and essay in modern and contemporary American writing is the focus of this chapter. Covering the literary manifesto, essays on poetry, and the rise of the modern poet-critic, the chapter explores examples of formal and procedural essaying in postmodern and contemporary poetry. These include construction and deconstruction of a speaker-subject, theoretical experimentation, translation, documentary, and social critique. The chapter reflects on the position of the subjective "I" in the essay, lyric and experimental poetry, and hybrids of these and dwells in its conclusion on the problems of form and process in the lyric essay or essayistic poem.

This chapter traces the development in the United States of the lyric essay (and, peripherally, essayistic poetry), with a focus on three contemporary writers: Anne Carson, Annie Dillard, and Maggie Nelson. Beginning with competing definitions of this hybrid genre whose contours are not always easy to discern, the chapter describes the role of American creative writing programs and the poetry classroom in the emergence of this special type of writing, which has gained ground in the early years of the twenty-first century. Examples from the lyric essays of Carson, Dillard, and Nelson are then read closely in an attempt to isolate the features unique to this genre celebrated by John D’Agata and Deborah Tall in their manifesto "New Terrain: The Lyric Essay" (1997).

This article examines the fraught relationship between loss and poetic creation in Catullus 101 and in Anne Carson’s Nox. I argue that Catullus 101 performs a process of mourning through substitution, turning from absent brother to present poem. This process risks becoming an abandonment of his brother, and significant contradictions linger in the poem between the demands of mourning and of learned poetry. I then show how Anne Carson takes up these tensions in Nox while exploring philology and mourning as two related responses to loss. I argue that Carson practices an obsessive philology in Nox, whose unending project offers a model for an ongoing intimacy with her own lost brother. I conclude by returning to Catullus and demonstrating that in his poem, too, forms of literary erudition and intertextuality offer the mourner the possibility of significant and ongoing relationships across a gulf of absence.

Chapter 3 of The Cambridge Companion to Sappho considers Sappho’s position in, and contribution to, ancient discourses on sexuality, as well as how modern theorists of sexuality have categorised Sappho.

Ostensibly a translation of Sophocles' Antigone, Anne Carson's Antigonick (2012) is in fact a genre-bending, hybrid construct which defies boundaries. It is a crossbreed between translation, adaptation, and rewriting, as well as between text and image. It incorporates a great variety of discourse types and literary or paraliterary genres, and amalgamates hand-inked blocks of text with original colour drawings (by Bianca Stone). This 'transtextual palimpsest' engages in a fascinating dialogue not only with Sophocles' Antigone but also with its translators and commentators, as well as with authors as disparate as Hegel, Beckett, Brecht, Butler, and Irigaray. At times provocative, stirring, funny, and often all of the above, Carson's Antigonick asks us to push the boundaries of genre, textuality, and visuality towards a new synthesis, which may capture something of the unity of speech, visuality, music, and movement that Greek drama managed to achieve.