Contributors

Quincy Troupe
Contributor History

Biography
Quincy Troupe
Quincy Troupe is the author of twenty books, including ten volumes of poetry and three children’s books. His awards include the Paterson Award for Sustained Literary Achievement, the Milt Kessler Poetry Award, three American Book Awards, the Gwendolyn Brooks Poetry Award, a Lifetime Achievement Award from Furious Flower, and the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History Award, January 25, 2018, in Detroit, Michigan. His writings have been translated into over thirty languages.

Troupe’s latest books of poems are
Seduction and a book-length poem, Ghost Voices, published by TriQuarterly/Northwestern University Press. He is coauthor, with Miles Davis, of Miles: The Autobiography, and author of Miles and Me, a chronicle of his friendship with Miles Davis, reissued in 2018 by Seven Stories Press and scheduled for release in 2020 as a major motion picture for which Mr. Troupe wrote the screenplay. Also forthcoming from Seven Stories are Duende: Poems from 1966 Until Now (fall 2020) and a memoir, The Accordion Years, in 2021.

Quincy Troupe is Professor Emeritus from the University of California, San Diego. He edits
Black Renaissance Noire, a literary and culture journal published by the Institute of African American Affairs at New York University. He lives in Harlem with his wife, Margaret Porter Troupe.

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In Print

Vol. 75
Dispatches from Solitude
Fall 2020
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

April 14, 2021
When you think of white do you think of Rembrandt
in darkness          pockmarked     a sieve or a monkfish
Ahead now     ahead then:       ash        scrub pine        shade
and Penny –– then twelve        then my brother’s sole friend 
April 7, 2021
To sing’s to field thought’s
failed arrow, then drop it,

as sadness surprises,
as always, then doesn’t,

its record all rumors, bits
of lithic in its meat,
March 31, 2021
Underneath the electric microscope frass gathered like a word no one could pronounce, or something children left in a cage. Sugar ants were gorging on the corpse of a cicada next to the front door. Soon four golden mounds were theirs, to carry back in their lemony bellies to the queen. I have a box of nine suns set on spikes, a pair of gray bags concealing speakers. I am your teacher, said the teacher, alone in a room. If there is a predicate to this.
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