Search All Winners

Name Sort descending Genre Year
Michael Burkard Poetry 1988
Michael Byers Fiction 1998
Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum Fiction 2005
Ryan Call Fiction 2011
Sheila Callaghan Drama 2007
Kayleb Rae Candrilli Poetry 2019
Francisco Cantú Nonfiction 2017
Anthony Carelli Poetry 2015
Ina Cariño Poetry 2022
Hayden Carruth Poetry 1986
Emily Carter Fiction 2001
Joan Chase Fiction 1987
Alexander Chee Fiction 2003
Dan Chiasson Poetry 2004
Yoon Choi Fiction 2024
Don Mee Choi Poetry 2011
Shayok Misha Chowdhury Drama 2024
Mia Chung Drama 2023
Paul Clemens Nonfiction 2011
Ama Codjoe Poetry 2023
Anthony Cody Poetry 2022
Robert Cohen Fiction 2000
Christopher Cokinos Nonfiction 2003
Clarence Coo Drama 2017
Jordan E. Cooper Drama 2021
Amanda Coplin Fiction 2013
Leopoldine Core Fiction 2015
Eduardo C. Corral Poetry 2011
Elwin Cotman Fiction 2025
Patrick Cottrell Fiction 2018
Frances Ya-Chu Cowhig Drama 2024
Mark Cox Poetry 1987
Douglas Crase Poetry 1985
Justin Cronin Fiction 2002
Stanley Crouch Nonfiction 1991

Selected winners

Roger Fanning
1992
The Island Itself
Poems

From a side lane soft with lunar mulch

and thistledown I saw them, clipped alone

on a clothesline, a pair of diaphanous panties

as wide as an elephant’s forehead.

I sighed across the boy-mown lawn

and they shook as though they shed blessings

to the moon and her tongue-tied exiles.

Who would dare pour such panties

along his arms and throat? A murderer, maybe.

The Milky Way was pavement

compared to their luxury. I knew

I wouldn’t outwalk their whispers that night.

 

Next morning my feet felt like mallets.

I was back in the world where people

wear out, embarrassed by beautiful things,

and a garment fit for a goddess is nothing but big.

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Sarah Shun-Lien Bynum
2005
Madeleine Is Sleeping
A Novel

A grotesquely fat woman lives in the farthest corner of the village. Her name is Matilde. When she walks to market, she must gather up her fat just as another woman gathers up her skirts, daintily pinching it between her fingers and hooking it over her wrists. Matilde’s fat moves about her gracefully, sighing and rustling with her every gesture. She walks as if enveloped by a dense storm cloud, from which the real, sylph-like Matilde is waiting to emerge, blinding as a sunbeam.

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Vu Tran
2009
Las Vegas Noir

Six months ago, before all this, I drove into Las Vegas on a hot August twilight. My first time in the city. From the highway, I could see the Strip in the far distance, but also a lone dark cloud above it, flushed on a bed of light, glowing alien and purplish in the sky. My tired, pulpy brain at the time, I thought it was a UFO or something and nearly hit the truck ahead of me. Fifteen minutes later, at a gas station, I was told about the beam of light from atop that pyramid casino and how you can even see the beam from space, given no clouds were in the way. My disappointment surprised me.

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Bruce Duffy
1988
The World as I Found It
A Novel

Even as they entered, he could feel the place envelop him like a vapor with a smell of heavy, overcooked food, privation and dust. The lady taking tickets, old and wigged, with big bosoms, conspicuously switched from Yiddish to German, putting the interlopers on notice that they had been spotted. Eyeing the overblown placard for the play, showing a giant Jew with maniacal eyes throttling some stricken Gentile, he again wondered, Why did they huddle so, these people? And all the while he kept hearing this coarse, splattery jargon, so animated, with that catarrh as though a fishbone were stuck in the throat. There was a man selling hot tea from a samovar and another vending sticky cakes and ices. And the eating—everybody eating, gnawing apples and chewing sweet crackling dumplings from greasy sheets of brown paper. And that marshy barn-warmth of people huddling. It was too close for him.

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Ada Zhang
2024
The Sorrows of Others: Stories

Prancing down the building’s stairs, Hui concentrated again on the boy who had stopped returning her calls. Acknowledging another’s pain obscured one’s own. Hui wasn’t ready yet to accept that. From the window, Meng watched her granddaughter walk up the tree-lined street. The old woman’s longing was like that of a child, featuring prominently in her eyes, which captured that spirit from her youth. It would have been easy for anyone to picture what she had looked like back then, if anyone had been there.

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Emily Hiestand
1990
Green the Witch-Hazel Wood
Poems

The pond is like a mackerel skin tonight,

the mackerel like a beaded evening bag.

This is like that, that is like this, oh,

let's call the whole thing off and take it straight:

nothing is like anything else.

Even the parrot and the apish ape

mirror, mimic and do like — unmatched.

To begin:  algae, abalone, alewife —

each the spitting image of itself.

Likewise beetles (potato, scarab and whirligig.)

Nothing even comes close to barrel cactus,

nothing is more original than a bog,

more rare than the cougar and crane —

save all the above named.

 

I've never seen anything like it — dustbowls,

deer, the descent of man and estuaries,

flakes of snow (no two like) fire,

flax, gannets and gulls.

Honeybees and the Hoover Dam

are unique -- there is nothing like a dam.

Ditto inbreeding, ice ages, industrialization,

joshua trees, lagoons and the law

that to liken a lichen is tautological.

Indeed, the rule of diminishing simile holds

that all of these are idiosyncracies:

the Leakeys, legumes, maize, marsupials and moose.

 

Virtually nothing is extraneous here —

not orchids, ooze, pampas nor peat.

This is the world of plenitude and power —

every bit of it out of this world:

 

the rain and rattlers, sperm, swamps and swans.

As now we inch toward an end — vectors

and a winter that figures to be like no other,

say the selfsame earth is to your liking,

and let us continue — yeast, yuccas, zoons,

all things like, beyond compare.

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