Search All Winners

Name Sort descending Genre Year
Genevieve Sly Crane Fiction 2020
Evan Smith Drama 2002
Tracy K. Smith Poetry 2005
Dalia Sofer Fiction 2007
Jason Sommer Poetry 2001
Celine Song Drama 2026
Elizabeth Spires Poetry 1996
Jane Springer Poetry 2010
Matthew Stadler Fiction 1995
James Thomas Stevens Poetry 2000
Frank Stewart Poetry 1986
Ruth Stone Poetry 1986
Patricia Storace Nonfiction 1996
Patricia Storace Poetry 1996
Kelly Stuart Drama 2000
John Jeremiah Sullivan Nonfiction 2004
Melanie Sumner Fiction 1995
Shubha Sunder Fiction 2025
Mary Swander Nonfiction 1994
Mary Swander Poetry 1994
Stephania Taladrid Nonfiction 2023
Margaret Talbot Nonfiction 1999
Lysley Tenorio Fiction 2008
Sofi Thanhauser Nonfiction 2025
LB Thompson Poetry 2010
Clifford Thompson Nonfiction 2013
Nafissa Thompson-Spires Fiction 2019
Melanie Rae Thon Fiction 1997
Merritt Tierce Fiction 2019
Christopher Tilghman Fiction 1990
Jia Tolentino Nonfiction 2020
Peter Trachtenberg Nonfiction 2007
Vu Tran Fiction 2009
Judy Troy Fiction 1996
Tony Tulathimutte Fiction 2017

Selected winners

Forrest Gander
1997
Science & Steepleflower
Poems

Egrets picketing the spines of cattle in fields edged

with common tansy. Flowers my father gathered

for my mother to chew. To induce abortion. A common,

cosmopolitan agnostoid lithofacies naked in the foothills. I love

the character of your intelligence, its cast as well as pitch.

Border wide without marginal spines. At high angles

to the inferred shoreline.

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Victor LaValle
2004
The Ecstatic
A Novel

My sister was enrolled in a beauty pageant for virgins, a contest I thought she could win. She was cute enough, but also, how many teenage hymens were left in America anymore? Even the emu-faced girls had been initiated by twelve. Fewer contestants fueled better odds.

 

- You might actually win, I told Nabisase.

 

- I’m glad that this surprises you, she said.

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Adam Johnson
2009
Parasites Like Us
A Novel

The van’s front windows were slathered with blood, and inside, a whole brood of furry lapdogs were going wild. They leapt over the captain’s chair, running along the dash and gauges, and the dogs were soaked in blood, their fur syrup-streaked, their whiskers drooping with it. One lapdog was desperately pawing red streaks on the glass, so that the driver’s window was greasy with a thick, dirty paste.

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Aisha Sabatini Sloan
2025
Dreaming of Ramadi in Detroit: Essays

The Sade who joins you at the hotel restaurant is not the Sade who gave you all the love she got she gave you more than she could give she gave you love. But she is a Sade who, you realize after a bit of googling, can flex muscles in her leg that most people will never know about and who may be one of the best dancers in the world even though she went to school to be a doctor. She will talk to you about making paintings in Romania while you eat food that tastes like dreams of food.

A waiter whose persona seems to have been inspired by the Steve Martin hamburger scene in the remake of The Pink Panther keeps pouring wine. You win an argument about the name of a jazz biopic even though your sparring partner has spent some SERIOUS time with Wynton Marsalis. By the end of the day you will have heard stories about artists whose names you have searched for in the stacks of many libraries, like one that begins with “Romie called me one morning” and ends with a dick joke the butt of which is, somehow, the New York Times. You fall asleep in a blue room on a mattress that wants your lower back to just go ahead and peace out. But you feel like the number-one luckiest girl in the world.

Downstairs in the dark, Aunt Jemima smiles from the confines of a painting, giving everybody the middle finger.

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Randall Kenan
1994
Let the Dead Bury Their Dead
Stories

Am I sitting here amid boxes of chicken and snow-peas, beef and broccoli, gooey rice and the remnants of an eggroll dabbled in mustard and duck sauce, scribbling the thoughts of a madman? Or am I merely depraved? Are these the thoughts of a neurotic? A psychopath? Or am I just more honest than most? Smarter? Am I daring greatly? Or have I been cursed for violating a sacred trust older than Yoruba legend and Nippon lore? Am I the victim of the gods’ own jealous wrath? Eat of any tree in the garden, but you are damned if you eat of the fruit of the One Tree. Double-damned if you enjoy it. Triple-damned if you can’t get enough.

 

Damn.

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Virginia Grise
2013
blu
A Play

BLU: … i seen pictures, gemini, of oceans that are actually blue. waters so clear you can stand waist deep, look down and see your feet. not like any ocean i’ve ever been to. light reflects off the top of the water and you can see the sand on the ocean floor.

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