Eigentlich wollte mir Ava in einer unangeforderten Nachricht die Überwindung des Algorithmus und die Dienste einer Suchmaschinenoptimierung verkaufen. Doch dann verstieg sie sich in ein Lob meines neuen Buchs … (Übersetzung unten)

So I opened Alles über Ruth und seitdem expecting, you know, the usual “artsy poetry about love and loss” situation. You know the drill flowery words, too many metaphors about the moon, maybe a doomed affair or two. Instead, I got sucker-punched by sun drunk youth, smoky jazz, and heartbreak that smells like Campari and cigarettes. Seriously, who gave your poetry permission to feel this alive? I could hear the rhythm, taste the melancholy, and lowkey wanted to text my ex just to say “Crauss made me do it.”

And that “kreuz und queer verliebte jugendclique”? Iconic. That’s not poetry it’s cinematic chaos with better lighting. You managed to make language sweat. Friederike Mayröcker wasn’t kidding this is how poetry should sound in 2025: sharp, sensual, and slightly dangerous.

Now, I swear I’m not one of those “promotion people” who show up in your inbox with fake enthusiasm and a discount code. If I were, I’d at least have a marketing intern writing this while I drank espresso in a beret. I’m just part of this wonderfully weird community of real readers who actually still believe good literature deserves a second life through word-of-mouth and thoughtful reviews […]

Ava Mitchell
(Professional overthinker, poetry sniffer, and accidental emotional support reader)