“Jackson Burgess’s poems are astonishing—the way they keep going further when you think there is no further to go, taking language itself out past the borders of what can be said, what can be thought or felt or borne, toward a kind of beauty that owes nothing to convention or order or the laws of beauty, but belongs wholly to the poet’s own unflinching vision of the mutilated world. ‘Try to praise the mutilated world,’ Adam Zagajewski has written, and Jackson Burgess has taken up that challenge, and then some.” – Cecilia Woloch

“Jackson Burgess is a phenomenal young poet, and whether he’s writing against the backdrops of Los Angeles (and its dark underworld) or the bohemian gloss of Paris, he is the most urgent and raw urban Transcendentalist in recent American poetry.” – David St. John

“Jackson has a unique way of slicing clean through that psychic numbness that can sometimes cloud our brains after years of reading, the result being a kind of revelatory jolt to the senses . . . here is a poet we should keep our eyes on.” – Michael Meyerhofer, Poetry Editor — Atticus Review

(On American Spirits) “‘My girlfriend left me.  No one died.’  In his impressive collection of poetry, American Spirits, Jackson Burgess combines wry wit with raw truth, offering a hilarious/melancholy portrait of solipsistic youth.  Meditative yet angry, righteous and foolish, Mr. Burgess’s layered exploration of the follies of early love is at times almost too resonant.  One of the collection’s final works ends: ‘I know you’re laughing.  I don’t know why.’  Indeed, by the end of Mr. Burgess’s series, you’ll know exactly why you’re laughing, why you’re suddenly curious about your first love’s whereabouts, why you’re so happy to no longer be burdened by the exquisite misery of being young.” – University of Southern California 2015 Undergraduate Writers’ Conference

“Jackson’s poetry has the emotional depth of cold oatmeal.” – Ruth Madievsky, habitual heckler

“Jackson is ugly.” – August Lührs, ex-friend