The Fall Issue | 2021

Summer here in the Northern Hemisphere is officially over. It's been fantastic to enjoy the sunshine over the last few months (apologies to our...
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Vitezslav Nezval

On the beds/ Of a lantern-lit hospital/ A doctor/ Playing the flute/ Revives/ Dead tubercular women

Friday Pick Classics: The Figure of a Man Being Swallowed by a Fish By Joshua Weiner

The Figure of a Man Being Swallowed by a Fish shows a range of forms, modes, and concerns. These poems make profundity exciting.

Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong | Friday Pick

These poems are elegantly devastating. The threatening beauty suggested by the title is not so much the theme of the collection as it is a primary tenet of Vuong's poetic vision.

Story Book By Douglas Piccinnini | Friday Pick

Story Book gives an indication of what might happen when a novel is written from a poet's point of view. It is a book of beginnings, a collection of stories that do not end.

The Selected Poetry of Emilio Villa | Friday Pick

When Villa is at his most inventive, he can swerve between the voice of Chaucer and a Milanese chancer in the dark alley of one line.

Tereza Riedlbauchova

the ceaseless forgetting and reminiscing about pleasure / maybe two swans on the Seine / maybe one

Green: The History of a Color | Friday Pick

Green is hard to pin down. It is rich in often conflicting meanings. As a word, it is present in ubiquitous turns of phrase that tint our everyday language. As a color, we simultaneously associate it with nature, rebirth, purity, the environmental movement, sport, envy, sickness and, yes, even marijuana. It has not always been so.

Friday Pick: Gradually The World

There is a delicacy to Kimmelman’s language, a gauzy diction that seems to barely hold together, yet allows the subject of inquiry or observation to show through, giving it respectful precedence.

Friday Pick: Kansas City Lightning

It is hard to overestimate Charlie Parker's influence on American culture. The poet Charles Olson, when asked about the poetic in his circle of the post-war literary avant garde, said "Boy, there was no poetic. It was Charlie Parker. Literally, it was Charlie Parker."

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