Contributors

Can Xue

Contributor History

Two Stories, Conjunctions:18
Two Unidentifiable Persons, Conjunctions:21
Two Stories, Conjunctions:23
Homecoming, Conjunctions:28
Mosquitos and Folk Songs, Conjunctions:36
Helin, Conjunctions:40
Scenes Inside the Ruined Walls , Conjunctions:43
The Castle’s Origin, Online 07-03-2005
Two Stories , Conjunctions:45
An Affectionate Companion's Jottings, Conjunctions:47
Moonlight Dance, Conjunctions:50
Rainscape, Conjunctions:53
Sin, Conjunctions:57
Venus, Conjunctions:60
Coal, Conjunctions:62
Story of the Slums, Conjunctions:65
Euphoria, Conjunctions:68
Our Human Neighbors, Online 08-22-2017
Her Old Home, Conjunctions:71
The Inside Story, Online 04-02-2019
The Neighborhood, Conjunctions:76

Biography

Longtime Conjunctions contributor Can Xue’s Love in the New Millennium is one of thirteen books longlisted for the 2019 Man Booker International Prize. Published in 2018 by Yale University Press, it was translated by Annelise Finegan Wasmoen. Can Xue was short-listed for the prestigious Neustadt International Prize for Literature for 2016 and received the 2015 Best Translated Book Award for The Last Lover (Yale University Press). Her story in Conjunctions:65 Sleights of Hand is from her novella Story of the Slums.

Connect

In Print

Conjunctions:75

Dispatches from Solitude

Fall 2020
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

Hex

by Shane McCrae

January 11, 2021

One’s opportunities to be unhappy are

Unlimited. Or limited, but only by

One’s own imagination, which is powerful

But fragile, is defenseless, but is limited

Only by things unseen. As Bark Psychosis did it

Three Poems

by Maxine Chernoff

January 4, 2021

As life encroaches on the dreaming
bedpost, you remember

a chip of ice you found in river
sludge, its sheen a mute witness

to increments of change
as lens and pure belief.

Wonder Spot

by Gregg Williard

December 17, 2020

Even if we do have a self, all many of us want is to still the music, for a time. Transcend that individual identity, shuck off that convict walk of a mortal coil, to make a new beginning of a pulled-out piece of TV antenna with the glued-on plastic bead. To try and fool my parents and everybody else that I hadn’t gone and broken something in the house, again. That I could save it, fix it, we could fix it, make it new. Trying to quench this thirst for annihilation with the secret machine. Alcohol, sex, love and work wrote the shanties of self before. I lost those full- throated lines. So, I walked the meditation labyrinths. And studied bugs. In silence. Alone.