Online Exclusives

12.12.99
Matter Has Been Blown off the Surface of this V   i   s   i   b   le Star
In my collection of gluons whose color adds up
to white:

a time the universe

was the size of a darkening
string [...]
12.07.99
Horses
by Michael Eastman
introduction by William H. Gass
Everything swims up into its eyes. Its agility, its strength, its swiftness: These qualities soften though they do not lessen as they rise. [...]
11.26.99
Canaan
The news is always of rapture

A plume of dust, the raking of ashes [...]
11.10.99
The Lightning Field (V)
Your mind unkinks itself like carded wool
as one foot steps in front of the other, circling
the five-foot figure-eight infinity loop [...]
10.17.99
HIGH PRESSURE/film shoots
by Kathrin Rögala
translated by W. Martin
and off the mark meadows tipped in in green, which should serve as a pattern here for figures, but the landscape doesn’t know anything, just talk to it, though, and it’ll give in at once. as always [...]
10.08.99
Sappho’s Sparrows
there are so many places to find you   in the endless   white spaces you have left us [...]
09.27.99
Remembering Mr. Gaddis
A memorial tribute was held May 6, 1999, for the late William Gaddis, the esteemed novelist who died in December 1998. [...]
05.19.99
The Raven
Story time done but plenty left over, riches of fishes and fancy comestibles heaped on the table within; a toast, friends, to the slow servant! No master for me. One of the oldest professions, mine, and right honorable, too. [...]
05.17.99
Some Maps
Which it watches, where it waits
In cleft or cavern or crevasse
In dolmen or diluvial boulder-hoard
Not the fissure, not the fosse, a flaw [...]
04.04.99
The Word Laid Bare
Congealed, concertinaed version of “I bet he’s had it,” meaning he has come to grief. [...]
02.27.99
What Happened with Gilbert That Night
Think of our silhouettes lengthening across the bare stage, the creak of the wooden boards beneath our feet, the broken spotlights of gray glass, the dizziness as he twirled me erasing the curtains from my sight, his muscled legs folded in bunched trousers, the actors gone home. [...]
02.12.99
Mechanics
                         Will you
                                      not come again?

                          I will go—
there soon.
                          Will you
                                      not come again?

                          I will cross—
the river twice [...]
01.24.99
A Quiet Poem
My father screamed whenever the phone rang.

My aunt often screamed when she opened the door. [...]
01.03.99
Fog Life
One, two, three, four … strung in a seaward-running necklace each foghorn sounded progressively more distant, a warning that here an island lay. [...]
01.01.99
Paper Head Last Lyrics
They are said to be in the book,
           but there is no book. [...]

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In Print

Vol. 75
Dispatches from Solitude
Fall 2020
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

January 27, 2021
Here we are, then, in a typical Mediterranean village, sometime between the end of the last world war and shortly before the next one begins. There’s no obvious reason to think trouble is imminent. In the eyes of an ordinary tourist, everything looks lovely: the colorful, lopsided buildings packed on hillsides above the sea, the slopes lined with abundant vineyards and olive groves, the flowery vines spilling over fences. How could anyone not be happy here?
January 19, 2021
. . . a well-perfumed friend, wise both
in the olfactory and in love, taught me
to spray with economy, to wear scent
as a private pleasure, evident only to
a lover in kissing distance.


 
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
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