Online Exclusives

12.12.01
Three Poems
I want to go there, I said, pressing my middle finger, bent with determination, in the middle of a blank space marked unbekantes land on the map (Dresden, 1845). [...]
10.06.01
Woman Jumping
She’s out on the ledge, Roxana, and what’s on her mind is whether she should follow through on what she’s been wanting to follow through on for all these past months. [...]
09.27.01
The Trial
by Isaac Babel
translated by Peter Constantine
Madame Blanchard, a sixty-one year old woman, met Ivan Nedachin, a former lieutenant colonel, in a café on the Boulevard des Italiens. They fell in love. [...]
09.07.01
Two Stories
by Natasza Goerke
translated by W. Martin
For years I’ve whiled away the tedium of Sunday afternoons in the Natural History Museum in London. My eldest sister, Eileen, always thought I must be a masochist. And who knows, perhaps she was right. [...]
08.17.01
Two Poems
I’m the life-sized rag doll strapped to my master’s shoes dancing salsa in subway. [...]
08.10.01
Notes on the Enclosure of Beams
A future character of ownership maps it.
I am squaring iron dunes
assuming each side of the solar aquarium. [...]
07.10.01
On Monsters That Have Come Forth from Women’s Wombs
It is true that men, upon occasion, generate wild beasts within their bodies.  [...]
05.16.01
Peneplain
Opal came by yesterday to ask Where they come from? and say J.’s got you mower fixed. The rain came the day before and washed us all out. [...]
04.17.01
Marso
Almost all are women, many in wheelchairs, all want more than anything else to leave. Forgetful of time, their possessions, the day of the week, the seasons, even their families [...]
04.07.01
Pithiviers
That was a summer of unusual drought in the Loiret, of hot wind and heat and heavy Bordeaux, the blood-red wine the de C’s kept in the small dark cellar opening off the caretaker’s cottage. [...]
01.07.01
Stance Horizontal and Turning
Stills from six different installations, spanning nearly ten years.
by Gary Hill
introduction by George Quasha, Charles Stein
Searchlight was begun in 1986 and is the precursor to Beacon (Two Versions of the Imaginary), 1990. A three-inch black-and-white monitor is mounted inside an eighteen-inch horizontal aluminum tube that faces a wall in a completely darkened room.  [...]

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Vol. 82
Works & Days
Spring 2024
Bradford Morrow

Online

June 19, 2024
I am sorry for not writing sooner. To be completely frank, I was afraid of receiving a response and knowing for certain that you’re finished with me. I am very troubled by the way we’ve left things.
 
June 12, 2024
It took place in London at the end of the seventeenth century—a man was spending the evening at home, often thinking of a friend of his, a woman, who was very ill, worrying about her, hoping she would live, when there was a knock on the door, and she entered, looking fine, thriving, in fact, and sat down in a normal way and began a normal conversation, though she seemed a little more serious than usual until he began to cry, at which she continued quietly, discussing things of the soul, aspects of time, and he began to sob, and she continued speaking quietly, as he sobbed and sobbed, and when he finally looked up she was gone.
June 5, 2024
I’ll just speak for myself. This seems to be the best plan. When you try to speak on behalf of others you run into trouble. See? Already I has become you, but I cannot be you. But you can come along with me, at my side if you like, even if my walk is a bit awkward and you probably want to move more quickly over the terrain. Probably you wouldn’t say “terrain.” You would say ground or path or street. These choices don’t amount to a disagreement, just a different habit of mind. The mind’s terrain. Just now my mind’s terrain is a bit foggy, a bit dreary. It feels, inside of this fog, quite empty, as if, when the fog lifts, there will be nothing but an expanse uninflected by things to see or do, undisturbed by names and places, recollections and glimpses into other times and other places.