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.  [...]

Connect

e-mail
Submissions

In Print

Vol. 76
Fortieth Anniversary Issue
Spring 2021
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

July 21, 2021
“Well, technically batshit,” I’d tell him, and I’d remind him that, seeing as we were trapped in this cave—“Cave?” he’d say, and I’d say, “Yeah, the cave we’re recovering from eye surgery in,” and he’d say, “Oh right”—and that seeing as we’d be thus—“pardon the expression,” I’d say—interred for at least as long as it took to recover, that the cave would be, for all intents and purposes, what we’d have to mean, from here on out, by the word world; and thus bats, who were the only creatures still flitting in and out of the cave’s narrow apertures and thereby participating in the larger ecosystem and importing to an otherwise inhospitable environment the most basic elements needed to sustain life, their excretions would need to be, for the foreseeable future, what we’d have to mean when we’d say sun.
July 14, 2021
And all manner of head swerves.
Three people flew past me, but did not see.
It’s not even clear what happens to the chicken on the bobsled.
 
Trails . . . that slither with their cake.
Will you have more?
May 26, 2021
I remember how, when we got word that it was okay to emerge, my parents opened the front door. My mother was holding an aluminum baseball bat, my father had a shovel. The three of us were in our hazmat suits. (Mine had grown a little taut. I was eleven years old and had gotten taller and rounder.) Our breaths were trapped in our masks.

How long had we been indoors? Time was hard to figure. It had been well over two years. But had it been three?
advertisement