Category / Issue #18 December 2012

December, 2012 – featuring Gennady Aygi (trans. by Alex Cigale), David Baker, Louis Calaferte (trans. by John Taylor), Kathleen Flenniken, Katie Ford, David Huddle, James Longenbach, Campbell McGrath, Geoffrey Nutter, Christina Pugh, Julie Sheehan , and Ron Smith. Photography by Sarah Charlesworth.

Four Pieces from Fields In The…

AN OTHER ROSE: FOR HENRI MICHAUX   Ensuite elle fut prise dans l’Opaque* Н. М. There is an other rose – soul of my kith and kin! oh rose – white-hot trumpeting pressing against my longing! –   oh generation


The fawn was born beneath the hydrangea I had mistaken, for a year, as a young oak.   I squatted there. No fear. It lay alone in the leaves, and at my near touch a tuft   of its skin

from The Violet Blood of the A…

An exceptionally unhappy heart. The dynamic force of life bore me off. The uncertainties of the future. Childhood images to specify. Violent acts to exert, as if to supplant oneself. A sexual organ to satisfy amid rage and rashness. Search

Incident in the Park

Working back from the moment I rose off the bench, dashed like a wave and tempted to slap him,   when three times yes, his question was sex, I hadn’t gotten it wrong;   before he patted the seat, before

What is Unknown

1.When I tell her I’ve fallen for What Is Unknown, my mother’s face brightens.  “She’ll be a good girlfriend for you,” my mother says.  “Not stuck up like that trashy Well Known.  Not boring like that awful Perfectly Well Known. 

Bathroom Mirror

Often, when dazzled by sunlight, You cannot see the thing before your eyes.   This is an experience unknown to mirrors. Turn on the lights, they suffer no distress. What lies before them is perceived with greater clarity.   When

Virginia Woolf: Three Fragment…

i.How much must we carry with us? Must we bear the souls of errand boys, drovers, butchers in bloody smocks, the souls of houseflies buzzing around kitchen windows? And the souls of flowers in shaded gardens, what of them? And


The first time I saw him he was standing in front of the Iranian embassy with his mother, or with whom I assumed was his mother. She wore a black bonnet like a black flower. He wore a black frock

Two Poems

SINGER If you’ve heard the cant of the auctioneer, the “do I hear twenty-one,” the voice of a tenor calling among straw, don’t you see how music enthralls the marketplace?  Singer, you appeared to me alive again, clothed in bright

Hostile Takeover

Cheeks puffed, she’s looking up at a horizontal hedge fund hairier than last month’s rent,   that broker who flipped her twice from anal to frontal, over-leveraging her tenement.   This one set terms firm as a stripper’s pole. He’s