Category / Issue #41 November 2014

November, 2014 – featuring Stephen Todd Booker, Sally Bliumis-Dunn, Christopher Buckley, Beckian Fritz Goldberg, Helen Ivory, John Kinsella, Jill McDonough, Joyce Peseroff, Alan Shapiro, John Skoyles, Tara Skurtu, and Monica Youn. Featured Selection by Luis Cernuda (trans. by Michael Smith). Cover art by François Truffaut.


It is well-past old hat and hurt When having to feel the hooked barbs Of who had angled for all of your faith, All of your confidence, who’d kept insisting To you that she was the epitome of trust,  

For the Child Molester

Let him sleep right through it— thin syringe, everlasting injection.   Then let it hang like an old wool sock in a closet.   Let him wake like a child from night terror, clatter down the stairs,   rush to the

Old Tunes, Politics, Karma �…

Took the afternoon off from the dozen things I’m supposed to repair, respond to, or maintain around the yard, and stretched out on the chaise longue watching the sun’s delivery spin about me for a while… a long thread of

An Occupation

The world will end in pink.  Those clouds just above the horizon burn like lanterns.  Overhead the dark monsoon clouds move in swiftly—   with their terrible eye sockets and long gray beards they are the faces of the prophets.

The Dolls’ House Mysteri…

1. A woman lies so tidily below the belly of her cooking range, it all looks intended; the ironing board, a saddled horse provisions in the cupboard enough for a week.   Her shadow seeps into her clothes, the cake


Ancient river bed hacked and carved whittled deep by winter run-off river as sudden as a dust storm in the long summer red bed red dust caves haunting level best upper storeys where sea breeze ratchets off ocean and estuary

Embroidered Eyebrows of Eve

Eve as reflection, Eve as comment on Man.  On Fall, on Curious Girls.  Eve as self-portrait, Eve’s eyebrows cutting or sly.  All the colonial girls’ samplers the same:  same tree, same Adam, same leaves over barely imagined junk.  Eve got

Memorial Bench

Suzanne and Half Zantop loved sitting here— sails warbling out like quarter notes in a fiddle contest   of sea and sky, the mew of two mated ospreys plunging after gulls hatched on the island’s keening rookery—   before two

At the Cemetery

Cloud cover from horizon to horizon like an inverted topographical map identical in scale to what it models—   gray mountain ranges darkening as they rise downward, the crease of valleys thinning upward   into paler grays, thinning and thickening

The List

Branches shiver as if a wand transformed them into wands themselves, the way our friends become poplars planted in their memory— Steven Clover, Lon Scott, Franco Palumbo, jeweler, banker, chef. There’s no rest from the list that grows each morning

Indian River at Dusk

The first and only time I caught a sheephead big enough to eat, black and white and breathing in my hands. On my way to get ice I got distracted, tossed Dad’s keys in the water.   I was a

Two Poems

THE SACRIFICE             after Pierre Reverdy   nothing but blue stains on the sheet a portfolio remembered smiles a spiked head surmounts a crown of arms a shrug gears start up the mountain bronze wire


By way of introduction to this month’s Featured Selection, an interesting preface to selected works of Luis Cernuda by the acclaimed poet and translator Michael Smith, followed by the work itself and some biographical material.   Luis Cernuda (1902-1963), versions