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By Aydin Behnam

The young hunter had gathered up the folding mattress in the morning, but a few pillows and bolsters were still strewn about on the worn rug. He pulled one of the fluffy chicken-feather pillows close and leaned on it with his elbow. He...



By İrem Uzunhasanoğlu

I felt like a seed in a world where everything was destined to end and everyone was destined to die. I sprouted, I grew, I decayed, and I lay on the soil to die again, until I sprouted and grew and decayed and...

Four Psychedelic poems by Eşref Ozan Baygin


Translated by Seda Suna Uçakan


The Bastard’s Year (II)

While reality was closer
With the effect of the first fallen word
I fell asleep, and
Then spiders kept my cave.

I waited for my slap
Accompanied by the prophets who
Do not tell a secret in their own voice
With their wise...

Two poems by Volkan Hacioğlu



     A little Eugene Onegin
     A little rain. . .

A pistol getting wet at a duel,
The bullet of despair fired into the trees.

Long and meandering ridgeways,
“Let’s go,” says the Fountain of Bakhchisaray.

Through the foggy valleys have hied
The springs of unbridled times.

By the shadowy shores...

Is Poetry a Job, Is a Poem a Product


By Murat Nemet-Nejat

In plain English, the question of class has to do with money. Who gets paid what for what labor. In that respect, the poet belongs to the bottom of the economic totem pole. Each poet can do his or her tallying. Do you believe that you get a penny an hour for the numbers of hours you spend producing your poems?

In classical Marxism, income (and its...

Two Poems by Kuzey Topuz


March—I woke up to snow in my hospital bed.

April—three days have passed without any dreaming—we met.

May—I turned twenty-four and this was enough for you to be mad.

Three Poems by Birhan Keskin




I’m in a barren, dim, and arid void
I’ve hung the kilims against the wind
Here I am
in an afternoon nap on the stalks   
the world is down there, the mountains far away
I’m as resentful as this hillside
but colorful, in the wind, kilims
and the end of harvest, weary...

The Names on the Stairs


By Burhan Sönmez

Birth. They called him “Tahir.” That was the name of his parents’ relative Uncle Tahir. To tell the truth, everyone in the village was related. After that day Uncle Tahir lived for another twenty years, until he collapsed to the ground during the harvest.

At the age of 3 days. They called him “Burhan.” At his...

In the Time of “In the Time of”


Joseph Salvatore

An Auto-fictive Study of the Sociocultural Influence of Nostalgia/Sentimentality and Despair/Denial on the Development and Acceptance of Linguistic and Metalinguistic Responses to Trauma vis-à-vis the Covid-19 Pandemic of 2020


The terms nostalgia / sentimentality / despair / denial...

Hope in the Age of Covid


Liesl Schillinger

When the news of the Covid-19 epidemic emerged from China in January, alongside shocking images of the residents of Wuhan (population 11 million)—I felt a sense of alarm, but not, as yet, dread. Watching footage of hazmat-suited rescue workers delivering baskets of food to quarantined apartment dwellers—who pulled the baskets into their windows on ropes, like the...

Hope Interrupted: Organ Transplantation in the Middle of a Pandemic


By Tiffany Winters

Even under the best of circumstances, making it onto an organ transplant list is no easy feat. Simply needing an organ isn’t quite enough; rather, you undergo a battery of tests, procedures, and consultations over a series of weeks to prove you are not only healthy enough to survive a transplant, but also have insurance approval to foot the massive bills—and a...

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