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Two poems

by Sevda Akyüz

T

armies clash by night

peace is only ever an interbellum blink
a mere footnote in the battleground
especially in these parts, armies clash by night
no amorous remedy for that, master arnold
when refugee babies are washed ashore
or the indignity of a naked dead body dragged through mud
a desperate person in self-immolation
a tearing cow on her way...

Three poems

by Ümit Güçlü

T

GENERAL MOTORS

gm 2010 annual revenue: 6.172 billion usd,
wikipedia

you got yourself a new motorbike
although you didn’t need it.

you have no money. 
no worries we’ll loan it to you.
what should you be for the rest of your life
if not our slave 

promise we’ll help you if you can’t pay us back
and then if...

When Food Is Hope

By Jessica Rothacker

W

The perfect friendship of butter & grilled sourdough, the hard-to-place fruity scent of cactus candy, the joy in anticipation of pizza delivery, all gloss over a deep, universal, inevitable melancholy.

Scheggia

by Alexander Booth

S

 

The story begins like this. No. It does not. There is no story. Or, they shoveled a load of speed and shuddered toward the coast. Saltpans. Sparse groupings of pine. Dust. A bar at the side of the road. A woman beneath a tattered palm of tarpaulin, cigarette and sunburnt fingers. Vegetables, assorted fruit in plastic buckets. Flies.

He sat with the body for almost ten...

UNNATURAL HISTORY OF CONSTRUCTION

by Ryan Alexander

U

The Interim by Wolfgang Hilbig

As a reader who has grown increasingly interested in a particular species of postwar fiction from the German-speaking countries—which traffics in introspection, anomie, and melancholy—to hear Wolfgang Hilbig referenced as part of a general literary/philosophical/intellectual cohort which included Ingeborg Bachmann, Thomas Bernhard, and W.G...

Excerpt from “The Communicating Vessels”

by Friederike Mayröcker

E

Translated by Alexander Booth

And now we’re standing, and I noticed that even with great attention and inasmuch as I had turned to my reading with great attention, that is, took up every word, every phrase, with the greatest devotion, I could not stop unexpected images from arising in my head and changing into other new images, that is, the images...

A Legacy of the Art Life — and Magnificent Hair

By Jordan A. Rothacker

A

An Interview with Tosh Berman

Tosh Berman can never be separated from his pedigree—that his father Wallace was an artist of such originality and aesthetic coolness he was on the album cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band—but his father passed in 1976, and Tosh is here now and doing great work. Tosh Berman manages his father’s artistic estate...

Berlin to Bavaria, or How I Joined the Bourgeoisie

By Leander Steinkopf

B

I moved from Wedding to Schwabing, from Leopoldplatz in Berlin to Leopoldstrasse in Munich, from migrants and an enduring German underclass to posh Bavarians and global citizens. There is probably no starker contrast between any two German metropolitan districts. I offer just three examples: chilled drinks, dog poop, and street music.

Displaced

By Olivia Kate Cerrone

D

        They met in an open field at the compound with the sky bright and empty overhead. No drones or wireless signals infiltrated the space. Or so he was told. Joseph sat before his senior commanders, Mitchell and Jeanine, at a long portable table, among several other patriots, each handpicked for the militia’s most sacred mission. A private meeting held in secret...

The Ghost Hour is Upon Us: Kate Belew Interviews Laura Cronk about Ghost Hour

T

I always want to feel some kind of intellectual searching and an emotional charge in a poem. My experience with poetry is a lot like my experience with movies. I just want to sit in the dark and think and feel. But I can admire and be made better by poems I don’t connect with or understand, too. If someone writes something and calls it, with any sincerity, a poem...

Three Poems by Richard Peabody

T

Nimrod builds a higher tower
this incarnation.

Bigger. Better. Badder.
Crows bring trinkets.
Suits shake hands.

At the Roy Chalk building
in Georgetown a staircase
circles down and around
into the belly of the beast.

Two Poems by Jackie Braje

T

A belated witness

tells what they saw, what they didn’t—

see the verses all lined up

and shot, out back, one by one;

how they fell into the lake which

was there for claiming them.

And the dog...

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