Latest Writing
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INTERVIEW WITH Raegen Pietrucha
FWR: To start, I was hoping you might speak about the pull of Greek mythology, both in its use as a framing device for some of the poems and a source of imagery in others. RP: When I drafted my first poem about Medusa way back in 2007, it was about a different subject entirely.…
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INTERVIEW WITH Matthew Olzmann
Matthew Olzmann’s latest collection, Constellation Route, is out now from Alice James. He has published two previous collections, Contradictions in the Design and Mezzanines, and he has received fellowships from Kundiman, the Kresge Arts Foundation and the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference. FWR: Can you speak on the genesis and organization of Constellation Route? MO:…
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INTERVIEW WITH Clifford Thompson
Clifford Thompson is the recipient of a Whiting Writers’ Award for nonfiction in 2013 for Love for Sale and Other Essays, published by Autumn House Press. He has also published a memoir (Twin of Blackness), a novel (Signifying Nothing) and a nonfiction book (What It Is: Race, Family, and One Thinking Black Man’s Blues). Thompson’s…
POETRY
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SEPTEMBER INTERVIEW with LIZA HUDOCK
Addiction, death, and loss are everywhere in Liza Hudock’s debut collection, Reveille (released by Flood Editions in August), but they are not its actual subject. Instead, the poems wrestle—as near as it can be stated—with the world the speaker inhabits. Whether she turns her attention to a moth, the comparison between a pumpkin and a…
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THE BABIES by Dara Yen Elerath
I am watching the babies. The gray one in sticky pants who keeps picking his nose. The pale one with headlice, scabies and fleas. I am watching the babies. This one choking on a plastic bottle. This one talking to itself in the dark. I am hauling the babies to the park, to the library,…
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YESTERDAY AUSTIN TOLD ME TWO SWANS by Arro Mandell
drowned a local man for coming too close and Thomas and I laughed but I still think if I don’t count my teeth they’ll be taken, can’t be careful enough out here. Last night I stepped onto a stage heaped with dead fish. I was looking for the right earrings…
FICTION
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LITTLE LEGS by C.H. Hooks
If the TV is on, it’s morning. I might have never noticed if I didn’t think it had spoken my name. Good god good morning. It did not speak my name. No one did. I hear rustling in the bathroom and there is light coming from under the door. Warm yellow light that tints the…
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DUCK, DUCK, HORSE by Jeff Frawley
The lumber, I tell Patricia, will soon be a fence. I’ve hired a crew. We’re at the window. She’s pinching the mole on my neck. She asks, But Katrin, what about the cost? The fence will consume what remains of my settlement money, that sum secured by lawyers after I fled from the Fix. But…
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BLINDKEY POINT by Norris Eppes
Most Blindkey Point locals thought the help-line stickers were enough. Tilda disagreed. Without answers to the strange phenomenon, they built the Here For You Center. It was a building full of skylights. There were four round tables, varnished wood. The backs of the white chairs were curved like…
TRANSLATION
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THROUGH THE LAKE, THROUGH THE WATER by Johannes Anyuru trans. Brad Harmon
THROUGH THE LAKE, THROUGH THE WATER The beeches stand there, imposing, untouched,steeped in time: I wanderthrough the tall yellow hall of leavesand listen to the openchords: October, whoever cries herecries inwards,the wood bridge has sucked the salve dry.The underworldly bamboo flutes resound through the lake, through the water, the wind islead poured into stone molds.…
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THREE POEMS by Sandra Moussempès trans. Carrie Chappell and Amanda Murphy
NON-IDENTIFIED FEMININE OBJECTS Cinematic princesses escaping from an Eastward facing convent have long known the limits of where they can go Fatigued from hours of forest walking, they have taken refuge in a haunted house, abandoned since 1972, they now know that at any moment the story could stop The film could disintegrate, and they…
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ANCIENT MOSQUE by Xiao Shui trans. Judith Huang
Slightly tipsy, walking out of Hongbin Tower. Two hearses appear on the bike lane. The invisible corpse, shut in a hand-pushed metal box covered with black brocade, jingles, bangs and clatters, squeezing through the onrush of head-spinning traffic. Tightly-packed pedestrians scatter loosely in the smog, all eyeing him, intent on helping him find an opening.…
From the Archives
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