Latest Writing
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INTERVIEW with Khairani Barokka
FWR: “To enter the indonesian language is a science fictional enterprise,” you write in the first section of amuk. Reading forward, you show readers how Indonesian tenses permit a simultaneity of temporal possibilities not included within the narrower scope of English; traveling through time or existing beyond the limits of time altogether. What does it…
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INTERVIEW with AE HEE LEE
Ae Hee Lee is a Wisconsin-based poet whose debut collection, Asterism (Tupelo Press, 2024), was selected as the winner of the Dorset Prize by John Murillo. In Lee’s poems, heritage and belonging are examined rather than embraced. Visiting her father’s old home in Chungju, Korea, she asks the flowers growing there to “remember [her] from…
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INTERVIEW with ROBIN LAMER RAHIJA
Robin LaMer Rahija‘s first full length collection, Inside Out Egg, was released in April. Ada Limón writes that “each poem contains the whole unbound strangeness of the human experience–the offhand remark, the blur of being in a body– all of this is written with a humility and understated wit that both growls and sings….” We were…
POETRY
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TWO POEMS from Rosalie Moffett
from TO HEAR A WAR FROM FAR AWAY This is the beginning, I am told, if we let it be. Arrests if you disagree. Deportations. Sacrifice, I am moved again to think, must come from how small we have been in the face of the enormity (the trembling ground, heartache, the sound a barge makes,…
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AT THE PUNK BAR IN ASHEVILLE by Nick Soluri
hundreds of thousands of bubbles spill over the rim of the glass my lover drinks from. Of course, I love this about the bar, the way they pour beer too fast so the foam comes up heavily, all at once. Possibility requires mess, someone had said to me once. I was thinking of a topiary…
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THREE POEMS by Winshen Liu
Attendance Spread across chairs, the stairs, the floor, we sit as twoaunts call roll: How many dumplings will you eat? Six, eight, ten. My mother tallies our appetites, 正正正on a doctor’s old note to see if we can spring for them at five cents each. All of us want a breakfrom the bentos—all the rice…
FICTION
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WET OR DRY by Naomi Silverman
It’s raining, and I’m in my car because there’s somewhere for me to go. The sound is nice for me, and nice for my car. She purrs, and I purr back to her. It’s funny that I describe us this way—we are going to get my cat. She’ll be my cat now, although she has…
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THE LEAST AMERICAN FACE by M. Y. Li
The event is in thirty minutes. You don’t really know what it is. The leader of your Erasmus group said something in Spanish about a trip to a traditional Moroccan venue. But did he say the place is a restaurant or a themed bar? Your Spanish isn’t great, but it’s good enough to make out…
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MEMORY FIELDS by Liz Howey
The orchard is beautiful. Meets the postcard standard of picturesque, as promised. Lines of foliage haloed by the rising sun, shades of green and brown and golden red, and for a second Maggie slips, imagines her and Brendon and a child that won’t exist. A little girl—no, a boy, a little arrogant boy, a mini-Brendon.…
TRANSLATION
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TWO POEMS by Tomas Venclova trans. Rimas Uzgiris
Variation on the Theme of Awakening What echoes in the dark? Is it the wind of Junein the gardens by the lake? If so, the two of usare in the summer house up high, still young,having fallen asleep just before dawn. A muffled engine? Then we’re in that dive by the harbor, in a country where we’d…
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TWO POEMS by Stefano d’Arrigo trans. Joe Gross
WHEN MEEK & THUNDEROUS When meek & thunderousspring makes its mooring& the heart wanes in wax,honeycomb homiliesflit from fin to wingof migrant fish & birdswearing whispers of your name;we imagine you, because it’s true,your destination, too, is mystery. OH IN ITALY A MEMORY Oh in Italy a memory of the womenwho turtledove-strut the windowsillssuddenly thresh…
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RADISH FLOWER by Jang Seoknam, trans. Paulette Guerin and Claire Su-Yeon Park
Is a path one travels alone also a road? The radish flower has bloomedalong a hidden pathafter others have been planted. In the swamp, the radish flower has bloomedwithout a flag,without a flagpole,its heart coming alone, late spring arriving with only its body.Woo woo. Like a Molotov Cocktail,I bloomed late, among the radish flowers.Roads ahead and behind are…
From the Archives
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