A Review of Eighteenth in Line to the Throne by James Tate (Press Brake 2025) Ten years have passed since the death of the poet James Tate, but in that time something remarkable has happened: already there have been two posthumous publications of his work, starting with The Government Lake: Last Poems . . .
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It is cold, our voices carry like storksand the bonfire clashes with the stars.—from “Elegy at an Imminent End,” Volume 66, Issue 1 (Spring 2025) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.I think my writing moved from random notebook rants to something more formal during my senior year of . . .
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“There is a time machine in Princeton, New Jersey. I’ve been a patron from time to time. By all accounts, it’s been there since 1865. However, I wouldn’t discover it for some 154 years. To find it, one must make their way to the Princeton Junction railway station, accessible directly via New . . .
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A review of We Are Not Numbers: The Voices of Gaza’s Youth, edited by Ahmed Alnaouq and Pam Bailey The anthology We Are Not Numbers, The Voices of Gaza’s Youth, published by Interlink Books today, is a collection of essays by young Palestinian writers in Gaza, edited by Ahmed Alnaouq and Pam . . .
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What if I were there? That one question is chasing me like the ticking of a clock. Gazans are getting killed in their homes, mosques, churches, streets – even on the beach. Even the cup of coffee, family gatherings, love, and laughter by the waves, all become targeted by Israel in a . . .
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Back in the mid-eighties, for those of us who studied the dark arts of ninja theory in the Parisian dojos of Derrida and Deleuze, S/Z by Roland Barthes was a seminal scripture. One of many keys it offered was its lesson that books don’t have to read from beginning to end—that, instead, . . .
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By naming her collection Civil Twilight, Cynthia Huntington situates us in a narrow interval—the few minutes when the sun hovers zero to six degrees below the horizon. Any higher and it’s daytime. One degree lower is twilight of a different kind. Concerned as it is with precision, however, Huntington’s title also creates . . .
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I. Evolution I dream of having wings. I fly in circlesabove the woods, out back beyondthe gate. My father raises a rifle at me,pulls the trigger. Shoots. Over & overhe misses, no matter how many times Icircle. The vacuum trailing each bullet, the wakes, & how my feathers fold into them. —from Jake Phillips’ “The . . .
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July 25 marks the day I first opened my eyes to life. This year I turned twenty years old — nearly two of which were lost to war. I am not someone who enjoys loud, crowded parties, but I do love to share my special moments with those I value most. For . . .
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1I have a lot of referencesmore than enough 2the reference is meand I’m proud of it 3I mirror me and lighten with painforming families of wordsbaby pictures and older little sisters the mirror is meit’s me my true selfand you deform us—from Catherine Theis’ translation of Jolanda Insana’s “I Said Nothing,” Volume . . .
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