The woman who was once caught by the air raid siren while she was taking a bath was most afraid of dying like that—without her panties, naked, with wet hair and hairy legs; afraid that the first responders who would pull her from the rubble would see her white body with . . .
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My father died in a car accident in a blizzard when I was nine. The next winter, my mother took my brothers and I to the Baja, where we camped on the beach for a month or so. My fifth-grade teacher tasked me with keeping a journal while I was gone.
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A Review of Joseph Fasano’s The Last Song of the World (BOA Editions, 2024) Like a deep breath, like a flower that blooms against the relentless elements of an inhospitable season, Joseph Fasano’s The Last Song of the World begins with “Sudden Hymn in Winter,” a short but powerful poem, functioning almost as the collection’s own . . .
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This morning, something in my doubt dissolves.The footprint or the transparency of floors.The wells open up. Sometimes, the wells close again.The added materials haven’t allowed the decision anything.Footsteps must swell, take up bone. The wells must rise.—from Marissa Davis’ translation of Stéphanie Ferrat’s “Skyside” Volume 65, Issue 3 (Fall 2024) Tell us . . .
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Are you in a beer slump, do you steerClear of tastes unlike those you hold dear?Well, I have a solution:New Beers Resolutions!I tried it; there’s nothing to fear. 1.If you like a clean lager (no frills),Here’s a beer that might just fit your bill:For Rebellion Red LagerHas a touch of swaggerWith sweetness . . .
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There is an old joke I heard one winter,one popular among the farmersfrom Trøndelag to Nord-Norge: two deer run along the railroad.One says to the other, we have to get offthese tracks and into the forest.—from Michael Lee’s “Norway’s Iron Road,” Volume 65, Issue 2 (Summer 2024) Tell us about one of the . . .
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These days—the days of the genocide on Palestinians—I go to coffeeshops. Instead of reading a book, I scroll through my phone and witness in real time the death and destruction of Palestinians and Palestine. My people and my homeland. At times, when I hear the word Palestine, I start to eavesdrop. After the news . . .
Read MoreEditor’s note: A video reading from some of the contributors to our Gaza issue, with poems in Arabic followed by their English translations. In order of presentation, Maya Abu Al-Hayat, Ibrahim Fawzy, Batool Abu Akleen, Wiam El-Tamami, Muhammed al-Zaqzouq, as translated by Elisabeth Jaquette, Nathalie Handal, Zena K.A. Elhout, and Anam Zafar.
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Lecture by Rashid Al-Khalidi at the University of Vienna, May, 2024. Photo courtesy of Sofia Bempeza Let me tell you a story about how working on knowledge production about Palestine in Austria is walking on a minefield. You can (and will) encounter a wave of ignorance and hatred that may explode your . . .
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Russ Brings all the wrong books to my hospital room, which is tucked into a corner of the birthing center. How was he to know I’d already finished that novel? Back at our house, all my books flounder in inscrutable piles. I hadn’t arranged them to be legible to anyone else. Of . . .
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