Dunya Mikhail: Flashed Through ExileJuly 2014
The poet talks with Jeannie Vanasco about leaving Iraq, working around censorship, and the work she’s most excited about now.
We are resting from our courage.
Myth Is a Theorem About the Nature of RealityMay 2014
The scholar on the vivid tradition of Haida poetry.
he was hoisted on the deck with his inheritance / of bones lowered in the berth
Anna Kushner: Literary MidwiferyApril 2014
The translator of The Man Who Loved Dogs talks with Keith Meatto about Cuba, Trotsky, and the chemistry necessary for translation.
I OBSERVED the acidic moistureApril 2014
the vertebrae went down and already / I saw no more than eternity and coldness
Elisa Biagini: A World Reinvented Through PoetryFebruary 2014
Nathalie Handal talks to the Italian poet about her sometimes disturbing imagery and how her work helps us decipher the world.
The Expedition to the Baobab TreeDecember 2013
I had felt him in my blood vessels, for he had come to live in me and I had begun to smell like him, and with his eyes...
The Nail at Night Gradually DeepensOctober 2013
nobody really owns the wild beast they raise / until they learn to cry
Bare-Knuckle WritingSeptember 2013
The acclaimed novelist & art critic on dismantling notions of gendered writing, the pleasures of translated texts, and “the clear divide between art and politics” in contemporary American fiction.
An excerpt from “A Kind of Goodbye”August 2013
Who's coughing? It's my throat, that's all. / Really, no.—I never saw you.
if we have migraines, eczemas, allergies: / day
Sotoportego del casin dei nobiliJuly 2013
I lose my mind, you’re without foreskin.
Jaswinder Bolina: Avoiding the ObviousJune 2013
Poet Jaswinder Bolina discusses writing about race, the process of being translated, and more.
Carlos Franz: Normalcy without LibertyMay 2013
Life in East Germany on display in a strange Berlin museum.
Once the bone has been ground up, who, through muslin, would recognize her hand from a dog’s paw?
Not much ever happened in Blaustein, but, even if it did, I would still remember the words she said, because it was the first time I’d heard them used, and their meaning, the parentheses they opened in my German existence every time someone used them, shocked me and made me feel like an intruder.
I thought I had died and that death meant repeating a name forever.
Robyn Creswell: Arabic Rhetoric Gets an Acid BathMarch 2013
The Paris Review editor on his new translation of That Smell by Sonallah Ibrahim.
Paper Flowers & Cyber PeacocksDecember 2012
Let us legally do what we must do in the dark