Gnostalgia for the Present
The 17th series in the ongoing collaboration between George Quasha’s preverbs and Susan Quasha’s photographic work.
Review of Ted Berrigan’s Get the Money! Collected Prose 1961–1983
Patrick James Dunagan reviews Ted Berrigan’s Collected Prose.
Pulling Down the Wheel
By turns intimate and abstract, each poem is a moment of stilled time.
Four Poems from Tentacular Cities
Four poems from Émile Verhaeren’s Tentacular Cities (1895) translated from the French by Jacob Siefring.
On Literary Evolution: An Interview with Stéphane Mallarmé
An 1891 interview with Mallarmé, translated from the French by poet Cid Corman.
After the Snake
After the Snake, the title of which evokes another Fall, is a haunting meditation on the apocalyptic landscapes that – if like Dun we have the courage to look at them – lie smoking on the boundaries of our consciousness.
Surrealism’s Declining Years: An Interview with Monique Fong
Monique Fong discusses Surrealism with Erin Hagood.
from To the Cold Heart
What if I said / I will never / talk to stone / brush grown to a golden / edge needs sing all night / who care?
Meetings with Max Jacob
Barry Schwabsky brings us Alberto Savinio's memories of the poet and painter Max Jacob.
Eight Poems from What Just Happened: lockdown poems
In my solitude / I’m stripped bare, but now / you’re here too, to some degree.
René Char’s “Full of Tears” translated by Stuart Kendall
When the class that, unbeknownst to our age, we continue to attend, truly reaches its end, night falls on the self. What’s the use of clarifying it, full of tears?
from NO MATERIAL
An excerpt from Losarc Raal’s quasi-novella No Material, forthcoming from Black Sun Lit in 2023
Dead Birds and Other Poems
Sometimes, when the origin of ideas of the sublime and the beautiful / are struck by lightning, I root into the hail of stones / at the precise center of the world / and sink into that dust.
from “The Ones Who Listen”
To simply be a part of the changing afternoon light The old man I see / in my visions is composed of all the days / in between Your sense/awareness of who you are cannot be confined within / language You go up to Medicine Bow / and open the sky and step through
from Poems of the Drone Years
A selection from Bret Schneider’s poetry cycle, Poems of the Drone Years