Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 31
December 14, 2023
Translation: “Night Drive”
STEVEN CRAMER
That night we left the city and its streetlamps, / dim as dusk light behind their scowling masks— / a silence somehow out of key with the times— / we didn’t drive so much as levitate and spun / orbits beyond the ponderous McMansions / in the suburbs.
That night we left the city and its streetlamps, / dim as dusk light behind their scowling masks— / a silence somehow out of key with the times— / we didn’t drive so much as levitate and spun / orbits beyond the ponderous McMansions / in the suburbs.
December 13, 2023
Celebrate Issue 26 at Skylight Books in Los Angeles!
With so many California contributors to our Issue 26 farmworker portfolio, we had to have a West coast celebration! Join The Common for a celebration of writing and art from the seasonal, migrant, and immigrant farmworkers who power California’s vast food and agriculture systems.
Two Poems by David M. Brunson
DAVID M. BRUNSON
For over a month now, my wife and I have dangled extension cords / from our 26th-floor balcony to the neighbors’ apartment / because their landlord collects rent but refuses to pay the utility monopoly.
For over a month now, my wife and I have dangled extension cords / from our 26th-floor balcony to the neighbors’ apartment / because their landlord collects rent but refuses to pay the utility monopoly.
December 7, 2023
Translation: Sindhu Library
GEET CHATURVEDI
When for the first time I entered Sindhu Library, I felt intimidated by its dark, damp interiors, mustiness, and its mystery. In the compound outside, a woman sat with balloons in her hand. Balloons in every colour, restless in the breeze, waiting for their release.
When for the first time I entered Sindhu Library, I felt intimidated by its dark, damp interiors, mustiness, and its mystery. In the compound outside, a woman sat with balloons in her hand. Balloons in every colour, restless in the breeze, waiting for their release.
December 5, 2023
Review: Never Be A Punching Bag For Nobody
HANNAH GERSEN
70 acres of rolling hills, playing fields, trees, and waterfront vistas—a shared community space for playing, picnicking, relaxing, and celebrating—was razed and leveled in one weekend. In its place is a long, flat, fenced-off runway.
70 acres of rolling hills, playing fields, trees, and waterfront vistas—a shared community space for playing, picnicking, relaxing, and celebrating—was razed and leveled in one weekend. In its place is a long, flat, fenced-off runway.
November 30, 2023
November 2023 Poetry Feature: Virginia Konchan and Gabriel Spera
GABRIEL SPERA
Gracefully we hold each other / architects and optimists / always at arm’s length like / congenital dreamers / tango masters slinkily coiled / bright candles in a hall of mirrors / whatever I propose you propose / to conquer repeating and repeating / the opposite.
Gracefully we hold each other / architects and optimists / always at arm’s length like / congenital dreamers / tango masters slinkily coiled / bright candles in a hall of mirrors / whatever I propose you propose / to conquer repeating and repeating / the opposite.
November 29, 2023
The Ghost of Jack Radovich
TERESA B. WILSON-GUNN
Mama saw her boss, Jack Radovich, standing in her row during a sweltering San Joaquin afternoon. She was picking table grapes alone when he suddenly appeared, several yards away, gazing off in the direction of the blue-gray Sierra mountains.
Mama saw her boss, Jack Radovich, standing in her row during a sweltering San Joaquin afternoon. She was picking table grapes alone when he suddenly appeared, several yards away, gazing off in the direction of the blue-gray Sierra mountains.
November 24, 2023
Weekly Writes Volume 8: Accountable You
Weekly Writes is a ten-week program designed to help you create original place-based writing and stay accountable to your practice in the new year, beginning January 29. We’re offering both poetry AND prose, in two separate programs. What do you want to prioritize in 2024? Pick the program, sharpen your pencils, and get ready
November 21, 2023
The Children of the Garden
ANNIE TRINH
He removed the soil from the newborn babies, took them into the kitchen, and placed them in the sink. Monoecious plants, one boy and one girl. Her father cleared all the dirt from their bodies. With a fresh towel, he cleaned their tiny hands, wiggling feet, faces.
He removed the soil from the newborn babies, took them into the kitchen, and placed them in the sink. Monoecious plants, one boy and one girl. Her father cleared all the dirt from their bodies. With a fresh towel, he cleaned their tiny hands, wiggling feet, faces.
November 17, 2023
Excerpt from Seaweed Rising
ROB MAGNUSON SMITH
He found a stone cottage overlooking the Helford River. It was technically a holiday let, but the cottage hadn’t been occupied in years. There was no central heating and the tile roof leaked. Inside, there was a strange creeping mist intent on crushing what was left of his soul.
He found a stone cottage overlooking the Helford River. It was technically a holiday let, but the cottage hadn’t been occupied in years. There was no central heating and the tile roof leaked. Inside, there was a strange creeping mist intent on crushing what was left of his soul.
