Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 49
December 15, 2022
Learning from Las Vegas (Air) Strip
ZOE VALERY
In the margins of the Strip, planes shimmer in and out of Las Vegas. I photographed this periphery, populated by plane watchers. Why they watch and why I write seem to be connected by a tenuous link that became clearer as the afternoon transpired.
In the margins of the Strip, planes shimmer in and out of Las Vegas. I photographed this periphery, populated by plane watchers. Why they watch and why I write seem to be connected by a tenuous link that became clearer as the afternoon transpired.
December 14, 2022
Craft Classes: Translation, Nonfiction, Revision, and Poetic Form
Give your writing a boost this winter. Join The Common for a series of craft classes with these literary luminaries.
December 12, 2022
Permission to Dream Forth: An Interview with Arisa White
ARISA WHITE
Do I call him by his first name, do I call him dad, father, which then led to dear god, then dear dog, and I settled on dear Gerald and the lowercasing of the “dear” was a way to reduce my respect for him, to take off a bit of the power we give father, patriarchy...
Do I call him by his first name, do I call him dad, father, which then led to dear god, then dear dog, and I settled on dear Gerald and the lowercasing of the “dear” was a way to reduce my respect for him, to take off a bit of the power we give father, patriarchy...
December 10, 2022
Translation: “Soy Nobody” by Emily Dickinson
EMILY DICKINSON
Soy Nobody! Quién eres tú? / Eres – Nobody – too? / Then somos pareja! / Silencio! lo anunciarán – you know! // Cuán dreary – ser – Somebody! / Cuán public – como un Frog – / Decir one's nombre – el siempre June – / Al impresionable Bog!
Soy Nobody! Quién eres tú? / Eres – Nobody – too? / Then somos pareja! / Silencio! lo anunciarán – you know! // Cuán dreary – ser – Somebody! / Cuán public – como un Frog – / Decir one's nombre – el siempre June – / Al impresionable Bog!
December 8, 2022
You Must Like It All
MATHILDE MEROUANI
I put down my pen, and watched her. I had done that, every now and then, since we were six years old—stopped what I was doing to figure out something about her, to think about her face, or her hair, or the way she always laughed when I talked about death.
I put down my pen, and watched her. I had done that, every now and then, since we were six years old—stopped what I was doing to figure out something about her, to think about her face, or her hair, or the way she always laughed when I talked about death.
December 7, 2022
Looking for Anton Chekhov
A. MAURICIO RUIZ
I begin to walk on a red dirt road that meanders down, and in front of me, the vastness of the Crimean terrain opens up, splotches of yellow overgrown grass, young bushes and wildflowers, the quiet dark sea in the distance.
I begin to walk on a red dirt road that meanders down, and in front of me, the vastness of the Crimean terrain opens up, splotches of yellow overgrown grass, young bushes and wildflowers, the quiet dark sea in the distance.
December 6, 2022
Translation: Poems by Mireille Gansel
MIREILLE GANSEL
this morning while I was going to the docks looking for summer's last flowers at the florist's suddenly the look of this young boy with his mother her head scarf knotted like the Romani women who had offered us hospitality he and she hurrying both of them grasping black bags
this morning while I was going to the docks looking for summer's last flowers at the florist's suddenly the look of this young boy with his mother her head scarf knotted like the Romani women who had offered us hospitality he and she hurrying both of them grasping black bags
December 2, 2022
Friday Reads: December 2022
SOFIA BELIMOVA
Last month, we launched Issue 24, which features wispy, ethereal poems, striking watercolors of the Stebbins Cold Canyon flora and fauna, stories about resilience in the face of war and natural disaster, and essays that celebrate humor and heritage. Wondering what our contributors are reading to keep themselves inspired? Look no further than this month’s Friday Reads.
Last month, we launched Issue 24, which features wispy, ethereal poems, striking watercolors of the Stebbins Cold Canyon flora and fauna, stories about resilience in the face of war and natural disaster, and essays that celebrate humor and heritage. Wondering what our contributors are reading to keep themselves inspired? Look no further than this month’s Friday Reads.
November 25, 2022
November 2022 Poetry Feature: Anacaona Rocio Milagro
ANACAONA ROCIO MILAGRO
Because there weren’t any fireflies in the hood / as a child i imagined roaches were angels on a / mission. To save lives, they’d crawl into the mouths / of the chosen. Initially i found them disgusting. / They’d infest my Fruity Pebbles cereal. i’d pluck / them out
Because there weren’t any fireflies in the hood / as a child i imagined roaches were angels on a / mission. To save lives, they’d crawl into the mouths / of the chosen. Initially i found them disgusting. / They’d infest my Fruity Pebbles cereal. i’d pluck / them out
November 23, 2022
Coconut and Bananas
ROMANA CAPEK-HABEKOVIC
A couple of days ago my husband returned from the grocery store with a pound of bananas and a small coconut. The bananas were perfectly ripe for consumption, and I put them in a fruit basket.
A couple of days ago my husband returned from the grocery store with a pound of bananas and a small coconut. The bananas were perfectly ripe for consumption, and I put them in a fruit basket.
