Jennifer Acker's Blog, page 79
May 7, 2021
Podcast: Deborah Lindsay Williams
DEBORAH LINDSAY WILLIAMS
Deborah Lindsay Williams speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about her essay “‘You Like to Have Some Cup of Tea?’ and Other Questions About Complicity and Place,” which appears in Issue 20 of The Common magazine.
Deborah Lindsay Williams speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about her essay “‘You Like to Have Some Cup of Tea?’ and Other Questions About Complicity and Place,” which appears in Issue 20 of The Common magazine.
May 6, 2021
Translation: Moss on a Smooth Rock
SILVIA GUERRA
Nocturnally tied / The aquatic whistling pine / and the goldfinch in the garden / Over the dark torment / of being one Of being two / of loving // The waters / the swans. / The lagoon //
The thin horizon /
and shivering straw /
At the sides of /
the line...
Nocturnally tied / The aquatic whistling pine / and the goldfinch in the garden / Over the dark torment / of being one Of being two / of loving // The waters / the swans. / The lagoon //
The thin horizon /
and shivering straw /
At the sides of /
the line...
May 5, 2021
How Living Looks
ARIEL CHU
The three of us—Frances, Jay, and I—live in this rain-slick city, concrete buildings stained with runoff. At night, the streets stretch like black pools, glossy with reflected traffic lights. We stumble around half-closed night markets with our snapped umbrellas and damp socks. Our pockets weighted with bruised change, we eat charred oyster mushrooms crusted with cumin and rose salt.
The three of us—Frances, Jay, and I—live in this rain-slick city, concrete buildings stained with runoff. At night, the streets stretch like black pools, glossy with reflected traffic lights. We stumble around half-closed night markets with our snapped umbrellas and damp socks. Our pockets weighted with bruised change, we eat charred oyster mushrooms crusted with cumin and rose salt.
May 1, 2021
An Orient Free of Orientalism: Magic, the square, and women in Moroccan short fiction
HISHAM BUSTANI
Morocco has long been associated in the Arab imagination with magic and superstition, casting off mystical curses and exorcising jinn from the body. The word “al-Moghrabi” (“the Moroccan”) has become yet another qualification claimed by those who work in this parallel world...
Morocco has long been associated in the Arab imagination with magic and superstition, casting off mystical curses and exorcising jinn from the body. The word “al-Moghrabi” (“the Moroccan”) has become yet another qualification claimed by those who work in this parallel world...
An Orient Free of Orientalism: Magic, the square and women in Moroccan short fiction
HISHAM BUSTANI
Morocco has long been associated in the Arab imagination with magic and superstition, casting off mystical curses and exorcising jinn from the body. The word “al-Moghrabi” (“the Moroccan”) has become yet another qualification claimed by those who work in this parallel world...
Morocco has long been associated in the Arab imagination with magic and superstition, casting off mystical curses and exorcising jinn from the body. The word “al-Moghrabi” (“the Moroccan”) has become yet another qualification claimed by those who work in this parallel world...
April 29, 2021
All the Ways to Experience Issue 21
Love Issue 21’s portfolio of stories and art from Morocco? Donate to support The Common’s mission to feature new and underrepresented voices from around the world, including their translators!
April 26, 2021
Trap Street
KAREN SKOLFIELD
Twitch of the cartographer’s hand and a street / is born, macadam free, a tree-lined absence, / paved with nothing but a name. No sidewalks, / no chalk, no children’s voices, / a fence unlinked from its chains, / the cars unmoored, corn left to its rubble...
Twitch of the cartographer’s hand and a street / is born, macadam free, a tree-lined absence, / paved with nothing but a name. No sidewalks, / no chalk, no children’s voices, / a fence unlinked from its chains, / the cars unmoored, corn left to its rubble...
Misdirection
AMALIA GLADHART
For years, I have tried to describe the light: the dry, dry gold; the purple peaks of our horizon; the long-armed valleys sliding off the peaks. Craters tinseled after frost, glaciers before the recent years of drought. Late-afternoon glow over brown dirt walls...
For years, I have tried to describe the light: the dry, dry gold; the purple peaks of our horizon; the long-armed valleys sliding off the peaks. Craters tinseled after frost, glaciers before the recent years of drought. Late-afternoon glow over brown dirt walls...
Recollections
ALEKSANDAR HEMON
My father once asked me: How is it I can recollect / with utmost clarity what happened forty years ago, / but not what I did this morning at all? I didn’t know, / but I recognized I would always recall that moment. / It was late summer. We were driving to the country / to see my grandfather...
My father once asked me: How is it I can recollect / with utmost clarity what happened forty years ago, / but not what I did this morning at all? I didn’t know, / but I recognized I would always recall that moment. / It was late summer. We were driving to the country / to see my grandfather...
A Journey Up The Exe
DAVID H. LYNN
Gales surge again and again, driving wind and wave into the Goat Walk’s stone base, finally cracking and wrecking and all but sweeping it away. Great shards of broken pavement and collapsed foundation lay hulked in the mud. Ancient fieldstones have been torn free...
Gales surge again and again, driving wind and wave into the Goat Walk’s stone base, finally cracking and wrecking and all but sweeping it away. Great shards of broken pavement and collapsed foundation lay hulked in the mud. Ancient fieldstones have been torn free...
