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  • Poetry and Manners

    “Ages with a highly developed decorum find verse a relatively easy medium. Recent ages have clearly a low decorum and have run toward prose.” -R. P. Blackmur, 1951 Imagine what Blackmur would have said about our age, circa 1994. Toward what does an age run with almost no decorum? Toward self-indulgence and the collapse of…

  • Contributors’ Notes

    MASTHEAD Guest Editor Rosellen Brown Executive Director DeWitt Henry Managing Editor & Fiction Editor Don Lee Poetry Editor David Daniel Assistant Editor Jessica Dineen Editorial Assistant Jodee Stanley Founding Publisher Peter O’Malley Interns: Angela Pogany, Joanna Yas, Katherine Reed Ives, and Matt Jones. Poetry Readers: Renee Rooks, Bethany Daniel, Susan Rich, Tom Laughlin, Jason Rogers,…

  • Introduction

    I knew an editor once — alas, an editor whose magazine commanded a good deal of national attention — who hated to publish fiction unless he could be assured that it was “true,” that it “had happened.” Having restricted his interest to the documentary, one must assume his list of approved works could not have…

  • The World and All Its Teeth

    I’m very worried when I see the boy from my writing workshop, gloomy Chico Lopez, strolling down St. Mary’s Street with Julio, who used to live next door. This looks like a bad connection. They’re talking busily with their heads together, carrying sacks. I’ve never seen Chico look so animated before. Is it just that…

  • Introduction

    This issue marks a transition for Ploughshares — a small but not insignificant change in editorial policy, one of several that have occurred over twenty-three years of publication. Originally, Ploughshares was edited by a committee of writers who had founded the journal: Harvard graduate students, Irish expatriates, Iowa Workshop refugees, New York School and Bowery…

  • Relics of Summer

    The fonts in all the churches are dry. I run my fingers through the dusty scallops of marble: not a drop for my hot forehead. The Tuscan July heat is invasive to the body but not to the stone churches that hold onto the dampness of winter, releasing a gray coolness slowly throughout the summer….

  • White Noise at Midnight

    They all want me to stop talking to you. My mother with the face of a television blaring answers to the game no one ever guesses— Bill Holden and Deborah Kerr in Bombay making nookie on the graves. The wind cawing senseless to the Blue Moon. Even you are tired of my chatter— Smart girl…