What's A Story Mary Ward Brown Rosellen Brown Robert Cohen Carol Cosman Louise Glück Brenda Hillman Rhoda Huffey Jeff Hush August Kleinzahler Phillip Lopate Thomas McGuane Sue Miller Oscar Pemantle Mary Peterson Edgar Poma C. E. Poverman David Reid Danny Romero Roger Salloch Jean-Paul Sartre Gary Soto Edited by Leonard Michaels ISSN 0048-4474
Return deep in the night, drunk out of my mind, I'm helped stagger through the tasselled door-way, still unsobered; pass out cold: wine stench blends with the scent of musk and orchid. I wake up with a start: HA! HA! HA! I've always said, ”How long can a man live?”
trans. Portuguese Lisa Sapinkopf "You promised me more stories!" Jamila insisted, seated Buddha-like on the Persian rug, her back turned to Fatima, in the darkest corner of the large living room kept shaded by the windows' thick shutters. The weak light from outside entered only through the open door that gave onto the garden where…
Over the years I have developed a distaste for the spectacle of joie de vivre, the knack of knowing how to live. Not that I disapprove of all hearty enjoyment of life. A flushed sense of happiness can overtake a person anywhere, and one is no more to blame for it than the Asiatic flu…
Bell and drum cold, pavilion tower dark, moon shines on the golden well by the ancient pawlonias, deep compound locked, small courtyard empty, fallen flowers pink in the fragrant dew. Misty willows sombre, spring haze light, lamp behind the crystal window in the tall pavilion; quietly rests against…
trans. Portuguese Lisa Sapinkopf That summer we went to the beach at least twice a month. Dad had just bought a bright yellow station-wagon so that we could travel in more comfort, since with my mother, my grandparents, and my little sister Cleonice, there were six of us. Those were happy times. Or at least…
It was merely a house beside a lake which had been rented. It was winterized to extend the period of time it could be let, though it was hard to see who would want its view after summer was over. The view was of places just like it, divided by water. The furnishings consisted of…
I little knew the turbulent time which lay ahead of me when on the telephone my friend Margaret Lane invited me, subject to the consent of the Chinese authorities, to join a little party including herself and her husband for a month's visit to China in April 1957. It was during that deceptively hopeful season…
trans. Swedish Robert Bly We have many shadows. I was walking home one September night when Y. rose from his grave after forty years and joined me on my walk. He seemed blown clean at first except for his name, but his thoughts swam faster than time could run, and they caught up. I fitted…
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