Quartered, cleaned, this beautiful black wire looped and knotted through the skin, the squash hung on the porch. All September they puckered, cracked. Then they were dry. They clicked a little when the wind made its way past them: hollow sounds, almost pleasing— cupped hands clapping a bit for themselves when we weren’t looking. November…
The cord throbs in your hand. So it all went well. Now darkness comes to the farm, rising in the barn like water, leveling the fields. Tonight, will the sheep fend for each other, will the fences hold? That rope goes slack. Your son’s mouth widens, like the pupil of your eye, to the labors…
I have a dream of my mother whose black hair hardens like the black pebbles of Brazil. She would make a shell of herself. I don’t trust her, but it doesn’t matter. She is striking glass with a glass. She is foolish, and has every hope to appear in this poem as a refined woman….
MASTHEAD Directors DeWitt Henry Peter O’Malley Coordinating Editor for This Issue Rosellen Brown Associate Fiction Editors Andre Dubus DeWitt Henry CONTRIBUTORS MICHAEL BENEDIKT currently teaches at Boston University. His latest book is Night Cries (Wesleyan, 1976), and the poem here is from a ms. in progress entitled, “The Badminton at Great Barrington; or, Gustave Mahler…
Except for critics like Hilton Kramer and George Levine in The New York Times Book Review or Naomi Bliven in The New Yorker, Martin Green's reviewers have treated each book in isolation, remarking with surprise that here is a very smart man whom we must keep our eye on. This is unfortunate, because Green's work…
When I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn, and during the years when I was first falling in love with books and girls, I used to imagine that my Uncle Nathan was twins. Even back then, I guess, his life was a great sadness to me. What I couldn't figure out was how a…
The Nightingale What is it to be free? The unconfined Lose purpose, strength, and at the last, the mind. ANTHONY HECHT: a couplet to accompany Aesop The American poets who were born up and down the 1920s have come into their full powers and fame well before now, though the contours of some careers have…
Roth seems to me the most gifted novelist now writing, at least if one puts a stress on tradition in using the word novelist. He translates his intelligence and his feelings into the terms specific to serious fiction, with more firmness than Bellow, more richness than Mailer, more patience and steadiness and taste and tact…
Butch, determined to wait out the cold, took a stool near the end of the bar, away from the cluster of regulars gathered where they could see the Motorola TV. His back was only two feet from the front window. He could feel the cold seeping through the glass, hear the mean wind off Lake…
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