Friday dawns. It’s hot here in the Northwest. And everywhere the stores have sold out of fans. Oh, the horror. We drip as we write, dear reader. But take heart, we’re listening to old school R&B. There’s something good and sweaty about Roberta Flack, the way she makes the heat a part of her music. As any old school musician knows, atmosphere is important. Let’s use that as today’s motivation. We move through the cool cool beats, the deep-heart chill, to our literary brethren. Jacket Copy looks at infamous literary feuds. The original works (read unedited) of Carver have been posthumously released. The Times debates which is the real deal. After his beer with Obama, Skip Gates travels to Martha’s Vineyard, where he will participate in a literature festival. An Indian author will not go gently into the night, the Science Times has the skinny on men who live too long at home, and the ongoing mystery of what Thomas Pynchon looks like is answered by a forensic artist. Also, Vollman’s latest tome is reviewed, the curiosities of writing in a book’s margins are explored, and Slate explains how “Hit by a Bus” became a catastrophic cliche. Here’s to your survival. — Kevin Murphy
From the monthly archives:
July 2009
A Poem by Ryan Bird
Today’s hearing of the
Senate Armed Services Committee
ended with a near-unanimous decision
which ordered the unconditional withdrawal
of every redheaded soldier in Iraq.
“America doesn’t support troops like that,”
said a senior Delaware Senator,
“I mean, parents may tell their children
that freckles are just ‘kisses
from angels,’
but we are all adults here,
& we all know better.
They are just
gross.”
____________________________________________
Ryan Bird’s poems make regular appearances in some of Canada’s most suppositious literary magazines, including: Free Verse Good, Free Prose Bad; The Backslap Quarterly and Rage Against the Colophon. His poems have also made more substantial appearances in a very real chapbook called Under One Roof, available through Trainwreck Press. Also, read his blog Robot Kissing Booth.
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before – we’re sobering up here at the mag. Another long night has passed. It’s true, many authors have jumped on the wagon, or is it off? But did that actually change their work? Let’s investigate. Sherman Drexler got off the writing wagon at Berkeley. Maybe he, like Arthur Phillips, struggled to discover how to write about music. That might drive one to drink. Or feel small in the world. With a lot to say. No one will miss dying, but if you go in Paris, there is a good chance your grave will be a happening spot. Garcon, water, please. – Andrew Geer
A Short Story by Christopher Wachlin
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