Author: Cincinnati Review

Good News as Fall Begins

It’s that time of year when people make lists in preparation for the beginning of fall: book lists, Halloween costume lists, ingredients for mulled wine, cool tattoo ideas, premature New Year’s resolutions, and literary awards finalists. Here’s our own list of some pretty great lists! First, some big wins: Contributor Sinéad Morrissey (9.1, 9.2) won the (£10,000!) Forward Prize for Best Collection for her book, On Balance (Carcanet, 2017). The Best New Poets finalists chosen by Natalie Diaz include Paige Lewis (13.1), one of our nominees this year! Also on the list are two other contributors, Leila Chatti (14.2)...

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miCRo, the video!

In celebration of our first miCRo post this week and in anticipation of our second next week, here’s a video promoting our weekly online feature, designed by our wonderful video guru, Ben Dudley!  ...

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miCRo: Laura Maylene Walter’s “Break Apart”

[Editors’ note: We’re proud to present our first miCRo feature. Every Wednesday we’ll spotlight a short piece that packs a punch—fiction, nonfiction, poetry, and hybrid works. Chosen by our assistant and associate editors, miCRo features will be taut, timely, and thought provoking. See more information about how to submit in our submission guidelines.]     Assistant Editor Molly Reid: Laura Maylene Walter’s “Break Apart” proves that small stories don’t have to limit themselves to small subjects. In this piece, Walter tackles nothing less than the birth of a new personal universe, combining the particular and the transcendent in the...

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Proofreading Fun Facts–Plus a Cover Preview!

We just finished our first full proofread of our next issue (14.2, available in November). Here’s a sneak peek of the cover, which features a cropped version of Mary Jo Karimnia’s Delta Fair Sparklers: We’ve written in the past about our proofreading process—a quick summation for those not clicking through: Five staff members, three genre editors, and the authors all take a look at the issue. Then the five staff members gather for a two-day meeting to ensure all the necessary changes are entered in hard copy onto one set of proofs to return to our typesetter. In addition...

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Announcements, Apologies, and Appeals

  First, the announcement: The doors are open! Our Submission Manager is set once again for you to send us your submissions. As we noted in a blog post last week, we’ve altered our reading period to account for a backlog; we’ll now be accepting your stories, essays, and poems from September 1 through March 1. See our guidelines for more info. Next, our apology, to the couple hundred of you who submitted late in our last submission period (roughly January through March) and haven’t yet heard a response. We regret that it’s taking so long to get back...

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Submission Trends: Flotsam and Imago

Associate Editor James Ellenberger: For the past month I’ve been reading poetry submissions for the Robert and Adele Schiff Awards here at The Cincinnati Review. There have been some interesting patterns so far, particularly on the level of shared terminology. It isn’t unusual to read multiple poems in a single sitting about the same topic—the moon, the angelic homeless, or cicadas—but whenever the same (odd) language shows up again and again, often in sequential submissions, it’s hard not to wonder what’s up with our collective (un)consciousness. While some of the terminology will come as no surprise (fake news, Trump),...

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Reading. Period.

We’ve got some good news and some bad news: Submissions to The Cincinnati Review are up, which is great. The staff is the same size, which is good. But our response times are slower, which is terrifically upsetting to everyone, especially us. Something’s gotta give. And we’ve decided to make that unlucky something . . . the calendar. Sorry, calendar. Henceforth, our reading period will be September 1 through March 1. So, three weeks until the floodgates open, three weeks to write and revise. And don’t forget this year we’re debuting a weekly online feature, miCRo, consisting of flash...

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“Mnemosyne”: An Art Song Project

Poetry Editor Don Bogen: As I mentioned when we published the score of Carrie Magin’s setting of Todd Hearon’s poem “Mnemosyne” in our Winter 2017 issue, this particular commission brings our series of art songs full circle, since the project began four years earlier in a course on music and poetry Carrie taught at the University of Cincinnati.  Last year Carrie found Todd’s sonnet from our Winter 2012 issue and set it for baritone and piano.  Its first performance was at Interlochen Arts Camp in summer of 2016, with Ian Greenlaw singing and Brianna Matzke at the piano.  You...

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Multimedia Experience of “Albuquerque”

In Issue 14.1, we featured a stunning poem by Jessica Ankeny, “Albuquerque.” To accompany the text of the poem, we’re pleased to present this multimedia experience, with Ankeny reading the poem and some photos of images from it. https://www.cincinnatireview.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Albuquerque.m4a     Cotton seeds:   A New Mexico sunset:   The “old...

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“Albuquerque,” by Jessica Ankeny

I. It could be snow, the way it floats, or ash from ancient volcanoes awake and exploding. But instead it’s seeds wrapped in something like down, released by the thousands from cottonwood trees. If they land near water they grow but mostly they don’t. The sun starts to set and the air turns the color of a calm fire, as if there were such a thing. Fire is always growing or dying, and I love to feed it until it licks beyond what I can reach, then I kill it or it might take everything. II. My brothers and sister catch the seeds like fireflies. They ask if it glows in their hands. They’ve only seen the bright bugs on TV, where happy kids hold them and watch the light flickering, contained. And Mother waits for Father to come home. Maybe she just got back herself. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe he won’t. III. I watch the white spots slide across the achingly orange sun and catch one or don’t, and see the old volcanoes, so far away it would take a hard day of walking to get partly there; they slither into darkness. And the mother mosquitoes gather blood for their eggs, and the stars wake, and the crickets creak their noise to bring the females to them. But I will be different. And the spiders wake and weave...

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