Articles Archive - Page 71 of 89 - The Cincinnati Review

The Neighborhoods of Literary Cincinnati: A Personal History, by Pauletta Hansel

Cincinnati Review | November 3, 2023

Pauletta Hansel details her experiences with the literary community in Cincinnati.

Two poems by Allan Peterson

Cincinnati Review | October 31, 2023

Sanctuary Sound effects are a parallel life made of common materials wood blocks for hooves et cetera I hear thunder above a prairie I know to be shaken aluminum I know there is a horse under it not needing to be fed or broken Diction Great wheel pushing the river behind it Under it the …

Overtakelessness

Daniel Moysaenko | October 31, 2023 | Poetry

I Watching Black Sea sand draw away from your feet the lateness of faith—that teetering while slumped over a phone. That someone of the same hamlet knows little of it, of others of it. A menagerie of pottery shards and sheepskin. That a hermit is to others merely a country: a painting of a woman …

Three poems from After by Norman Finkelstein

Cincinnati Review | October 31, 2023

Norman Finkelstein pays homage to poets who’ve gone before.

“How to Swallow the Moon” by Hailey Leithauser

Cincinnati Review | October 31, 2023

In this poem from issue 20.2, Haley Leithauser offers some ideas for how to eat the moon.

Two poems by Jasmine Khaliq

Cincinnati Review | October 31, 2023

(To use the PDF embedder to see all pages of the poem, use the arrows on the bottom left-hand side.) See more poems from Issue 20.2 by purchasing a copy in our online store. Digital copies only $5.

“Corpus | Divine” and “The [ ] of Cloth”

Preeti Parikh | October 31, 2023 | Poetry

Two poems by Preeti Parikh in an exclusive excerpt from issue 20.2.

Installation Piece

LaTanya McQueen | October 31, 2023 | Literary Nonfiction

Everyday Something Has Tried to Kill Me and Has Failed

Kim McLarin | October 31, 2023 | Literary Nonfiction

Kim McLarin explores the perils and benefits of aging.

Untitled (Girl)

Alexandra Munck | October 31, 2023 | Fiction

You think summers in New York are humid now, but this is nothing compared to 1983. That year the air was full of heavy metals. Headless bodies in topless bars, the first AIDS vigil, candle flames seizing in a night that felt like wet fleece. When de Kooning’s Seated Woman got up and walked away …

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