Poets, wordsmiths, scribes, people of letters: This is your one week’s notice! We are accepting entries for our fabulous Robert and Adele Schiff Awards in Poetry and Prose through next Saturday, July 15. For only $20 per entry, you could win $1000 (two prices will be awarded: one for poetry and one for prose). On …
I know an old man who lives at the edge of the world, in Alaska, a town called Bethel. The first people arrived via ice bridge. Now we fly on planes. The old man lives with an old woman, his wife. He built the house they live in. He builds other things too, boats, furniture, …
We love that contributor JP Grasser’s poem “excavate” is featured on Poetry Daily today! To complement the poem, here’s his reflection on its origins: JP Grasser: I’ve spent the last three years trying to understand the nature of griefwork, its seeming paradox: You strive to dig up loss, dust it off, and bring it into the …
Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us … a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam … the only home we’ve ever known.—Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot (1994) Drill, baby, drill!—Michael Steele, 2008 Republican National Convention Photographed from 18,000 miles in 1972, Earth had the lookof a marble, or so people …
We’ve noticed an interesting trend here at The Cincinnati Review as we continue to read the poems, stories, and essays uploaded to our submission manager before the March 15 deadline: When we open up Microsoft Word files, we sometimes find ghosts of previous drafts lurking there in electronic form. In these cases, there’s a bright …
Red-tailed hawk Redring from a milk jugencountered on the MisheMokwa Trail But it wasn’t that plasticpiece of dread No The redof someone’s pony-tail holder something shedas involuntarily as redblood cells Mariafatigued unknowing blamingage I blamed some unknownhiker careless I thought droppingtrash amidst the blacksage and juniper Whodrinks milk on ahike I should havethought but didn’t …
At six, I didn’t know more than riding a Schwinn and climbing banyan trees. “Do you believe in God?”the two blonde girls from four doors down asked as our bikes circled endlessly in figure eightsaround each other. Well, I suppose one girl askedwhile the other simply rode, silently and blonde. They weren’t twins, but a …
Getting older, you never got old.A gold mine of girl: doe-eyed, sold. In front of the shutter’s clicking,you did what he said, lens-fucking,muttering No hope for women. Piano to camera-ready, plucked at eighteen,barely steady, heavy with mood. Suddenly, you made scarce, laid low.Suddenly, a surprise: you arrivedagain, new world, sullen girls telling tales. Here’s what …
We love hearing about what our esteemed colleagues in the Department of English & Comparative Literature are up to. In the latest installment of our Youtube series “What Are You Working On Now?” John Drury talks about his memoir and poetry projects. A professor of English at UC, John is the author of four poetry …
in the South, a body might do that, orit makes a body feel some type of way.Here rounding at the knees to support the body as it carries my keepingsup the hill; wrists in coats as a bodywalks around the city; picked a hair from my shoulder, but it wasn’t my hair.A body can confide. …
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