Month: August 2017

Poetry

On Seeing the Georgia O’Keeffe Exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum (May 30th, 2017) by Linda Lerner

“a curse” she called that door stuck in a crumbling adobe wall even bought the house to get it and still…. not my problem, and I didn’t come here to hit a wall, but I did tried to get past what “the men” as she called them said she painted the men who saw vaginas everywhere lies they said of her oriental poppies, calla lilies, … Continue reading On Seeing the Georgia O’Keeffe Exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum (May 30th, 2017) by Linda Lerner

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Poetry

Historic Preservation VI

I saw my grandmother transform, like a stone monument I saw my grandmother, always composed and hardened in her emotions, her role toward me as consoler. Loving, yes, and joyful, but never sorrowful or crying. She never smiles in photographs, at least not fully. I remember her curled knuckles around my shoulders after a scratched knee, or the homesickness of staying overnight, we stayed up … Continue reading Historic Preservation VI

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Criticism

The Scandalous Implications of Being Able to Buy One’s Way Onto The New York Times Bestseller List

It’s no secret that the state of the bookselling business has long been in peril. Like the film industry, the only thing that tends to draw the attention of agents is something with franchise potential (ergo mass appeal). Accordingly, it makes perfect sense that the “book” responsible for taking the atrocious state of publishing to new heights is a YA “novel” by by Lani Sarem called Handbook … Continue reading The Scandalous Implications of Being Able to Buy One’s Way Onto The New York Times Bestseller List

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Poetry

Historic Preservation V by John Moessner

Great Aunt Helen’s house had stairs of legendary steepness. I remember crawling with my hands clutching the wooden boards of each higher step. She used to sleep up there until her back became hunched and the flight dangerous. She also had a pump organ and played a song for us every visit. So surprising her performance, this frail, bird nest of a woman with hollow … Continue reading Historic Preservation V by John Moessner

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Poetry

Historic Preservation IV by John Moessner

Blight runs a block dry, cut off like a limb without blood, clots stuck like leaves in chain-link. I pass DJ’s Snack Shack on my way to work at the downtown library. Closed for the day, year, generation, a sign hung perpendicular to the fading facade, a muted beige, what once was white paint baked to the color of creamed corn advertised in the window. … Continue reading Historic Preservation IV by John Moessner

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Poetry

Historic Preservation III by John Moessner

My father’s yard is his gospel to the world. All green, cut and tamed, like a circus lion he’d put his head into every hot day in July. When he’d feel nostalgic, which was more often than he’d let on, he’d mention his father, how he was sustainable before the word ever took to seed. He had a compost and vegetable garden that dared you … Continue reading Historic Preservation III by John Moessner

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Poetry

Historic Preservation II by John Moessner

Rain colors the joints of an oak coffee table set on the strip of grass between road and sidewalk. Ethan Allen, hero of a revolution, sits burned into its belly. The nicks and small dents of dropped mugs, or the rings from sweaty glasses, all highlighted by the humid shower and the drying, noon sun. One might hesitate to get rid of an heirloom, especially … Continue reading Historic Preservation II by John Moessner

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Poetry

Historic Preservation I by John Moessner

The walls of a 19th century church are cracking and falling away, and you try to save them, because you can’t save your father. The stained glass is brittle, the shallow panes in their thin iron veins darkened by damp and squatters’ fires, and the lime mortar used as a stop gap, to fill the holes of swallows and spider silk, looks jammed and fudged. … Continue reading Historic Preservation I by John Moessner

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Criticism

Doris Lessing Lambasts Maudlin Notions of Love in The Habit of Loving

Doris Lessing was never known for being a warm and fuzzy person. One supposes most truly great female authors–your Virginia Woolfs, Sylvia Plaths, Agatha Christies, Edith Whartons, et. al.–have always possessed a certain pragmatism about that Hollywood construct, love. Lessing was married twice, each marriage short-lived at four and six years respectively. Of leaving her two older children with her first husband in South Africa … Continue reading Doris Lessing Lambasts Maudlin Notions of Love in The Habit of Loving

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