Cesare Pavese: Displaced People
Suppose tomorrow, bright and early, we took a trip
to my hills. We could stroll through the vineyards and, maybe,
meet with a couple of girls, dark brown, ripened by the sun,
we could start a conversation and sample some of their grapes.
October 10, 2025 · 6 Comments
Fred Johnston: The Summer Before We Were Killed in the War
We’d double scull the river, splitting the river
Like a scalpel through silk
June 13, 2024 · 5 Comments
Paul Christensen: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Twit
I used to wander around on lower Broadway in Manhattan when I was still a teenager. I had a dead-end job at a valve company taking orders from plumbers wanting a gate valve or oversized coupling for an apartment building going up.
September 18, 2022 · 13 Comments
