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Brace Cove

August 21, 2024 Dispatches

The ocean's waves hitting rocks on a shoreline.

Photos courtesy of author.

Gloucester, Massachusetts

It was mid-winter, so I timed my afternoon walk to end before the early night. Heading to the beach, I crossed a sea-battered causeway that dropped off to the salty Atlantic on one side, and the fresh water of Niles Pond on the other, ending at Brace Cove. Formed by two boat-breaking arms of intertidal granite, waves were still crashing into the cove from a recent storm. Migratory seabirds struggled to fly in the crosswinds. Added to the elemental roar of water was the steady screech of stones grinding in the surf, too rough a day even for the resident seals. As I stepped down from the causeway and onto the beach, I saw a man with binoculars around his neck. He was talking on the phone and there was a large, motionless shape at his feet.

The Common Magazine Announces 2024-25 David Applefield ’78 Fellow

August 19, 2024 News and Events

(Amherst, Mass. August 19, 2024)—Award-winning, international literary journal The Common announced today that Kei Lim ’25 will be the second recipient of the David Applefield ’78 Fellowship. The fellowship, the magazine’s first endowed student internship, was established in 2022 by a group of friends and family of David Applefield, a literary polymath who attended Amherst College and founded Frank, an eclectic English-language literary magazine based in Paris. The David Applefield ’78 Fellowship funds one student intern annually who possesses exceptional editorial and leadership skills.

Among other responsibilities, the Applefield Fellow coordinates the Weekly Writes Accountability program, leads the Level I section of the Young Writers Program for high school students, and provides research and production support for podcasts. In addition, the Applefield Fellow trains and mentors other interns, and organizes events for the Amherst College community.

Kei Lim ’25 arrives at the position following two years as an editorial assistant for The Common. They are also Co-Editor-in-Chief of Amherst’s student-run newspaper, The Amherst Student, an instructor for the creative writing nonprofit Cosmic Writers, and have worked in the houses and collections of the Emily Dickinson Museum. Their poem “Evergreen” was published online at The Common.

Lim thanks the more than 50 friends, classmates, and family of David Applefield who contributed to the fellowship fund for their generosity and trust, as well as the magazine’s staff for their continuous mentorship. “I am grateful to continue supporting the wonderful literary community and mission The Common fosters,” Lim said.

Announcing The Common’s Fifth Literary Editorial Fellow

August 19, 2024 News and Events

(Amherst, Mass. August 19, 2024)— The Common has announced Sam Spratford ’24 as the 2024-25 Literary Editorial Fellow, marking the fifth year of the fellowship at Amherst College’s award-winning, open-access literary journal.

Launched in 2020 with the generous support of the Whiting Foundation and sustained by Amherst College alumni donors, the Literary Editorial Fellowship (LEF) was introduced with three goals in mind: to strengthen the bridge between The Common’s existing Literary Publishing Internship (LPI) for undergraduates and the professional publishing world; to provide real-world literary experience for an Amherst graduate, transferable to a wide range of fields; and to increase the capacity of The Common’s publishing and programming operations.

You Have a Mouth: Rachel Morgenstern-Clarren interviews Ani Gjika

August 12, 2024 Interviews

ANI GJIKA’S An Unruled Body won the 2021 Restless Books Prize for New Immigrant Writing and has been longlisted for the 2024 Mass Book Awards in Nonfiction. In this interview, Ani Gjika and poet and translator RACHEL MORGENSTERN-CLARREN delve into the profound influence of language and literature, particularly in the context of women’s liberation. They explore the pivotal role of books and language in empowering women, and shed light on the transformative and essential nature of literary expression in combating censorship, serving as a form of healing after traumatic experiences, and offering a new language to write about and confront the past.

Daddyland

August 8, 2024 Poetry

By CIGAN VALENTINE

I.
In my dreams, I see our house,
Strong and proud like a monolith,
A monument to your mythology
Marked by the lighter squares of paint
Behind missing picture frames
And slowly rotting walls.
A hole in the drywall,
The ceiling falling through.

Genealogies

August 7, 2024 Dispatches

By LILY LUCAS HODGES

A golden object, shaped like a window with open shutters, sits atop a reddish wood table. The object is busy with delicate engravings: a cross; simple human forms, some adorning heart icons on their chests; water droplets; and palpitating lines. To the right is a container of prayer candles.

Photo courtesy of author.

San Francisco, CA

Gold is all you notice at first. A triptych dressed in shiny monochrome. The center of it is just above eyesight, so you’re left looking up at of Keith Haring’s altar, Life of Christ, an imposing piece, big enough to hold most of your gaze and envelop your mind. Haring made the original cast in 1990 and it’s considered his final work. Grace Cathedral in San Francisco acquired this edition in 1995 for its Interfaith AIDS Memorial Chapel.

Shadow Count

August 5, 2024 Essays

By LAURA MARRIS

Somewhere in those years of 6 a.m. flights, I developed a recurring dream of a place I knew in the northwesternmost corner of Connecticut, where stone walls snaked among the trees of a forest that had once been farmland. The kind of town where the post office is also home to two chipmunks, one messy and one clean. A place full of wild birds, the flocks of my earliest childhood, vortexes of robins where rural woods broke open into fields. Where I had dug in the streambed and drunk the shimmer of mica with the silt. Where old traces of human mining and clear-cutting had been softened by an enveloping abundance. I felt myself wanting to check on it, wondering how it was doing.

The Visual Poetry of Anzhelina Polonskaya

August 1, 2024 Poetry, Translation

By ANZHELINA POLONSKAYA
Translated from the Russian by ANDREW WACHTEL

Poems appear below in English and the original Russian.

Translator’s note

Anzhelina Polonskaya frequently writes poems inspired by visual artists. These are not, however, ekphrastic renderings of an image in words, but rather a snapshot of the emotions that a given painter’s work evokes. In the poem “After Breughel,” published here, we need to ask, what precisely makes the text Breughelesque? To me, it is the anthropomorphized image of snow, with its dead white eyes in the first stanza, contrasted with the scarlet color (of blood, hell, the burning bush). This unsettling juxtaposition creates the Breughelesque landscape which has destroyed the artist, as in the painting Dulle Griet from 1563. But Polonskaya provides her picture without the scaffolding of a narrative, and, as far as the translator’s job goes, I needed to avoid explaining the poem, rather allowing the translation to be as allusive and mysterious as the original.

—Andrew Wachtel

After Breughel

Snow, listen up. Your eyes are dead.
We know full well we’re being led
like hostages of universal blindness.
Who are we, then? Unknown and homeless.

Podcast: A.J. Rodriguez on “Papel Picado”

July 26, 2024 Podcast, Podcasts & Audio

Listen on Apple Podcasts.

Listen on Spotify.

Transcript: A.J. Rodriguez

A.J. Rodriguez speaks to managing editor Emily Everett about his story “Papel Picado,” which appears in The Common’s most recent issue. A.J. talks about the process of writing and revising this story, which explores a fraught moment in the life of a Latino high schooler struggling under the pressures of family, friendship, and expectation in Albuquerque, New Mexico. A.J. also discusses how his writing has changed over time, and why he’s always writing toward not just a specific character’s experience but also the complex community of a place.

July 2024 Poetry Feature: Megan Pinto

July 25, 2024 Poetry

By MEGAN PINTO

Excerpted from “even in silence”

My father is perseverating, moving around the edges of rooms. On repeat, he asks, but how will
we pay for it? How will we pay for it?

He follows me, my mother, then me, then my mother. Inside my childhood home, there are only
so many rooms.

On Christmas Day, I bake a loaf of frozen bread. I feed slices to my father with my hands, then
catch each chewed up bit he pushes back out with his tongue.

He is speaking.
I am numb.