All posts tagged: September 2026

Six Months After My Bell’s Palsy Diagnosis, I Consider the Meaning of ‘Fallow’ in Emily Dickinson’s Garden

By THERESE GLEASON

Pear tree

Emily Dickinson Museum (house and grounds), Amherst, MA

Half of Emily’s autumnal garden is sunlit at midmorning, but the little apple and pear trees in the orchard down the hill are shrouded in shadow, and I think of my face as equinox: how I woke last April to thorny vines in my neck coiling up my ear canal, with a numb tongue and drooping left lip and eye: a pox, a palsy on my seventh cranial nerve, inflamed and swollen in its bony channel, its roots and delicate capillaries choked off:  Then Space – began to toll, // as all the Heavens were a Bell, / and Being, but an Ear

Six Months After My Bell’s Palsy Diagnosis, I Consider the Meaning of ‘Fallow’ in Emily Dickinson’s Garden
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Excerpt from What Clever Friends: The Selected Letters of Jane Kenyon and Alice Mattison

By ALICE MATTISON and JANE KENYON
Edited by CHAD WRIGLESWORTH


Introduction by Alice Mattison

Jane Kenyon grew up across the road from a farm in Ann Arbor, Michigan. After she studied poetry with Donald Hall at the university there, they became friends and then married. He was from Connecticut, but had spent childhood summers on his grandparents’ farm in central New Hampshire. In 1975, Jane and Don went to live in that New Hampshire farmhouse.

After seeing a poem by Jane Kenyon, I ordered her first book, From Room to Room, published in 1978 by Alice James Books. At that time the press was in Cambridge, Massachusetts, publishing only New England poets, preferably women. It was a cooperative: the poets ran the publishing house with just one paid employee. Poets figured out policy, worked in the office, saw their books through the process of publication, and chose the next books to be printed.

I lived in New Haven, Connecticut, writing poems—sometimes stories—teaching part-time, looking after three small children. My husband, Edward, was a legal aid lawyer. When my own book of poems was chosen by Alice James in 1979, it was a particular thrill to meet Jane Kenyon. Putting in time at the office, we became friends.

Excerpt from What Clever Friends: The Selected Letters of Jane Kenyon and Alice Mattison
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Review: St. Ulphia’s Dead by By Scott Lambridis

By SCOTT LAMBRIDIS
Review by BRITTA STROMEYER

cover

“If you want the truth, you must ask someone else. Someone like me, who’s been here, on this island, all along,” writes author Scott Lambridis in his dizzying and darkly humorous debut novel, St. Ulphia’s Dead. Addictive and deceptive, the novel demands the reader’s full attention—as nothing is quite what it seems.

Review: St. Ulphia’s Dead by By Scott Lambridis
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The Wall Climbers

By AMAYA RANATUNGE

GalleFort

Galle Fort, Sri Lanka

Back home, the salt arrives before the sea. It rides on the evening wind, settles in your pores, and clings to the stone walls of the fort. On some evenings, when the waves are rough enough, the salt-bitter perfume of the sea accompanies a loud orchestra of sloshing and shushing, water lazily kicking the moist green moss on the bottom of the walls. Long before the sea comes into view, you taste it, saltier than the isso vade sold by the old man who pushes his cart through the fort everyday; you hear it, louder than the fretful tourists on the ramparts determined to take the perfect sunset photo for their Instagram; and you most definitely feel it, stickier than that melted Belgian chocolate ice cream from the nearby Gelato, dripping all over you.

The Wall Climbers
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Review: The Fifth Year by Marlen Haushofer

By MARLEN HAUSHOFER
Review by BRIANNA BEEHLERBook cover of The Fifth Year by Marlen Haushofer

When I was a child, I was afraid to go upstairs by myself at my grandparents’ house. At the top of the stairs was a print of Pablo Picasso’s 1937 painting, Weeping Woman’s Head with Handkerchief III, and the sight of the woman’s tears found its way into my dreams at night. I didn’t know the painting’s context and the casual violence against civilians in Guernica that it referred to, but the image of the woman’s suffering would give me a sense of vertigo, and in the night I imagined climbing the stairs only to lose my balance on sight of the woman’s tight grip and upturned face.

Review: The Fifth Year by Marlen Haushofer
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Chupacabra

By RODRIGO URQUIOLA FLORES
Translated by SHAINA BRASSARD

Story appears below in English and the original Spanish.

Translator’s Note
It is a pleasure to share my translation of this short story from contemporary Bolivian author Rodrigo Urquiola Flores. This semi-autobiographical work of fiction transports the reader to the windswept edges of the city of La Paz during the early and mid-1990s, when young children like the author and myself were cognizant of the mysterious and feared chupacabra as a topic of conversation and media coverage.

The story is part cataloging of the author’s first significant experiences and memories. Thrillingly, the narrator takes us on a journey from the neglect and loneliness of his spare, dusty home to the high drama of the soccer stadium. It is nothing short of a revelation. In this third space, he finds seemingly all the raw materials of life: effort, teamwork, luck, heartbreak, agony, triumph, relief. 

Through the storytelling of his Aymara grandmother, Urquiola also takes us back in time to the Ocobaya hacienda, a site of subjugation and domination. I have resisted translating – and therefore decontextualizing – pongo, patrón, and amo, the unique terms of racialized power associated with this social and economic system. Curious readers are invited to learn more about haciendas, a significant feature of not-so-distant Latin American history with meaningful connections to the plantation system of the United States.

Chupacabra
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