2011 — The Monarch Review — Page 19
from INTERVIEW FOR PRIVATE PAIN REVIEW – Andrew Bartels
Thursday, February 10, 2011 15:15 — 3 Comments
A: You must feel a little like the pieces aren’t quite fitting together, existing as you are on the periphery of your own life, no?
The Last Eye-In-The-Sky – James Brantingham
Thursday, February 10, 2011 15:07 — 3 Comments
Ray was the last “Eye-In-The-Sky†Traffic Reporter. Traffic cameras and the internet had put him and his kind out of work at last.
Peasant Hands – James Hritz
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:57 — 0 Comments
Thick digits, Broad palms, Limestone cuticles: Emboldened against necessary.
On Losing Salinger – Rebecca Bridge
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:55 — 2 Comments
When I was sixteen I let my dad hypnotize me
THE LAST TIME I SAW HITCHCOCK – W. V. Montgomery
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:53 — 0 Comments
he was affable, polite, semi-retired and almost svelte, shuffling away from the podium where he had just shared his reminiscences with a class of eager film students.
Van Gogh’s Shoes – James Brantingham
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:49 — 0 Comments
A 1959 Plymouth Fury leans heavily onto Market Street from 17th – bumpers sagging, suspension shot, carburetor clogged, body bent and chrome peeling off like flesh after a July sunburn. The driver is too young to understand the angst attached to this garish horizontal impersonation of an idealized rocket.
Watermelon Heaven – James Brantingham
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:45 — 4 Comments
The crossroads on Mexican Highway 15 sit worn out and creased at a wide spot on the road just like a folded crease on a map.
Santa Fe in Vermont – William Doreski
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:45 — 0 Comments
At the Bellows Falls crossing a leased Santa Fe locomotive, blue and yellow, backs a string
Sidney Abramajtis – Dave Abramson
Monday, February 7, 2011 12:03 — 0 Comments
Sidney Abramajtis Dave Abramson’s composition Sidney Abramajtis leaves no question—it’s a gorgeous piece of music. Simple and naked, elegant.
The answer isn't poetry, but rather language
- Richard Kenney
