2012 — The Monarch Review — Page 14
The Star Of Darfur – Mischa KK Bagley
Tuesday, April 17, 2012 13:49 — 1 Comment
The Rebel Justice and Equality Movement (JEM) yesterday morning accused the Sudanese Army of preparing to launch a combined military operation on its positions in the Darfur region along with the Janjaweed Militia.
When I Grow Up – Douglas Nordfors
Monday, April 16, 2012 1:55 — 0 Comments
I want to be an unpaid fireman, a pure
The Way Thought Moves
Wednesday, April 11, 2012 15:59 — 1 Comment
I recently had a conversation with the poet Caleb Thompson about the difficulty of “following a thought,†of moving logically from a preposition to a conclusion. He had been reading quite a few essays and was perhaps feeling awed by the talent these writers possessed of cutting through the static of daily “thought.†I replied that good essays are not an accurate record of a mind in motion—the literary equivalent of Muybridge’s photographs might be the Surrealists’ practice of automatic writing—the mind works through tangents, association, gaps, false memory, distraction. An essay that is well-structured, revelatory, and dense with meaning […]
Object Of Beauty – Felicia Spahr
Tuesday, April 10, 2012 13:27 — 0 Comments
The man wearing the green flannel jacket, tap-tapping his chestnut colored cane against the concrete, was looking, looking for the turquoise colored bird with a toupee of black sitting atop its head. The man had seen the bird, perched outside of the window at Toffenetti’s, had seen it on the sidewalk across the street, amidst the thousands of pairs of feet; like loose trash tumbling down an alley. The man sometimes felt the bird’s feet digging into his shoulder, its feathers so close to his skin that he thought they might be grazing it; a light tickle, the pad of […]
Aftertaste – Leah Silvieus
Monday, April 9, 2012 2:00 — 1 Comment
. Â Â Â Â Â The hands acquire a flavor
Pop Music Died with Kurt Cobain (but there aren’t enough shovels)
Wednesday, April 4, 2012 1:02 — 1 Comment
I went to hear Mike Dumovich perform tonight at the Royal Room in Columbia City. To my chagrin, I didn’t make it in time to hear Diminished Men opening, but I arrived just in time to catch Mike’s set from beginning to standing ovation end. It was a gorgeous hour of music. Backed by an accomplished array of musicians, Mike conjured twilight worlds and a host of glimmering figures that move within them. It was a delight to find a number of old friends in the audience afterward, many of them mainstays in Seattle’s music scene, and to know that […]
Colette-Yasi Naraghi
Tuesday, April 3, 2012 19:57 — 0 Comments
Chicago 2008, Silver Gelatin Print St. Louis 2008, Silver Gelatin Print Berlin 2010, Silver Gelatin Print Berlin 2010, Silver Gelatin Print Berlin 2010, Silver Gelatin Print Montréal 2011, Silver Gelatin Print
Orchestration – DJ Swykert
Tuesday, April 3, 2012 13:09 — 0 Comments
The bullets screech through the air like notes off the strings of a violin. I respond with a burst of fire from my rifle instead of a wave of my baton. I am conducting a symphony in the key of M16 major. I stand at my podium in a foxhole wishing the movement would end–the applause would come and I could take a bow and return to my dressing room. A soldier strikes a single chord when a bullet pierces his chest. He is only a few yards from me. I hear him groan. His body arches backwards and falls […]
Word Graffiti from Central Mexico – Dan Hedges
Monday, April 2, 2012 0:13 — 1 Comment
Between alpha-thoughts
Safety Of Newborn Children – Kelly Schrock
Tuesday, March 27, 2012 13:26 — 1 Comment
“The Safety of Newborn children Lawâ€, the screen says, “Offers parents a safe place to leave a newborn infant.†Confidentially. Without fear of punishment. She rubs the fading bruise on her shoulder. It’s turned yellow-green in the last week. Soon it will dissipate only into memory. Eventually it will fade even from that sinuous, shifting world. Replaced by something brighter, more immediate. The child tugs in her belly and stretches its tiny knees. Feet thump and run in her insides. She imagines a dimpled little toe poking through her belly button, a leg uncurling behind it, and a wet, tiny […]
The answer isn't poetry, but rather language
- Richard Kenney
