2013 — The Monarch Review — Page 23
TERRAFORM – Richard Kenney
Thursday, January 31, 2013 12:14 — 2 Comments
Then they transformed the air/earth interface
The Monarch Drinks With Lorin Stein
Tuesday, January 29, 2013 12:47 — 0 Comments
You may have read one of the many profiles of Lorin Stein since he became the editor of the Paris Review in April 2010. He has been described as “whippet-thin,†“aquiline,†“one of the most visible characters on the young literary scene.†And while literary media has enjoyed tracking his rise to prominence, he’s aimed to bring fiction and poetry, the discovery of new literary talent, back to the fore of the Paris Review’s mission. He’s done so by blending the roles of figurehead and steward, promoting the journal’s convivial reputation, and minding the parameters set by the journal’s first […]
Jacob Rosen
Monday, January 28, 2013 18:38 — 0 Comments
I’m sitting at a local coffee shop, tall soy latte on my right and iPhone in hand; here goes my typical internet skaadoodling on Facebook and Instagram. I guess you can call me a “Grammer” or “Instathusiast”. Either way, we are on a first name basis. Every once in awhile something catches my eye that deserves further investigation. That’s how I stumbled upon Mr. Jacob Rosen. For those of you unaware, Rosen is a cinematographer from Seattle, WA. His eye is something I find both intriguing and unique. At the young age of 23, he has made cinematography his full-time. […]
The Crow Of Suspicion – Caleb Powell
Tuesday, January 22, 2013 12:03 — 0 Comments
Jorge counted two months left to serve when he met Mariano, a new arrival to the Casa de Detenção de Paraná, a penitentiary in southern Brazil.  Mariano faced two to four years. Jorge and Mariano had grown up in neighboring favelas outside the city of Londrina. They came from equal dirt: unknown fathers who left pregnant lovers to disappear back to Londrina and their spouses; mothers that died in sadness, leaving quasi-orphans to be raised by elder cousins and aunts. For them, the inchoate sense that “crime paid when nothing else did†hardened into certainty with age.
La Luz
Monday, January 21, 2013 13:06 — 0 Comments
Where am I? Because right now it feels like I’m in Egypt, surrounded by red sand, pyramids in the background, palm trees – are there palm trees near the pyramids? Doesn’t matter. They pepper the landscape. The song I’m hearing continues to move and now I’m in the center of some crystal ball, purple and maroon sofas on some invisible floor. La Luz’s “Easy Baby†has me drifting in a wonderful daydream.
THE MOUNTAIN – Jim Krosschell
Tuesday, January 15, 2013 11:07 — 0 Comments
Downtown Hamilton was slightly off-limits for the teenagers who lived on the Mountain. Our parents never told us outright to avoid the girls and the bars and the roughnecks coming out of second shift at the giant Stelco plant on the shores of the lake. It was just assumed we would. Where I had come from just before this sojourn in Canada – a tiny town called Prinsburg on the plains of Minnesota – the parents would have declaimed in school board meetings and the Ladies Aid against the sin festering in a big city such as this, as if […]
And We’re Off!
Saturday, January 12, 2013 2:49 — 2 Comments
Hello everyone, and welcome to 2013. Like I feel most Januarys, I’m excited by the idea that the previous year has just been a warm up to the epic journey ahead. And when I think about it, I can’t help but notice how much that idea relates to my relationship with music. 2012 was full of new bands, albums, and songs that absolutely left me floored. Pickwick, My Goodness, Smokey Brights, The Hoot Hoots, Sallie Ford & The Sound Outside and a slew of other bands consumed my speakers, headphones, and computer screens, only leaving me craving more. Highlighted below […]
MINOTAUR – Sean Finucane Toner
Tuesday, January 8, 2013 13:22 — 0 Comments
I hear rumors of light through my bedroom window: gulls calling to each other, children playing in my neighbor’s yard, a sander grinding as another neighbor polishes his boat. The doorbell to my grandmother’s shore house rings in the hallway and I turn off my book on tape, ditch the headphones, knuckle my way out of my room and down the hall. I touch the back of a chair here and there as I move through the dining room, toe-tap the bottom of the living room couch and finally reach the screen door.
The answer isn't poetry, but rather language
- Richard Kenney
