In the Current Issue
Allegiances
By Noah Warren
The Moment of Distraction
By Amit ChaudhuriThis is the final installment of Amit Chaudhuri’s column, The Moment. Last year, I commuted between Oxford and Norwich, where I teach in the autumn. On Mondays, I took a train via London; on Tuesday evening, I took the same route back. It’s a fo…
The Daily
The Moment
Virginia
By James SalterSt. Patrick’s Day was sunny and unusually mild, men were in shirtsleeves and from the appearance of things work was ending at noon. The bars were full. Coming into one of them from out of the sunlight, Philip Bowman, his eyes blinded, could barely make out the faces along the bar but found a place to stand near the back where they were all shouting and calling to one another.
From the Archive, Issue 203
Fiction
Deana Lawson: A Preview
By Deana LawsonOver the last ten years, Deana Lawson has created a landscape of found intimacy. Using medium- and large-format cameras, Lawson works with models she meets in the United States and on travels in the Caribbean and Africa to construct arresting, highly…
The Daily
Look
Marijuana Notation
By Aram Saroyanmy eyes— / back there / in the mirror ...
From the Archive, Issue 49
Poetry
Advertisement
Poetry Rx: Poor Deluded Human, You Seek My Heart
By Kaveh AkbarIn our column Poetry Rx, readers write in with a specific emotion, and our resident poets—Sarah Kay, Kaveh Akbar, and Claire Schwartz—take turns prescribing the perfect poems to match. This week, Kaveh Akbar is on the line. Dear Poets, I am…
The Daily
Poetry Rx
Nairobi
By Joyce Carol OatesEarly Saturday afternoon the man who had introduced himself as Oliver took Ginny to several shops on Madison Avenue above 70th Street
From the Archive, Issue 87
Fiction
Ambassador
By Hampton Hawes and Don AsherEver since I was a kid reading Terry and the Pirates I’ve always dug uniforms. I dug football uniforms, the clash of team colors against each other, and the heavy German uniforms in World War II movies; I dug braid and insignia, Ike jackets were very cool and air force blues. Whenever I drew a picture in school it was of an air force pilot in smart blues with wings and ribbons. My greatest desire was to fly a P40 over Europe and come back and have my parents say, “You were a bad motherfucker up in that sky.”
From the Archive, Issue 55
Fiction
Notebooks
By Elizabeth BishopElizabeth bishop was born in 1911. Her mother was institutionalized in 1916, and after a brief, miserable stay in her paternal grandparents’ home in Worcester, Massachusetts, Bishop went to live with her mother’s oldest sister, Maud, and her husband, George Shepherdson, in Revere, a town north of Boston.
