Front page

Nonfiction

Listening to Opus 110
Mark Mazullo

If truth is not in the face, then where is it? In the hands! In the hands.

–Ann Michaels, Fugitive Visions

How is it that the work of art, when I arrive at a new understanding of it, having chased down yet another horizon of meaning, is already there waiting for me, meaning what it has always meant…

Fiction

John Sayles

“It’s not like I won the lottery, dude,” says Brent. “It is a fucking lottery. There’s just over four hundred elk licenses this year and like twelve thousand guys applying, plus if you’ve struck out before, your name shows up more times–the more years you signed up and whiffed, the better your chances.”

Poetry

Derek Mahon

I shall die in due course on a day of rain.
Not in the last bed by the exit, please,
with a loud sitcom on the gogglebox
but in an armchair during a sunshower

Reviews

The question of what it means to be a Jewish American writer has as many answers as it does authors. Consider Isaac Bashevis Singer, then Cynthia Ozick; Bernard Malamud juxtaposed with Philip Roth; or Rebecca Goldstein and Allegra Goodman: magisterial, demotic, irreverent, earnest, schticky, obsessed, feminist …

YR Online

Sara Schaff


One Christmas, I almost stole a pair of designer jeans from the daughter of a famous rock star. I was staying with my aunt and uncle in the rock star’s New York loft apartment—the three of them were old friends. Neither the rock star nor his daughter were in town.


Raymond Abbott


This week I went to a key shop a few miles from my home. I wanted only one key made, but I’ve learned when you go to a hardware store, for example, sometimes your new key does not work. This is frustrating and annoying.


YR Redux

Jonathan Williams, “Beauty and the Beast” (Francine du Plessix Gray and Joel Oppenheimer—detail), 1952; Black Mountain Museum and Arts Center

How captivating, in the span of two months, to study painting with Ben Shahn and Robert Motherwell, dancing with Merce Cunningham, music with John Cage, writing with Charles Olson.

From “Charles Olson and an American Place” by Francine du Plessix Gray, The Yale Review, Vol. 76, no. 3, Spring 1987

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