Chicago Review

An international journal of literature, interviews, and reviews. For academic audiences.

Articles from Vol. 53/54, No. 4-1/2, Summer

Afterword
The poems published here, from the Barbara Guest archive at the Beinecke Library at Yale, never appeared in a collection. They were written fairly early in Guests long career, probably in the early 1960s. (Guest's first book was published in I960, her...
Buying In: Views from Entry Level
Yang, 24, Vegetable Farmer, Fujian Province(10 PM to Midnight, 16 November 2005. Yang was in bed with his hands on the counterpane. He interrupted himself now and then with a nervous habit: curling back his lips on the left side, he sucked cold air against...
DS (2): Dreamstories 2
Kamau Brathwaite, DS (2): Dreamstories 2. New York: New Directions, 2007. 272pp. $18.95DS (2)-the characteristically cryptic title of Kamau Brathwaite's latest work-stands for Dreamstories 2 and marks its status as a belated sequel to the little-known...
Eighty-Blade Sportsman's Knife, by Joseph Rodgers & Sons
Do not think of the secret transvection of theblade of the balisong counterrotating with such teleportal stealthit arrives cold at the neck, a vampire knifetransforming in air from sheathto edge and back again in a pulse likethe unaccountable translucent...
Horace
Tim Atkins, Horace. Oakland: O Books, 2007. 76pp. $12.The following is the third chapter of an unfolding critical novella on current British Poetry, to be entitled Corroded by Symbolysme: An Anti-Review of Twelve British Poets, Being Also a True Account...
Into the Heat-Forged Air
Far from the Rappahannock, the silent Danube moves along toward the sea.-John AshberyFar from the Pirin, the pointy Apennines plummet toward the sea.The gray and mauve Virungas undulate pleasantly, much likeThe Darlings in their slumber. Chuckling nomads...
Iron Door Knocker the Shape of a Man's Face, by Feetham
Has no fly laid a sac of eggsin the wet hole in the house finchdead on the back porcha week, ten days, not eventhe eyes missing, sometimesI sit by it and read, its March,there is fatness to the air, walkingto the bus, back from the bus, Imiss the confidenceswift...
Lost and Found in the Türler Losses
Barbara Guest contended throughout her poetry with its ever-present disposition to fragment. For her friend Frank O'Hara, survival was a matter of poise sustained in incessant polylogue. The self holds itself up by a repartee that short-circuits introspection....
Miasma
In the dream, the woman with the pit bull doesn't own a massage parlor and she doesn't fight with her ex-boyfriend. She doesn't cut the vines full of hundreds of nearly ripe kiwifruit down and expose a weathered gray fence. Behind the fence, the student...
Nine
Andrzej Stasiuk, Nine. Translated from the Polish by Bill Johnston. Orlando: Harcourt, 2007. 240pp. $23"Fuck that gun! What do I need a goddamn gun for? I'm a normal guy." How many of us, in our more stressed out moments, have uttered those words to...
No Exit
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.My soul like some heat-maddened summer fly,Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.-Theodore Roethke, "In a Dark Time"The Dark Night of the Soul, the darkest night.There is...
Silverware, by J.A. Henckels
Even though the fashion of courtesansto use a tiny fork to eat sticky dishesthat would otherwise stain their fingersprompted a church ban on this utensilwith which the devil himself prods whoresinto the fire and might explain the omissionof a fork at...
The Flowers of Evil
Charles Baudelaire, The Flowers of Evil. Translated from the French by Keith Waldrop. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan UP, 2006. 194pp. $16.95Some readers may well doubt that we need yet another translation of Baudelaire. After all, Les Fleurs du Mal is by far...
The Return of the BBQ Killers
That was the summer we rolled out the painkillers. Some were pink and yellow and orange and blue. Others were yellowish-blue, or light greenish-lightly ringed with crimson. The SAT test was sitting right there on the horizon, so we studied. From dawn...
The Ziggurat
for Rebecca BeachyThe rabbit crawled out the methane holeA page trembling in its mouth. MosquitoEggs patient in the Chariot wheelsDumped on the slope. Scraps paginate the air.I caught one. "Last Day to Save!" The rabbitSaw me as I cannot see myself and...
Wild Gardens Overlooked by Night Lights
Wild gardens overlooked by night lights. Parkinglot trucks overlooked by night lights. Buildingswith their escapes overlooked by lights.They urge me to seek here on the heightsamid the electrical lighting that self who exists,who witnesses light and...
Your Slightest Look
your slightest look easily will unclose methough I have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose-e. e. cummings, "somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond"Together...