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A Public Space

No. 16

Summer 2012

Robert Sullivan on the landscape of the American Revolution in Almanac; Suzanne Sullivan's revolutionary quilts; Guillermo Fadanelli at the beach; Gus Powell on the streets of Amsterdam; C.F. Ramuz at the circus; Jack Livings in China; Kathleen Jamie's pilgrimage to Rona; poems by Adrienne Rich, Robyn Schiff, Graham Foust, Joshua Beckman, and others; and introducing Annie Sloniker.

 

Table of Contents



 

Fiction

Donate!

Yang had come home from the factory for lunch.

Jack Livings


 

Fiction

Holy Week Vacation

Vacation has begun.

Guillermo Fadanelli


 

Feature

Almanac

History is in the panorama, buried like old stones or sediment from an older era.

Robert Sullivan


 

Feature

A Calculated Aimlessness

"Bob walks me to work every day at the preschool where I teach, and while we walk he talks to me about what he’s writing."

Elizabeth Gaffney


 

Fiction

The Circus

After the sun went down, you saw the streets of the town fill with people.

C. F. Ramuz


 

Fiction

Ruby

Her name was Ruby and she would have been nine.

Annie Sloniker


 

Art

Negative Space

A man and a woman move into a new apartment.

Gus Powell


 

Poetry

Tracings

This chair delivered yesterday / built for a large heavy man / left me from his estate / lies sidewise legs upturned

Adrienne Rich


 

Poetry

Two Poems

The day is perfectly just out of focus.

Graham Foust


 

Poetry

Tinnitus Asks a Question

Ringing on the street, you know, that day I saw / a girl on a bike get hit by a pickup

Samuel Amadon


 

Poetry

Amerithrax

The pure spores of anthrax / go forward

Robyn Schiff


 

Poetry

Two Poems

I can barely discern, / Through a murmur, / Erotic polyphony— / A diaphane, a daybreak.

Paul Verlaine


 

Poetry

Two Poems

Bug cloud was my cabin at sleepaway camp

Joshua Beckman


 

Poetry

[I Want You to Come Now!]

I want you to come now!

Kristina Lugn


 

Poetry

Two Poems

How long have I left you?—played the wolf / or the witch.

Simone Muench


 

Poetry

Shandong Morning

A farmer / takes his 87- / year-old mother / to Beijing / on a tricycle

Jon Cotner


 

Fiction

We’re Flying

Six o’clock came and went, but Angelika wasn’t really worried.

Peter Stamm


 

Feature

On Rona

Far over the horizon, out in the North Atlantic, where one might expect a clear run to Iceland or even Labrador, or, if anything, just a guano-streaked gull slum, the island of Rona is one last green hill rising from the waves.

Kathleen Jamie

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