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Byline: Joel Newberger

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Susan Howe in “Middle Air”

November 22, 2013 is when Susan Howe and David Grubbs sit in Woolworth Hall. Susan Howe and David Grubbs are at Princeton to perform their fourth collaboration, WOODSLIPPERCOUNTERCLATTER. There is no light in the room. A sun is outside, near … Read More

by Joel Newberger on November 30, 2013December 1, 2013

The son-poem continues

The son-poem continues / by these pastoral lines , / in my ears put / by father , as / words of the mouth of / the poem ‘ s / father , on a short morning / saunter / he set out on alone /

by Joel Newberger on October 12, 2013October 12, 2013

From the Editors

You are so thirsty. You may even be dehydrated. Scorching was the summer that just past, and wet classes and wet friendships are not yet arrived. But relief is near. For if you are reading the Nassau Weekly—and we surmise that you are reading the Nassau Weekly—you are about to become rather damp.

by Joel Newberger, Will Pinke on September 8, 2013September 8, 2013

Polis Is This

I grew up in Newton, Massachusetts, a quiet settlement eight miles from Copley Square. The Marathon’s route follows Commonwealth Avenue through Newton into Boston. My house is a block from the Marathon’s 20-mile marker, in the middle of Heartbreak Hill, the most notorious of a series of four steep ascents that runners must endure as they pass through the city.

by Joel Newberger on May 9, 2013September 28, 2013

Arcadian Rhythms

I sit and breathe and try to recall my whole life. I now sit serenely in the brush by this shouldering road. It winds tightly through the Peloponnesian town of Megalopolis, where I sit, through the pink stucco homes clinging staccato to the high side of the mountain our bus, heaving, climbed. Rapt speech in the restaurant behind is mere chatter.

by Joel Newberger on March 28, 2013June 9, 2013

The son poem begins:

‘ . . . And what greater calamity
[be]falls . . . than the loss of worship . . .
or , in the first eras , territory , river ,
and sure on that tongue . . . my elder-tongue . . .

by Joel Newberger on February 23, 2013September 11, 2013

De Sabbatina

At school, I no longer had to wait. I was free to do as I pleased and ceased observing the day altogether. But strangely, immediately, Shabbat presented itself to me in a transfiguring light, the radical antidote to all that displeased me here.

by Joel Newberger on December 6, 2012March 22, 2013

WIll My Eyes Be Closed or Open?

Ordinary, suicidal thoughts in Emerson and Bjork’s “Hyperballad”.

by Joel Newberger on November 21, 2012March 22, 2013

Sun-Dance

Pee-poem.

by Joel Newberger on November 14, 2012March 22, 2013

in the morning, in the light

Breath-poem.

by Joel Newberger on November 7, 2012March 22, 2013

The dead earth sighs,

Poem.

by Joel Newberger on October 17, 2012March 22, 2013

Peaches and Penumbras

Independent life and the lesson of Ginsberg.

by Joel Newberger on October 12, 2012March 22, 2013


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