Fall 2019: What Does Europe Want Now? – Page 4 – Michigan Quarterly Review

Fall 2019: What Does Europe Want Now?

Child sitting on steps with doll

“Tights” & “Stone”

Bronka Nowicka’s poems, “Tights” and “Stone,” translated from the Polish by Katarzyna Szuster, appear in the Michigan Quarterly Review’s Fall 2019 Europe issue. Tights It likes the taste of a knee. In the summer, it has mouthfuls straight from the skin, in the winter, through tights until its tongue is covered with cotton hairs. With […]

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Bronka Nowicka’s poems, “Tights” and “Stone,” translated from the Polish by Katarzyna Szuster, appear in the Michigan Quarterly Review’s Fall 2019 Europe issue. Tights It likes the taste of a knee. In the summer, it has mouthfuls straight from the skin, in the winter, through tights until its tongue is covered with cotton hairs. With

collage of three book covers of Without Protection by Gala Mukomolova

Sacred Service: A Review of “Without Protection” & a Conversation with Gala Mukomolova

Sometimes when language is song-like and rhythmic, it’s because it’s coming from a core part of yourself that’s not interested in façade. It’s an inner layer. Like a hum, a vibrational hum in the throat

Sacred Service: A Review of “Without Protection” & a Conversation with Gala Mukomolova Read More »

Sometimes when language is song-like and rhythmic, it’s because it’s coming from a core part of yourself that’s not interested in façade. It’s an inner layer. Like a hum, a vibrational hum in the throat

collage of three images of the Honey I Killed the Cats by Dorota Maslowska book cover

Performing Friendship: A Review of “Honey I Killed the Cats”

she stood there, smelling sweetly of sweat, shawarma, lipstick, the several different perfumes she’d quickly sprayed on herself at Sephora, hair spray, and hot love, with its intrinsic note, it so happens, of urine.

Performing Friendship: A Review of “Honey I Killed the Cats” Read More »

she stood there, smelling sweetly of sweat, shawarma, lipstick, the several different perfumes she’d quickly sprayed on herself at Sephora, hair spray, and hot love, with its intrinsic note, it so happens, of urine.

yellowish picture of clothing lines doned with towels hanging across an alley in a european city

We Are Always Us: The Boundaries of Elena Ferrante

How easy it is to tell the story of myself without Lila: time quiets down and the important facts slide along the thread of the years like suitcases on a conveyor belt at an airport: you pick them up, you put them on the page, and it’s done.

We Are Always Us: The Boundaries of Elena Ferrante Read More »

How easy it is to tell the story of myself without Lila: time quiets down and the important facts slide along the thread of the years like suitcases on a conveyor belt at an airport: you pick them up, you put them on the page, and it’s done.

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