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MQR Online

An image of rain crystallizing on glass.

A Moment That You Couldn’t Tell: Riding the Gradient of the Lyric Essay

I In his poem “Because You Asked About the Line Between Prose and Poetry,” Howard Nemerov writes: Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzleThat while you watched turned to pieces of snowRiding a gradient invisibleFrom silver aslant to random, white, and slow. There came a moment that you couldn’t tell.And then they clearly flew instead […]

A Moment That You Couldn’t Tell: Riding the Gradient of the Lyric Essay Read More »

I In his poem “Because You Asked About the Line Between Prose and Poetry,” Howard Nemerov writes: Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzleThat while you watched turned to pieces of snowRiding a gradient invisibleFrom silver aslant to random, white, and slow. There came a moment that you couldn’t tell.And then they clearly flew instead

An Image of Rebecca Makkai set over a cover image of her book "I Have Some Questions for you"

Memory and Lyrical Interludes: An Interview with Rebecca Makkai

I had the experience of encountering Rebecca Makkai’s work for the first time this summer. I burned through her latest novel, I Have Some Questions for You, which came out last February, in one breezy May morning.  The propulsive novel follows Bodie Kane, a film professor and podcaster, as she returns to the boarding school

Memory and Lyrical Interludes: An Interview with Rebecca Makkai Read More »

I had the experience of encountering Rebecca Makkai’s work for the first time this summer. I burned through her latest novel, I Have Some Questions for You, which came out last February, in one breezy May morning.  The propulsive novel follows Bodie Kane, a film professor and podcaster, as she returns to the boarding school

An image of the book cover of Luiz Schwarcz's "Absent Moon" laid againt a white-gray background

Writing the Rest: Luiz Schwarcz’s Absent Moon

Luis Schwarcz begins his memoir atop a ski-slope, breathless with sudden anxiety at the descent before him. He’s not a novice skier, the trail is familiar, and the weather is clear, yet the fear grips him all the same. The scene never resolves. There is no triumph waiting—he remains forever suspended at the peak. For

Writing the Rest: Luiz Schwarcz’s Absent Moon Read More »

Luis Schwarcz begins his memoir atop a ski-slope, breathless with sudden anxiety at the descent before him. He’s not a novice skier, the trail is familiar, and the weather is clear, yet the fear grips him all the same. The scene never resolves. There is no triumph waiting—he remains forever suspended at the peak. For

An image of the book cover of Fady Joudah's "[...]: Poems" laid over a black-orange background

“Who is Without Echo?”: The Future Reader of Fady Joudah’s […]

[…] A continuation … a redaction … a conversation in process…the message that announces its hesitation—three blinking dots as a correspondent composes a response. Even before opening Palestinian American poet Fady Joudah’s latest collection, its pictographic title […] invites the reader to question their own reading practices. The book rebukes easy articulation, its title a

“Who is Without Echo?”: The Future Reader of Fady Joudah’s […] Read More »

[…] A continuation … a redaction … a conversation in process…the message that announces its hesitation—three blinking dots as a correspondent composes a response. Even before opening Palestinian American poet Fady Joudah’s latest collection, its pictographic title […] invites the reader to question their own reading practices. The book rebukes easy articulation, its title a

Image of a few sharpies and name cards on a chestnut brown desk.

Exchanging Names

The first thing I became aware of, as I stood blinking in the five-a.m. brightness of Taoyuan International Airport, was my own name staring back at me. It gleamed in thick black letters on a white poster board, but the poster wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was the individual holding it up. His

Exchanging Names Read More »

The first thing I became aware of, as I stood blinking in the five-a.m. brightness of Taoyuan International Airport, was my own name staring back at me. It gleamed in thick black letters on a white poster board, but the poster wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was the individual holding it up. His

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