I was doing secretarial work for four editors across the company; none of them could type. They were working on the fiction, drama, poetry, and art lists. Postcards would come in from Beckett, or letters from William Golding and Tom Stoppard. I was in heaven. — The Art of Independent Publishing, Jonathan Lee interviews Fiona McCrae - Guernica / A Magazine of Art & Politics
In 1996, a federal court in Fort Worth found Jackson guilty of conspiracy to possess with intent to distribute methamphetamine, possession with intent to distribute methamphetamine, being a felon in possession of a firearm, and possession of an unregistered firearm.
Jackson, from the rural North Texas town of Boyd, needed thousands of dollars to pay for his critically ill son’s monthly medical expenses. Transporting meth seemed the only way to do it. He thought he had known all the risks involved but he hadn’t. He didn’t know he’d get busted. He didn’t know he would stand in the courtroom of a judge who would show him no mercy. He didn’t know the man who supplied the meth, a man Jackson had known for much of his life and considered a friend, would turn on him. And he didn’t know that his wife would be left without a husband and his children without a father.
The Life Sentence of Dicky Joe Jackson and His Family by J. Malcolm Garcia - Guernica / A Magazine of Art & Politics
Have you read our new issue yet? Featuring nonfiction from J. Malcolm Garcia, interviews with Fiona McCrae, Barbara Hamby, and Maria Teresa Horta, poetry from Anna Rose Welch and Tatiana Oroño, fiction by Jean McGarry and Ernesto Seman, and an interview with artist Madeleine Hunt Ehrlich.
Read it here.
My favorite photo of Caleb and me is a self-portrait taken on a beach at Ecola State Park on the Oregon Coast. We had hiked down a steep trail, stopping to lunch on smoked salmon and bagels, and ended up on a beach. The tide was low, and sand dollars dotted the shore. We scooped them up like prizes. We ran into the surf. We hugged. In the photo, we are both smiling, our heads pressed together.
When I look at that photo now, I wonder, “Where are those people? Where did they go?”
Just to the right of us was a cave. I had wanted to go in it, but the tide was coming in, and I was afraid of getting trapped and drowning. — It Will Look Like a Sunset by Kelly Sundberg - Guernica / A Magazine of Art & Politics
"Lore has it that audience members panicked when the life-sized locomotive came throttling toward them on the screen of the 1896 Lumiere brothers’ film The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat Station. But in 2013, audiences remain placid as they watch a tank barreling through the narrow street of a ravaged Syrian city. Casual observers of a reality recorded anonymously on cell phones and iPads, they witness the war over social media.
"However disparate these images may seem, they come together in the work of Czech artist Tomáš Svoboda. In Filmu uz se nebojim, or Not Afraid of Film Anymore, sequences from both the Lumieres’ famous early work and from the contemporary, unnamed video from Syria form the basis of an installation mounted at Jeleni Gallery in Prague this past November.”
Shooting Film, by Charlotta Kotik - Guernica / A Magazine of Art & Politics
Grant me the number of wishes you wished on yourself
Hold me like an in-law raving after Secret Santa for
everything that gets away
Kiss me when you’re done kissing yourself with your
dark gray lips, your coral teeth
I can’t get my skull around these midnight whimpers
I can’t help but play your games like an American fall
folds its own flag
"What was transformative was being at the inauguration, reading my poem, and realizing that the quest for home and identity had always been part of my work, but that I’d been home all along. I understood that my story, my mother’s story, the story of those hundreds of thousands of people up there, is America. I had the dawning of a new connection with America, a new love affair. Not a blind patriotism, but just an understanding that it is part of who I am."
Building in Verse, Parul Kapur Hinzen interviews Richard Blanco - Guernica / A Magazine of Art & Politics