An Interview with Anne Carson

Edited by Matthew Jakubowski ::

I first met the pair in their class “Egocircus” at the University of Michigan (an incarnation of the course on collaboration first offered at New York University). The seminar began with a series of curiosities: for example, Currie’s favorite shoes worn days prior were now suddenly relocated on Anne’s feet, and she allowed herself just a slight smile when he noticed. The way Carson and Currie moved about one another looked to me like a dance where each refused to lead.

Read the full interview here.


“All the World’s Men”

Llucia Ramis; Megan Berkobien ::

Uncle Joan had a Fiat. The few people who owned cars in Felanitx had to take the others to the warfront at Manacor. The frontlines frightened Uncle Tomeu, Joan’s brother-in-law, and so he offered to accompany him on those trips instead. On the ride there he stood on the door railing so that no one would complain about him taking up a free seat; on the way back, he’d sit next to Uncle Joan, who drove. During one of the trips to Manacor, an airplane passed right over their heads. Uncle Tomeu got spooked and jumped off to take cover. He fell on top of some bushes. He was cloaked in blood and covered in scratches. When he came back to Felantx, everyone asked whether he had been wounded at war.

Read the full story here.

“Milky Way”

Cristina Peri Rossi; Megan Berkobien ::

There were so many stars he felt he saw them not only through his eyes, not only did they flood his pupils and retinas and irises and eyelashes and the lake of his brow, but suddenly the stars invaded him, penetrating him through his ears, assailing his hearing, filling up his head, his hair, the air in his mouth. He had stars in his fingers and below his fingernails and his pockets were filled with stars and if he took a step his feet would crush the twinkling celestial bodies.

Read the full story here.

“By Night We Howl”

Care Santos; Megan Berkobien ::

But, what does a mountain of books matter when compared to the iron bridges, the concrete masses, the skyscrapers hurdled into the void? We heard them fall piece by piece, one by one. First the glass gave way, then the iron and cement frames. The entire city began to corrode. The rusty gangrene penetrated everything, even spreading to stone. The noise returned for a while: that of the collapsing of structures at one point erected by men, so self-fulfilled. By day, wind and foliage. By night, wolves howling at the moon.

And we, the ghosts, terrified, listening.


Read the full story here.

“Music and Petals”

Gabriela Damián; Megan Berkobien ::

In the depths of my head the melody booms alongside a groan, deep and dry; the combination submerges me in a thick drowsiness. I feel so heavy that I sink, I feel like all of me is paralyzed, but the strangest part is that it’s not my body that can’t move, but me. And, yet, there I am, I see everything happening in front of me while the notes repeat themselves, while the terrible sensation of a never-ending fall tickles my legs, and the sensation that it’s me and not my body that’s submerged in a black well of heavy waters, the music taking hold of my hands, of my flesh… My brother puts his eternally idiotic face back on as he climbs the stairs. And it’s only at that point that I return from that darkness, from that death.

Read the full story here.

“The Bridge”

Gabriela Damián; Megan Berkobien ::

I’m out in the open air, in the sun. The treetops are green and high up. I walk through tall grass, which whispers with the passing of a cool wind, almost cold, reminiscent of early spring. My grandparents’ house, where my aunt lived all her life, stands in front of me across a raging river that shines brightly in the daylight and throws its foamy bubbles along the rock bed. I near the bank to make sure that it can’t be crossed, for the water is colored topaz, warning of a risky depth. The iron door, whose twisted bars end in golden points, is closed. My aunt watches me from behind the iron bars. She has the same hairstyle as in my baby photos, the same scandalous-a-go-go makeup with false lashes that highlight her eyes, the same frozen smile. I know she’s dead.

Read the full story here.