The Paris Review - Fall 2016

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Lawrence Joseph IS WHAT IT IS Fulton near Pearl, dug up to lay new Fulton Center subway power lines, a stone wall, three feet high, in silt-muck seven feet below street level, inside it a ceramic bird’s half-blue, half-yellow head, stem of a pipe, chunk of glazed seventeenth-century stoneware decorated with the arms of Amsterdam, huge turkey vultures taking a liking to the landfill, the preferred source of food for peregrine falcons is pigeons. His own police department, the mayor brags, seventh-largest army in the world, and remember, too, the United Nations is here, so he has his own state department, too, an entrée into the diplomatic world. Gets deep inside the head, this man says—he’s permanently disabled—affects you emotionally, what’s happened here, pulverized glass, concrete, lead, asbestos traces, crap, he calls it, here, he shows you the albuterol and epinephrine he must at all times carry. To cool your head you walk. Statue of Confucius on the Bowery, rice-bean cakes, chicken feet, curried squid on Division, under the Manhattan Bridge, on Canal to Seward Park, a piece of torn yellow tape tied to a tree, this woman shouting into her smart phone go fuck yourself and die, large black letters—in Russian?—on the freighter’s hull fade imperceptibly into one another. Supply route to deliver food to non-government-held areas in Aleppo severed, three hundred thousand at risk of starvation, electricity cut off, markets, houses, schools, bombed hospitals, migrant smuggling worth more, now, than the trade in drugs and weapons—those profits confined to those in a position to play, venture capital, private equity, hedge-fund operators, stock buybacks leveraged, paid for by money borrowed at artificially low Federal Reserve Bank–charged interest rates, 161
newly minted Treasury obligations validating private-sector asset prices into the trillions, statist-sanctioned racketeering— is what it is. “But after all, I am a lawyer. So I can never get away from evil,” Kafka said—Franz Kafka, legal officer, Workers’ Accident Insurance Institute, the Kingdom of Bohemia—whose report “Measures for Preventing Accidents from Wood-Planing Machines,” among other things, depicts work-related dissevered fingers. Flint is what it is. Knowingly to force the poor to purchase and use toxic water isn’t a form of chemical warfare, isn’t a form of genocide? 162
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HERMÈS BY NATURE
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THE TRENCH BOOT IN HORWEEN® BROWN
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“. . . one of the most influentia
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Editor Managing Editor Web Editor A
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#EVERYDAYMADEWELL MADEWELL.COM
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Michael Robbins WALKMAN I didn’t
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Crime’s 1976 classic “Hot Wire
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the resurrection of the body and li
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saying I was glad to help the cause
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Just think: there was a song that I
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name, twice, as though it were bein
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So what’s the story about? my mot
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eyes that some days seem black—an
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Wanda walks into a bar and stands b
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designed to fulfill the desires of
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Karen Solie A HERMIT Experience tea
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Manuscript page of “The Diabetic
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some Langston Hughes in the newspap
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attic of our house in Buffalo and p
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INTERVIEWER What appealed to you ab
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children were bombed at the 16th St
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INTERVIEWER I know you and Baraka h
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Last Stand of White Nationalism.”
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REED With literature you can condem
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But I do have problems with some fe
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tried to get the cash register by m
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INTERVIEWER Do you think that over
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wrote a long essay on James Baldwin
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Reed, 2015. “Combative writing ha
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Ishmael Reed THE DIABETIC DREAMS OF
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Floor, and the windows were Gingerb
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No Cops ANDREW MARTIN The ants had
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his literary status that made him s
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she’d get fired. Leslie couldn’
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home, and they’d lain on the hard
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“Right, like I’m going to just
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ONCE THE READING was underway, Lesl
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“Just fucking write something,”
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They followed the exodus out of the
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She would start writing when she go
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Protectors AMIE BARRODALE She cut t
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ack nails didn’t actually need to
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Sauce”; “Homemade Natural Fizzy
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The door to the guest room opened w
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“A Milk-Bone.” “And does she
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“Well, maybe. I can’t tell actu
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A dark room full of birds where I s
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desire to draw. I would draw everyt
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San Rocco, 2004, gouache, 12" x 9".
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Drawing Together, 2000, watercolor,
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This spread : Quotidian Paradise, 2
Page 115 and 116: Stations, 1990, oil on canvas, 60"
Page 118 and 119: The Moment Rethought, 1991, oil on
Page 122 and 123: Eurydice, 9-16, 1995, gouache, each
Page 124 and 125: change, continuing ~ look, look aga
Page 126 and 127: fell soundless on the shadowed snow
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Page 130 and 131: petrels taking flight. They turn to
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Page 134 and 135: to the light below the bridges—wa
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Page 138 and 139: ~~~ The river surges, then eddies t
Page 140 and 141: a line of the river stays true to i
Page 142 and 143: to the boat turned counterclockwise
Page 144 and 145: understood, star-crossed, unrequite
Page 146 and 147: Panthers ANN BEATTIE Little Edgar c
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Page 150 and 151: Yes, he nodded. Out of the corner o
Page 152 and 153: “Little Edgar, get your little bu
Page 154 and 155: “Mrs. Rodriguez, Edgar has been t
Page 156 and 157: “We live in Key West. My friend w
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Page 160 and 161: He’s maybe going to have to go ba
Page 162 and 163: “Little Edgar,” she repeated.
Page 166 and 167: The Well AKHIL SHARMA We lived frug
Page 168 and 169: Years passed. We moved from Queens
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Page 172 and 173: just like there was in me. The symp
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Page 176: Rowan Ricardo Phillips LITTLE SONGS
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Page 181 and 182: I knew him warmly, but I did have a
Page 183 and 184: With my best and not even particula
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Page 187 and 188: ecall. It was meant to be George Pu
Page 189 and 190: This was the era of the Vietnam War
Page 191 and 192: most of Mao’s works at one time o
Page 193 and 194: We didn’t talk about poetry much,
Page 195 and 196: Shall I shut the door on this book?
Page 197 and 198: elations. I was clumsy, and inexper
Page 199 and 200: PRYNNE He was a great fountainhead
Page 201 and 202: this phenomenon of molecular forces
Page 203 and 204: about Parmenides as an author you c
Page 205 and 206: ight at the conclusion of the poem,
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Page 211 and 212: Four Poems by J. H. Prynne YET WHY
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Marker Studio Front Door, 2012.
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identical to himself ? How do you r
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Kosmos: Red Bath, Zvezda, Moscow, 1
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of kitsch), no dust; the thousands
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Marker Studio #7, 2007.
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Marker Studio #4, 2007.
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Charles Simic HISTORY Our life stor
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CONTRIBUTORS AMIE BARRODALE’s fir
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WWW.HONEYANDWAXBOOKS.COM
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The Paris Review - Fall 2016

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