Byline: Joel Newberger

Arcadian Rhythms

I sit and breathe and try to recall my whole life. I now sit serenely in the brush by this shouldering road. It winds tightly through the Peloponnesian town of Megalopolis, where I sit, through the pink stucco homes clinging staccato to the high side of the mountain our bus, heaving, climbed. Rapt speech in the restaurant behind is mere chatter.

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From the Editors

You are so thirsty. You may even be dehydrated. Scorching was the summer that just past, and wet classes and wet friendships are not yet arrived. But relief is near. For if you are reading the Nassau Weekly—and we surmise that you are reading the Nassau Weekly—you are about to become rather damp.

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Being There

Egypt is the place to be right now. Personally, I don’t want to be there, but it is certainly the best place to be. I am jealous of those who are there right now. Before I explain why, a little … Read More

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Levinski Park: Abroad, Alone, and Adrift

My friend James is soft-spoken; he talks instead of screaming and whispers instead of talking.

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Just a Tiny God

Last Sunday, I spoke with one of my dear friends about God. We were walking down some path strewn with magnolia petals, as the sun finally shone through the trees, talking about the trees, the breeze, the news.

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The Somewhat Sterile Projectors

Reviewing “Gun Has No Trigger” in the shade of the past.

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The son-poem continues

The son-poem continues / by these pastoral lines , / in my ears put / by father , as / words of the mouth of / the poem ‘ s / father , on a short morning / saunter / he set out on alone /

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For the Superior Wiper

Said a pseudo-American prophet, “p— is sooooo crucial!” I am really American, so I believe in this very hard. And, as really important things must happen in cool places (the defenestration of Prague was in the castle, births and deaths … Read More

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Beach Baby

Rarely is one so revised by experience, which like a river washes away the calcified sand of the soul to describe itself there anew. Rare, too, is the ability to recognize this revision. School had just ended, its shoulder-weight just … Read More

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WIll My Eyes Be Closed or Open?

Ordinary, suicidal thoughts in Emerson and Bjork’s “Hyperballad”.

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