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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Peer Review

Joel edits Will’s college essay.

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The Somewhat Sterile Projectors

Reviewing the Dirty Projectors’ newest.

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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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Download G.O.O.D. Fridays

Kanye West divides and provokes and resides like few entertainers suspended in the stratosphere of fame. His skill as a musician is indubitable, but so is his misbehavior. To some, he is a prophet of the heavens, speaking Truth to … Read More

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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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Writing the Reading

Sometimes, you forget: there are people out there who do absolutely brilliant, incredible things. Even at achievement-filled Princeton—especially at achievement-filled Princeton—greatness, which is a level below the place I write about, can become benign and unimpressive. Talent becomes the norm … Read More

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On a Fast

My stomach is parched from having just peed into the muddled ground. And it hurts from having nothing to eat, no ring pops, no soda, no sunflower seeds. It’s an empty hole, a cosmic hole— it could collapse now into … Read More

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Peaches and Penumbras

Independent life and the lesson of Ginsberg.

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in the morning, in the light

Breath-poem.

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