November 2010


María Teresa Andruetto
Marcelo Cohen
Eugenio Conchez
P. Scott Cunningham
Ruth Fogelman
Jennifer Hearn
William Hershaw
Alexander Hutchison
Stephanie Johnson
Channah Magori
Vasyl Makhno
Osip Mandelstam
Geraldine Maxwell
María Negroni
Orest Popovych
Pauline Prior-Pitt
Ian Probstein
Cynthia Rimsky
Priya Sarukkai Chabria

Issue 13 Guest Artist:
Rodolfo Zagert

(Issue 13 Feature: 15 Miami Poets)
Elisa Albo
Howard Camner
Adrian Castro
Denise Duhamel
Corey Ginsberg
Michael Hettich
Miriam Levine
Christopher Louvet
Jesse Millner
Barbra Nightingale
Geoffrey Philp
Laura Richardson
Alexis Sellas
Virgil Suárez
Nick Vagnoni

15 Miami Poets Guest Artist:
Xavier Cortada

President: Peter Robertson
Vice-President: Sari Nusseibeh
Deputy Editor: Jill Dawson
General Editor: Beatriz Hausner
Art Editor: Calum Colvin
Deputy General Editor: Jeff Barry

Consulting Editors
Marjorie Agosín
Daniel Albright
Meena Alexander
Maria Teresa Andruetto
Frank Ankersmit
Rosemary Ashton
Reza Aslan
Leonard Barkan
Michael Barry
Shadi Bartsch
Thomas Bartscherer
Susan Bassnett
Gillian Beer
David Bellos
Richard Berengarten
Charles Bernstein
Sujata Bhatt
Mario Biagioli
Jean Boase-Beier
Elleke Boehmer
Eavan Boland
Stephen Booth
Alain de Botton
Carmen Boullossa
Rachel Bowlby
Svetlana Boym
Peter Brooks
Marina Brownlee
Roberto Brodsky
Carmen Bugan
Jenni Calder
Stanley Cavell
Sampurna Chattarji
Sarah Churchwell
Hollis Clayson
Sally Cline
Kristina Cordero
Drucilla Cornell
Junot Díaz
André Dombrowski
Denis Donoghue
Ariel Dorfman
Rita Dove
Denise Duhamel
Klaus Ebner
Robert Elsie
Stefano Evangelista
Orlando Figes
Tibor Fischer
Shelley Fisher Fishkin
Peter France
Nancy Fraser
Maureen Freely
Michael Fried
Marjorie Garber
Anne Garréta
Marilyn Gaull
Zulfikar Ghose
Paul Giles
Lydia Goehr
Vasco Graça Moura
A. C. Grayling
Stephen Greenblatt
Lavinia Greenlaw
Lawrence Grossberg
Edith Grossman
Elizabeth Grosz
Boris Groys
David Harsent
Benjamin Harshav
Geoffrey Hartman
François Hartog
Siobhan Harvey
Molly Haskell
Selina Hastings
Valerie Henitiuk
Kathryn Hughes
Aamer Hussein
Djelal Kadir
Kapka Kassabova
John Kelly
Martin Kern
Mimi Khalvati
Joseph Koerner
Annette Kolodny
Julia Kristeva
George Landow
Chang-Rae Lee
Mabel Lee
Linda Leith
Suzanne Jill Levine
Lydia Liu
Margot Livesey
Julia Lovell
Laurie Maguire
Willy Maley
Alberto Manguel
Ben Marcus
Paul Mariani
Marina Mayoral
Richard McCabe
Campbell McGrath
Jamie McKendrick
Edie Meidav
Jack Miles
Toril Moi
Susana Moore
Laura Mulvey
Azar Nafisi
Paschalis Nikolaou
Martha Nussbaum
Sari Nusseibeh
Tim Parks
Molly Peacock
Pascale Petit
Clare Pettitt
Caryl Phillips
Robert Pinsky
Elena Poniatowska
Elizabeth Powers
Elizabeth Prettejohn
Martin Puchner
Kate Pullinger
Paula Rabinowitz
Rajeswari Sunder Rajan
James Richardson
François Rigolot
Geoffrey Robertson
Ritchie Robertson
Avital Ronell
Élisabeth Roudinesco
Carla Sassi
Michael Scammell
Celeste Schenck
Sudeep Sen
Hadaa Sendoo
Miranda Seymour
Mimi Sheller
Elaine Showalter
Penelope Shuttle
Werner Sollors
Frances Spalding
Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak
Julian Stallabrass
Susan Stewart
Rebecca Stott
Mark Strand
Kathryn Sutherland
Rebecca Swift
Susan Tiberghien
John Whittier Treat
David Treuer
David Trinidad
Marjorie Trusted
Lidia Vianu
Victor Vitanza
Marina Warner
David Wellbery
Edwin Williamson
Michael Wood
Theodore Zeldin

Associate Editor: Neil Langdon Inglis
Assistant Editor: Ana de Biase
Assistant Editor: Eugenio Conchez
Assistant Editor: Patricia Delmar
Assistant Editor: Sophie Lewis
Assistant Editor: Siska Rappé
Art Consultant: Angie Roytgolz

Click to enlarge picture Click to enlarge picture. Two Poems by Ruth Fogelman  


There Used To Be In Jerusalem

There used to be in Jerusalem an old man
with leathery face and white-stubble chin.
He led his mule down our narrow lane,
huge cans of kerosene strapped to its sides,
copper bells clanging about its neck.
The kerosene heated our rooms, cooked our stews.

There used to be in Jerusalem an old man
with deep-furrowed brow and white-stubble chin.
He came clanking down our cobbled lane,
slung over his shoulder – a large brass box.
He would knock on our doors –
“Any pots to repair or kettles to mend?”

There used to be in Jerusalem an old man
with sunken cheeks and white-stubble chin.
He hobbled down our tunneled lane,
hanging from his shoulder – a threadbare sack.
He would call out, “alte zacheenalte zacheen…” *
We ran down to the courtyard, gave him a shirt or two.

There used to be in Jerusalem an old man
with pendulous lip and white-stubble chin.
He sat on a wicker stool at his copper shoe-stand
opposite the Citadel at Jaffa Gate.
We too, were his customers, one foot raised on the stand
while, with two brushes, he polished our shoes.

                    Before the century locked its doors,
                    the kerosene man and his mule were gone,
                    the tinker no longer came;
                    the rag man limped down our street no more
                    with his loud and nasal call.
                    Then the shoe-shiner disappeared.

                                        Do only I remember these old men
                                        with woolly caps and white-stubble chin
                                        who sat at Jaffa Gate, who walked down our lane?
                                        No-one ever mentions them, we never knew their names;
                                        yet these steps resounded within our walls
                                        before an era sealed its gates.

* old clothes


Esther’s Choice

on the third day Esther put on her royal apparel…

Esther 5:1

Of course I’d heard of Vashti’s victory –
how she chose to rebel and die
rather than submit to his whims.

Why didn’t I, too, resist, prefer death
to lying each night like a wooden plank?
What made my uncle, with one slight nod,
encourage me to this degrading life?
But what good would martyrdom have been?

Yet now I choose to face death,
by taking action, lose eternal life:
I don my robes, perfume wrists,
and line my eyes and lips
before I dare approach him.

For how can I sit, protected,
and ignore my people’s plight?
How can I refuse to act
when their existence hangs
like an autumn leaf on an oak?

Will my three-day fast move heaven?
Will my people’s prayers be heard?
Will he extend his scepter of gold
Or will he, in anger, remove me
Before I say a word?

If he grants my request,
tomorrow, instead of sitting with the wise
at a sacred feast of savories and meat,
I shall sit with pompous pigs
at a pagan spread of pastries and wines.

And if not…