A Clockwork Doll
February 05, 2010

The common comparison of Ravikovitch with American poets like Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton is not really apt: Ravikovitch writes about herself more ir

The Expanse
January 11, 2010

More than any of Glück’s previous volumes, A Village Life has a generous heart, a large spiritual scope in which to imagine the lives of others

August 12, 2009

We speak of rebellion when the kid is a hellion and the folks are as mild as a spoon. Likewise Republicans born of freethinking lesbians seem like reactors, turncoats on how they were raised. Let me offer another concatenation of this explanation. Think of your mother as one discreet corner of a person with a multiple mental disorder. You're one of the others. One that split off. Not a turncoat then, but the expression of what was suppressed.

She said But It Was Only A Small Hurt
June 03, 2009

         In line at the drinking fountain desert bus stop years of complete blackness you bring back with you, circa, 1968, that took me through several states, some of which I would have to ask kind strangers to name so I would know where I was. But that's no big deal.

Perfect Repose
May 20, 2009

Turning so effortlessly you wouldn’t call it that, what they do, sliding easily over, a kind of effortless oscillation, on their sides, most of them, floating together in their troop, perhaps twenty-five of them just off the pier, though you couldn’t count them, the sea-lions: they curve around one another, two break away, one joins, the group drifts with the tide.

Sheep Leg
May 20, 2009

In following the waterway across the hill, York gum saplings holding out against the erosive sidewash induced by downpours, you come across the leg of a sheep, flesh eaten away, bones held together by sinews that have dried and tightened—the leg is seized in the moment of “fall to your knees...” It points neither up nor down the hill, nor divinely the length of the waterway. A sheep death under the old regime, a time when sheep kept the grass down and died to rot where they fell. Dismembered by foxes; strewn about.

April 01, 2009

As all the survivors of the ark burst ashore in a happy pandemonium chattering, roaring, howling for prey lowing to be fruitful and multiply while above their heads the rainbow hinted that there would be no end again--the end came for the fish without cares who lived off the catastrophe like slippery swindlers: now on the face of the stiffening earth the writhing fins were stranded and with gaping mouths they drowned in the air. Translated from the Hebrew by Leon Wieseltier For more TNR, become a fan on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.

All the Rivers
February 12, 2008

All the rivers run into the sea and the sea is not full because all the rivers return to the rivers. Believe me. This is the secret of pride and the fall. This is the secret of the system of yearning.  

Eugene Wigner Joins the Manhattan Project
May 21, 2007

Hatred’s homicidal. Hitler knows. He makes what most men mean by hate a tepid sentiment, though at the time, no one seemed inclined to notice, and I wondered, When will my Hungarians awaken? I waited for the Jews to rouse themselves. But only slowly were they moved to anger; even then most merely said, “depose the madman.” Moderation’s suicide. A whimper while the butcher spreads fresh paper. Even in translation in the Times, he aims his hate at me, my family trapped in Budapest. Our decades-old conversion meaningless.