n+1


Order or renew your subscription by noon EST (12:00 PM) on Monday, November 12, 2012 and be the first to get a copy of Issue 15: Amnesty.

Order or renew your subscription by noon EST (12:00 PM) on Monday, November 12, 2012 and be the first to get a copy of Issue 15: Amnesty.

We’re proud to announce that Kirill Medvedev’s It’s No Good, which Keith and a team of translators have been working on for more than a year—and which, yes, we’ve advertised in the last few issues as “coming soon”—has finally gone to the printer. The book collects much of Medvedev’s poetry, essays, and public actions from the past decade, including “My Fascism,” “Literature Will Be Tested,” and “Brecht Is Not Your Aunt.” n+1 readers will remember Medvedev’s poetry from Issue 6, and his essay on Russian poetry from Issue 13. We should have copies in early December for the socialist internationalists on your Xmas list. More soon.

(If you are a member of the media (we mean that in the broadest possible sense), and want to write about the book, which gives a panoramic vision of post-Soviet intellectual life, especially of the last ten years, please send us a note at editors at nplusonemag.com and we’ll get you a galley.)
We’re proud to announce that Kirill Medvedev’s It’s No Good, which Keith and a team of translators have been working on for more than a year—and which, yes, we’ve advertised in the last few issues as “coming soon”—has finally gone to the printer. The book collects much of Medvedev’s poetry, essays, and public actions from the past decade, including “My Fascism,” “Literature Will Be Tested,” and “Brecht Is Not Your Aunt.” n+1 readers will remember Medvedev’s poetry from Issue 6, and his essay on Russian poetry from Issue 13. We should have copies in early December for the socialist internationalists on your Xmas list. More soon.



(If you are a member of the media (we mean that in the broadest possible sense), and want to write about the book, which gives a panoramic vision of post-Soviet intellectual life, especially of the last ten years, please send us a note at editors at nplusonemag.com and we’ll get you a galley.)

I first stumbled across the poetry of James Galvin in an odd morass of a book, The Wide Open: Prose, Poetry, and Photographs of the Prairie (2008). I used to love poetry; for the past five years or so I’ve hardly read any. But after going through half of Galvin’s own collection, Resurrection Update, I found myself telling everyone who’d listen about him. “He’s the first poet I’ve loved since Keats!” I’d say, trying to keep a straight face. But it’s true. Living in New York one finds it easy to take it for granted that everything you see has already been described by someone. If there’s still one frontier in the American West, it is that of literature, and Galvin, who was born and raised on a ranch in Wyoming, lays as strong a claim to the landscape as anyone:

It’s not as if we had no angels:
A handful remained when the rest moved on.
Now they work for a living,
As windmills on the open range.
They spin and stare like catatonics,
Nod toward the bedridden peaks.
They’ve learned their own angelic disbelief.

The mountains still breathe, I suppose,
Though barely.
The prairie still swells under a few small churches.
They are like rowboats after the ship’s gone down.
Everyone knows whom the saved envy.