Archives for category: antiquity

atlantes“An excellent answer, by the dog, Hippias; and such a one as cannot fail of being applauded. Shall I then, in answering thus, have answered the question asked me? and that so well as to not be refuted?” [Text apparently intended to accompany this image discovered nearly by accident on page 153 of “Plato: On the Beautiful,” from Readings in Philosophy, Randall, Buchler & Shirk, eds., Barnes & Noble, New York, 1950, reprinted 1961, a book previously owned by Patricia Flood, signed and dated 10-20-62 and purchased, as she notes, at Scrantom’s in Rochester. Original price $1.95. Repurchased by me, significantly later, probably at a tag sale, who knows where, perhaps from Patricia herself, fifteen cents. To find out whatever happened to Scrantom’s, click here.]

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ashur2Ah, but it seems so obvious, placing the sky god at the pinnacle. Even with their flounced skirts and chic facial hair, the Assyrians were far too literal. Let’s hear from the ant god, the worm god, the warrior king of the snail. Put the periwinkle god at the center of your winged disc. That would be worth considering.

artemis2To read this story, see the print issue of Moon City Review 2017.

aqueduct

To read this piece, go to: http://atticusreview.org/10-pieces/

screwYours was a pretty famous guy. He lived a long time ago in Greece and invented a bunch of useful machines, including a screw that lifts water from a lower to a higher level when you turn it. Very handy. It’s an open question whether he got this idea from you. That would have made him an expert on Paleozoic corals in addition to all the other cool shit he was into. I guess we’ll never know, since both of you have been extinct for a good long while now.

arches2(1) Great portal of forgetfulness, that history had no beginning. (2) An opening in a hedge where yellowjackets nest, the neighbor’s black dog sees me coming. (3) Today’s split-second magic spell: may all be well in this dark house. (4) A key to keep in the pocket of my jeans, freedom of never asking the next question. (5) A tower room, a Greek patroness, a lunatic dishwasher, a boyfriend who would not wait. (6) A playhouse on a wooded path headed away from any direction I want to be going, a taste like chemical ambition, uncertain toeholds, too many trains. (7) Last betrayals, head-on impacts, mythic dividings of household goods carried out onto the sidewalk. (8) Peace, art, work, rest. (9) An unoccluded view, snow on city streets, a primer on bees. (10) Walnut trees in every kind of weather. (11) Unexpected terrain of snakes and rainbows eventually domesticated by a rented lawnmower, a retinue of random companions, chimney swifts at dusk, sound of linen thread being pulled through paper. (12) A perch in leafy corridors, all my pasts flying home for accounting. (13) A jar for capturing sunlight bounced off water, a stick fire under a sliver of moon, our bed, sand forever riding in on our shoes.

anthemionTo read this piece, go here: http://www.cleavermagazine.com/seven-pieces-by-karen-donovan/

Now we know all about you from the neck up. Plus your taste in hats.

1. Three marinas leading in from bay. 2. Brackish spring-fed cove. 3. Large copse of oak and, at center of plan, ancient crabapple tree bowed arthritically over corner of rooftop. 4. Pocket goldfish pond containing cold tea-colored water, autumn leaves, and two or three fish (probably). 5. Down a flight of stairs, small strip of grass on which a man and a woman often stand, watching tide creep in and out over periwinkle-studded mud. 6. Loose boat occasionally floating by. 7. Bright yellow fire hydrant. 8. Faint markings slightly visible on street where children once painted a field for four-square. 9. Sparrows in brambles.