The sixth installment of Words Without Borders’ International Graphic Novels issue series is up online—their February 2012 issue.

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[The New Yorker] published 116 poems in 2009. At about four poems a page, that makes 29 pages, which means, with a circulation of roughly a million, The New Yorker prints approximately 29 million pages of poetry annually. That constitutes a considerable corporate commitment to verse. —from “A Passion for Poetry” by Spencer Bailey in The New

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Smuggling Afghan heroin or women from Odessa would have been more reprehensible, but more logical. You know you’re a fool when what you’re doing makes even the post office seem efficient. Everything I was packing into this unwieldy, 1980s-vintage suitcase was available online. I don’t mean that when I arrived in Berlin I could have

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The works presented in this issue either started out hardcopy or writers were asked to mail in a hardcopy form of a digitally accepted work; the piece, after arriving in the post, then became re-digitized in transfer to this particular here. Why go through all the bother? What interested us for this issue was the

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As a distant planet was destroyed by old age… —Action Comics No. 1, 1938 He heaves the automobile into glowing sky, headlight popping off, bumper succumbing, windshield bursting, white rubber tire hurtling away. Machines beware of this force. The automobile is green. Bad guys shudder. The future runs faster than an express train. The plant

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Yesterday I received two copies of the first issue of OCCUPY!, an Occupy Wall Street inspired newspaper from the editors of n+1. More than many, perhaps, I tend to see literature in periodical form—by which I mean magazines, journals, newspapers, zines, etc—as an essential part of literary history and culture, in a tradition stretching back to

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Granta publishes an animated graphic novel inspired by Roberto Bolaño’s short story from Granta 117: Horror, “The Colonel’s Son.” Here’s detail about the project from the Granta website: In Roberto Bolaño’s ‘The Colonel’s Son’ – published in Granta’s Horror issue – the narrator recounts a B-grade horror flick he sees on late night TV. A girl gets bitten by a zombie;

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We were all great in the observatory. We were having a star party, Fields of ions unfolding. Our faces were intense, as the faces Of shells, Where we could hear a certain song Go by… —from “The Observatory” by Noelle Kocot in 6×6 #23 

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The Minus Worlds are a bunch of fucked-up, unfinished or rejected levels that the programmers left floating around in the game, and some of them are almost, what, like, psychedelic. Mario swims through a water level of black water where all the tubes are neon pink., shooting fireballs at neon blue plants and yellow squid,

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The mask? Because we were never ugly enough. Because our ugliness was epic. Because we were given to it, because we were so misgiven. You wear one. I wear one. Yes. Kings, Pharaohs had them fabricated, poured out in gold and beaten. Most wore them to the grave. In Mexico the living wear them, not

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