Sophie Durbin

The Moon as a Beacon of Human Earnestness: A Conversation Between Boston Gordon and July Westhale

In poet JULY WESTHALE’s upcoming book, moon moon, humanity finds itself in a precarious position—Earth has become unlivable, forcing people to seek refuge elsewhere. But when the moon proves overcrowded, humanity pushes even further, settling on the mysterious and perhaps astronomically dubious moon’s moon. Part modern epic, part ecological elegy, the collection tackles eco-grief, climate change, and human hubris, all while weaving humor throughout its poetic narrative.

July Westhale, whose earlier books include the autobiographical exploration of class warfare in California, Trailer Trash, and the intense poetic meditation on desire and divinity, Via Negativa (praised as “stunning” by Publishers Weekly), brings their signature incisiveness and wit to this timely new work. They also released the recent Unmade Hearts: My Sor Juana, a delicious translation of the work of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz.

Today, Westhale converses with poet BOSTON GORDON, author of Glory Holes and the forthcoming Loose Bricks. Gordon, who also champions queer and trans voices through Philadelphia’s acclaimed “You Can’t Kill A Poet” reading series, guides this thoughtful discussion as they delve into meditations on writing, the moon, and what poetry teaches us about ourselves. 

You can pre-order moon moon here

The Moon as a Beacon of Human Earnestness: A Conversation Between Boston Gordon and July Westhale
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The Wild Geese

By MORRI CREECH

Where were the wild geese going, slurred across
the yellow sky in mid-December light,
fading into some everglade of memory?
I saw them slip like notions over the pines
in simple distances beyond the winter
as the wind laid the river grasses down,
saw how the strict formations left no trace.

The Wild Geese
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Hotel Philadelphia

By KHALED SAMEH
Translated by WIAM EL-TAMAMI

1.

As I sit here in the Hashemite Plaza, I am surrounded by noise—visual, auditory—coming at me from all directions. This grand forum attached to the Roman Theatre has now become a breathing space for hundreds of thousands of residents of East Amman and the surrounding governorates. Some come here for recreational reasons, to get together, or to make a living. There are many other reasons why people come to this square, reasons that are not unique to Amman and that are found in most cities around the world. There are pimps and sex workers (heterosexual and homosexual); children being exploited in different ways; dealers of hashish and other drugs—along with various other things that Ammanis would include in their long list of taboo topics.

Hotel Philadelphia
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Inês

By JOÃO PEDRO VALA

 

I

I really don’t want to be that guy but this doesn’t make any sense. I mean, maybe it does, you tell me. I don’t know you, we never went, let’s say, to Varadero together. Us with straw hats, drinking cocktails by the sea with salt on the rim of the glass, Buena Vista Social Club playing on the speakers, me doing crosswords and you playing sudoku, me to you, Stimulate with seven letters, us playing beach tennis (nowadays you guys are so posh, playing padel every Saturday morning with another couple, I’m always making fun of you because of that, you jerks), us getting to the airport, me walking so clumsily, because I’m always in a hurry, because I didn’t want to bother that nice lady holding a kid in her arms that was in front of me in the security line and now I got behind. I pick up my things, oh so gracelessly, I hold my backpack by one of its wings and start walking while I try to put on my belt, so that now I look like Quasimodo, if Quasimodo was a pervert, almost running because it’s time to go and ring that bell, with his pants falling down. You guys laugh at me, you say something I can’t quite understand, but I don’t get offended because, after all, we’re friends and that’s what friends do. I realize now that we are perfectly on time. I always am, we still have half an hour before boarding. So, you go get some chocolates for the flight while I go look at the books and CDs. I have a weird fascination with ugly covers and gas-station CDs. If we’re going to Varadero together, I think you should know that. Us going to a Cohen gig. Us drinking a pint at some bar in Alvalade. You guys to me, João. Me, Yes. You guys, It’s my father. I start to get emotional (I get emotional so easily), trying not to cry, because you’re not crying, even before realizing if what happened to your father was serious or not. I always liked your father very much.

Inês
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