Issue 161
Winter & Spring 2022
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When I started working with TriQuarterly as a fiction reader in 2017, I didn’t know what I was looking for. Reading submissions, suggesting what work would be published in a literary journal that has been produced since 1958 became an overwhelming task. Fortunately, the entire issue archive is available freely on our website.
I have spent a lot of time digging through TriQuarterly’s digital archives, initially for inspiration to design announcements for new issues, award nominations, and conference swag. The more I browsed, the more I became enamored with the writing and and the art and the design. There are issues dedicated to science fiction (49), to prose from Spain (57), to Mexico (85), to Asian Literature (31), to Love/Hate (47), and our previous issue, to Black Voices (160). In the Festschrift for Edward Dahlberg (19) there is this photo from Ralph Eugene Meatyard, published two years before Meatyard’s death in 1972.
There is beautiful ephemera included in these back issues: calls for submissions in writing contests long since ended, advertisements for bookstores long since out of business, and the opportunity to purchase a TriQuarterly t-shirt by mailing $8 to an office building in Evanston. My personal favorite of these ads comes from Issue 5, in which the Booksellers Association of Greater Chicago took out a full page calling for donations to bookseller, Paul Romaine, who was fined $1000 after a sting, for selling the 18th century novel Fanny Hill to an undercover cop.
There are stories in the margins on these back issues. There are stories connecting people across places, across time. The writing and videos in this issue continues this tradition. Anney Bolgiano’s essay “The Best Pedagogical Way” channels Kafka through his industrial pamphlet “Measures for Preventing Accidents from Wood-Planing Machines.” The collective “we” in Ghassan Zeineddine’s “Speedoman” contemplate assimilation and the public pool. In “EI Silencio” by Sergio Reyes, he offers us a necessary reflection on silence in grief. In the first of what I hope will become a new series, Ed Roberson’s “PORTRAIT PORTRAITURE” is available as a digital chapbook. These and every piece here are building something.
In my first issue as managing editor at TriQuarterly, I realize we can never live up to this journal’s history, but rather, are contributing to this journal’s future. I am fortunate to have worked with such predecessors as Aram Mrjoian (Issues 157-160) and Carrie Muehle (Issues 153-156) as managing editors before me, who set the tone for quality and innovation.
I still don’t always know what I am looking for, but thanks to the dedication of TriQuarterly’s editors and submissions readers, the patience of Northwestern’s tech team, the guidance of Susan Harris and Reginald Gibbons, and the collaboration of the writers, I am certain we will find it together.
All the best,
Joshua Bohnsack
Managing Editor
Managing Editor: Joshua Bohnsack
Assistant Managing Editor: Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya
Faculty Advisor: Susan Harris
Director of Planning: Reginald Gibbons
Film Editor: Sarah Minor
Fiction Editors: Vanessa Chan, Jennifer Companik, Erin Branning Keogh, Emily Mirengoff, Laura Joyce-Hubbard
Nonfiction Editor: Starr Davis
Poetry Editor: Daniel Fliegel
Social Media Editor: Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya
Copy Editor: Lys Ann Weiss
Media Architect: Harlan Wallach
Technical Advisors: Alex Miner, Rodolfo Vieira, Nick Gertonson
Staff: Adrienne Rozells, Amanda Vitale, April Yee, Ashton Carlile, Amanda Dee, Becky Payne, Cecilia Rabess, Christopher Lombardo, Corey Miller, Dane Hamann, Elijah Patten, Ellen Hainen, Emma Fuchs, Erika Carey, Gillian Barth, Grace Musante, Holly Stovall, Ivis Whitright, Jameka Williams, Jonathan Jones, Laura Humble, Katana Smith, Kira Tucker, Liz Howey, Marcella Mencotti, Matthew Richardson, Megan Sullivan, Michaela Ritz, Michele Popadich, Miranda Garbaciak, ML Chan, Morgan Eklund, Myra Thompson, Nimra Chohan, Patrick Bernhard, Prince Bush, Puck Orabel, Rebecca van Laer, Susan Lerner, Suzanne Scanlon
Image from The Inventors
Sonnet with Quartz and Rice
The two-edged sword of being human and
knowing it: blades of grass never compare
themselves to an oak or look in mirrors.
Penultimates
The day before you died.
A wildebeest chewing on grass. The sun the only thing in the sky.
The sky is gray and wet.
This Is Fucking Delicious
Ants line up for a single lick of a lollipop.
Locked in my home I don’t need to hunt for food.
Downtown Los Angeles is empty skyscrapers.
Having Never Visited the Ghent Altarpiece
I wouldn’t know, but when I imagine being there in the room
with the real thing, its many glowing painted sections are nearly
weightless, and they float, silent, barely held together by their frames,
At the Prado, Age Eighteen
[Las Meninas, Velázquez, 1656]
When I finally got there let’s say it didn’t matter
that on the way over as I was crossing the street
Night Music
Without the sound of shots fired up the block, like a conversation
between blown-out tires, and crickets swelling up
to mask the dead air after, without the flashlights of police
After News of a Border Shutdown, I Venture Out for Fries
Can I interest anyone in the newspaper of my spirit? Feathers,
today, it’s mostly feathers—once again these field reports from the interior
have failed to document the wildlife rattling around in me,
on a list of games that buddha would not play, number 8 is
the salākahattha:
dip your hand into red dye,
strike the wall, and figure in rouge or rust, a horse, or wolf.
Today My Cousin Brenda Would Have Been 50
The woman we called Morning limped
down Washington Street, asking for a dollar.
Everyone knew it was just a matter of time.
Government wasn’t an enabler. No Narcan
Ridden All Night
I had been ridden all night and woke up wet and intemperate
and walked out because of the economy and back without a single piece
of fruit or one end of a halter around a chestnut mare. Spit and hiss
Grace & Separation
TW: lynching
There’s a photo of Laura Nelson, a rope between her and a tree.
The backdrop, more trees.
A person in the picture is bound to history.
Child Match (Foster Care) / The Kids I Never Met
This morning, I step outside to pick strawberries, no coat.
That’s not a good idea, my whole family tells me, one by one,
through a half-open door. I’m trying to convince myself
Holidaying with Dad During the Divorce
His car is a nervous breakdown,
scattering chrome along the motorway.
He gasps through panic attacks
in tunnels and medieval towers.
El Silencio
Do you hear it?
That’s the sound of Antonio
falling from the bridge.
Silencio.
Antonio lived for the silence.
Family of Origin Content Warning
Detailed descriptions of a father’s brutality.
Graphic images of a boy, dreaming
about food at night, his stolen
transistor radio spilling James Brown’s
Clamming for Clams
Juneau
After ten years, recollection’s net
needs mending. I tie-in nylon,
replacing torn sections, but that is all I know
of how to slow forgetting. Recall the kelp