To World War Two, by Kenneth Koch

Early on you introduced me to young women in bars You were large, and with a large hand You presented them in different cities, Made me in San Luis Obispo, drunk On French seventy-fives, in Los Angeles, on pousse-cafés. It was a time of general confusion Of being a body hurled at a wall. I…

Notes on the flâneur

“The time-honored tradition of the flâneur is when the solitary walker ambles through the metropolis, experiencing its richness and diversity when freed from the need to use it.” –Will Self, interviewed in World Hum “He (or she) is not a foreign tourist eagerly tracing down the Major Sights and ticking them off a list of…

Why We Travel, by Pico Iyer

(an excerpt) We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches…

Farmer, by Patricia Traxler

My grandpa was a farmer shaved with big hands on his straightedge wiping grey goo onto a newspaper fold at the kitchen table white chipped pan warm dirty water he stared out at the fields never missed a spothis eyes were set deep like a crop he’d always hoped for and he talked so slow…