Culture

The Injury The Injury

June 22, 1946 From this hospital bed I can hear an engine breathing—somewhere   in the night: —Soft coal, soft coal,   soft coal! And I know it is men   breathing shoveling, resting— —Go about it the slow way, if you can find any way—                   Christ! who’s a bastard?        —quit and quit shoveling. A man beathing   and it quiets and the puff of steady work begins        slowly: Chug. Chug. Chug. Chug . . .          fading off. Enough coal at least   for this small job   Soft! Soft! —enough for one small engine, enough for that. A man shoveling, working and not lying here   in this hospital bed—powerless —with the white-throat   calling in the poplars before dawn, his faint flute-call, triple tongued, piercing the shingled curtain of the new leaves;            drowned out by    car wheels singing now on the rails, taking the curve,    slowly,          a long wail, high pitched:      rounding             the curve— —the slow way because (if you can find any way) that is the only way left now                 for you.   This article is part of The Nation’s 150th Anniversary Special Issue. Download a free PDF of the issue, with articles by James Baldwin, Barbara Ehrenreich, Toni Morrison, Howard Zinn and many more, here. William Carlos Williams (1883–1963) published several essays and poems in The Nation between 1937 and 1961; his work has been reviewed in these pages by Philip Rahv, Robert Lowell, Delmore Schwartz, Isaac Rosenfeld, Robert Creeley, Denise Levertov and James Longenbach.  

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / William Carlos Williams

1925–1935: Is Art Possible in the United States?

1925–1935: Is Art Possible in the United States? 1925–1935: Is Art Possible in the United States?

There is no best country to write in. There is only the old world and the new.

Mar 23, 2015 / Feature / The Nation

A Message From President Barack Obama

A Message From President Barack Obama A Message From President Barack Obama

The Nation is more than a magazine—it's a crucible of ideas.

Mar 23, 2015 / President Barack Obama

Separated at Birth

Separated at Birth Separated at Birth

The Nation and Alice in Wonderland were born within days of each other. In this seditious reading, they rejoin the dance.

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Ariel Dorfman

Frederick Law Olmsted Surveys a City Burned to the Ground

Frederick Law Olmsted Surveys a City Burned to the Ground Frederick Law Olmsted Surveys a City Burned to the Ground

Chicago's struggle to recover from the Great Fire is engaging the study of its best and most conservative minds.

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Frederick Law Olmsted

Berlin Wall, 1981

East, West—Is There a Third Way? East, West—Is There a Third Way?

The cold war has become a habit, an addiction, supported by very powerful material interests in each bloc.

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / E.P. Thompson

A Biography of ‘The Nation’: The First Fifty Years

A Biography of ‘The Nation’: The First Fifty Years A Biography of ‘The Nation’: The First Fifty Years

Founded by abolitionists in 1865, The Nation became a moribund defender of the status quo. But its firm anti-imperialism brought it back to life.

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / D.D. Guttenplan

Present Present

December 28, 1964 The stranded gulch            below Grand Central the gentle purr of cab tires in snow and hidden stars           tears on the windshield torn inexorably away in whining motion and the dark thoughts which surround neon in Union Square I see you for a moment red green yellow searchlights cutting through falling flakes, head bent to the wind wet and frowning, melancholy, trying I know perfectly well where you walk to and that we’ll meet in even greater darkness later and will be warm              so our cross of paths will not be just muddy footprints in the morning          not like celestial bodies’ yearly passes, nothing pushes us away from each other          even now I can lean forward across the square and see your surprised grey look become greener as I wipe the city’s moisture from your face       and you shake the snow off onto my shoulder, light as a breath where the quarrels and vices of estranged companions weighed so bitterly and accidentally          before, I saw you on the floor of my life walking slowly that time in summer rain stranger and nearer     to become a way of feeling that is not painful casual or diffuse and seems to explore some peculiar insight of the heavens for its favorite bodies in the mixed-up air This article is part of The Nation’s 150th Anniversary Special Issue. Download a free PDF of the issue, with articles by James Baldwin, Barbara Ehrenreich, Toni Morrison, Howard Zinn and many more, here. This poem by Frank O’Hara (1926–1966) was published the same year his collection Lunch Poems brought him to fame.  

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Frank O’Hara

For the Jews—Life or Death?

For the Jews—Life or Death? For the Jews—Life or Death?

An appeal for help from 1944.

Mar 23, 2015 / Feature / I.F. Stone

Founding Prospectus

Founding Prospectus Founding Prospectus

The Nation will not be the organ of any party, sect or body.

Mar 23, 2015 / The Nation

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