Arts and Entertainment

April 13, 1919: Eugene V. Debs Is Sent to Prison

April 13, 1919: Eugene V. Debs Is Sent to Prison April 13, 1919: Eugene V. Debs Is Sent to Prison

“How can you punish a man with so compelling a consciousness of the right?”

Apr 13, 2015 / Richard Kreitner and The Almanac

Jobs and Empire

Jobs and Empire Jobs and Empire

The music of Empire is the theology of capitalism.

Apr 8, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Joshua Clover

Trevor Noah’s Tweets Are Awful and Sexist. Don’t Fire Him for Them.

Trevor Noah’s Tweets Are Awful and Sexist. Don’t Fire Him for Them. Trevor Noah’s Tweets Are Awful and Sexist. Don’t Fire Him for Them.

The best response to the new Daily Show host’s sexism would be to put more women in the writers’ room.

Mar 31, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Michelle Goldberg

Animal Education

Animal Education Animal Education

War between men and dogs looms in the Budapest of White God; Ethan Hawke pays homage to New York City’s greatest piano teacher in Seymour: An Introduction.

Mar 31, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Stuart Klawans

Inequality and Broken Windows

Inequality and Broken Windows Inequality and Broken Windows

Eric responds to his critics and reviews the best shows of the week in today's Altercation.

Mar 25, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Eric Alterman

From Lenin to Lego

From Lenin to Lego From Lenin to Lego

Snowpiercer mocks what The Lego Movie cheers—a happy world of compulsory production.

Mar 24, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Joshua Clover

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

Have We Reached the End of Jazz Itself?

Have We Reached the End of Jazz Itself? Have We Reached the End of Jazz Itself?

John Coltrane and other “lost” musicians of the ’60s are teaching a new generation of artists to bend time and space.

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Gene Seymour

Two Views of a Cadaver Room Two Views of a Cadaver Room

January 30, 1960                I The day she visited the dissecting room They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey, Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume Of the death vats clung to them; The white-smocked boys started working. The head of his cadaver had caved in, And she could scarcely make out anything In that rubble of skull plates and old leather. A sallow piece of string held it together. In their jars the snail-nosed babies moon and glow. He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.                II In Brueghel’s panorama of smoke and slaughter Two people only are blind to the carrion army: He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin Skirts, sings in the direction Of her bare shoulder, while she bends, Fingering a leaflet of music, over him, Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands Of the death’s-head shadowing their song. These Flemish lovers flourish; not for long. Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner. 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. Sylvia Plath (1932–1963) published four poems in The Nation between 1955 and 1960. 

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Sylvia Plath

Weird Bedfellows

Weird Bedfellows Weird Bedfellows

In their defense of “tradition” against the liberating potential of architecture, Prince Charles and Xi Jinping find unlikely common ground.

Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Michael Sorkin

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