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Issue 66

Paul Dannels approaches Richard Meier’s architectural wonder, the Jubilee Church; Franz Wright says “goodbye” and “yes” with gorgeous prose poetry; and Craig Detweiler explores the myth of independent cinema. Plus, Andy Whitman on Bruce Springsteen; poetry by Christian Wiman and Fleda Brown; a conversation with Gregory Orr; and more.

image of a well-lit forest of tall pine trees with no off-shoot branches in the background. In the center of the image is a dark pine with two hands clutching it - you see that man stands behind the pine and grips the tree like he's trying to hold on.

Common Prayer


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purple lilies or violets in front of a blurred out green background in soft bluish light, framed in a rounded black rectangle.

Longing


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shot of the interior of a craggy cave, lit up with red and orange light.

Harrow


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image of the top of a guitar nearly at the same eye level as the viewer, with the strings moving from the body of the guitar to off the center in a blurry line.

Bruce Springsteen and the Long Walk Home


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image of two hands sketched out, both reaching slightly and curled inwards.

The Art Student


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Note to My Sister from Notre Dame


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Who’s Afraid of Geoffrey Hill


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Approaching the Iceberg: Richard Meier’s Jubilee Church


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image of bare trees in front of a creek partially covered in snow.

In Nomine


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Pilgrim


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Pixelated Glories: The Graphic Excursions of Kathy T. Hettinga


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Russian Bell


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Goodbye


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Four Poems


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Lent: Deformed Pussy Willow


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The Yes


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A Conversation with Gregory Orr


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Advent, First Frost


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overlook of rooftops in Jerusalem in 1940.

The New Jerusalem


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multiple frames of the same windows up at the top of the ceiling. The room is dim and the windows let in blue from the trees and golden light.

At the Synagogue Rummage Sale


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Web Exclusive: A Conversation with Kathy T. Hettinga


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Pears, Unstolen


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Image of two dark green chairs in shadows on opposite sides of a window that is casting golden light throw yellow shutters.

Twins


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far away shot of a city and freeway in twilight. everything in the image is bathed in a deep purple, violet twilight. on the freeway, the headlights of the car make little pinpricks of light. the sky hanging above the earth is dark purple nearest the ground and the trees, and then there is a burst of yellow and deep pink clouds under a pale sky the color of eggshells, just as a smooth, and dimming steadily.

Lord, Sky


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The Myth of Independent Film


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The Mole


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I Said to God, “I’m Thinking of You”


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