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Conversations

Explorations of invention. How experience, perception, and insight become the thing we call art.

Malak Mattar, My Mother (detail), 2017, oil on canvas

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The Correspondent’s Cheeks Are as a Bed of Spices

Conversation by Rachel Edelman and emet ezell

Dear Reader,

We began this project as a commitment to writing through real time and place. For us, time and place are not abstract concepts, but distinctive material conditions that shape the architecture of thought and feeling. Over seven months, the twelve letters below traversed between continents.

Writing to Remember the Tulsa Race Massacre: A Conversation with Rilla Askew and Clemonce Heard

Jennifer Kwon Dobbs’s conversation with award-winning writers Rilla Askew and Clemonce Heard took place over Zoom on November 17, 2021, almost six months after the massacre’s centennial.

A Conversation with Roger Reeves

Conversation by C. Francis Fisher

Roger Reeves’s poems have appeared in The American Poetry Review, The Best American Poetry 2014, Boston ReviewThe New YorkerPloughsharesPoetry, and Tin House, among other publications. His first book, King Me (Copper Canyon Press, 2013), won the Levis Reading Prize from Virginia Commonwealth University, the John C. Zacharis First Book Award from Ploughshares, and a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Book Award.

After “I’m Sorry”: Three Questions with Bailey Gaylin Moore and Donald Quist

Blog post by agnimag
Bailey Gaylin Moore and Donald Quist’s essay “How to Speak to a Police Officer” appears in AGNI 92. Ari Kaplan/AGNI: In “How to Speak to a Police Officer,” your individual accounts of the same event overlap and form a kind of conversation, yet the two parts are also discrete. Can you talk about how...
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For the Record: Conversations with Ukrainian Writers

This series of intimate wartime conversations between Askold Melnyczuk and an expanding roster of Ukrainian writers appears in collaboration with Arrowsmith Press and the Ukrainian poet and filmmaker Oleksandr Fraze-Frazenko.

I was writing already, but I wasn’t yet writing truly. You know Kafka’s line about literature being an axe for the frozen sea within us? The frozen sea within me was still very much frozen and I didn’t mind that it was frozen. I liked it frozen. I skated happily on it.

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