A Strangely Moving Ode to the Toilet

Featuring poems by Simone White, Hua Xi, Sargon Boulus, and more

View this email in your browser We're welcoming a chorus of new poetic voices into the pages of The Paris Review this holiday season. In our new Winter issue, you'll find Rachel Mannheimer's rueful reflections on car-custody battles and wildlife-removal services; Simone White's poetic commentary on Young Thug's recent trial; and Hua Xi's strangely moving ode to the toilet. And in translation, a far-flung pair of contributors appear in the magazine for the first time, too: the tenth-century Icelandic poet-outlaw Egill Skallagrímsson (translated from the Old Norse by Emily Osborne), and the modern Assyrian Iraqi poet Sargon Boulus (translated from the Arabic by Miles Cayman). To learn more about how writers and translators like these make great poetry happen, check out our online Making of a Poem series, featuring short conversations with contributors including Kim Hyesoon, Patty Nash, and Eliot Weinberger.   —Srikanth Reddy, poetry editor hand-to-hand pass Simone White one of the Williams motions in limine recounts the hand-to-hand pass of a percocet pill which brings to mind the word for activities i do roughly grouped by the goal of my son's thriving: caregiving. from "Cruel Loss of Sons" Egill Skallagrímsson, Translated by Emily Osborne First, still, father-death I must speak of and mother-loss. Lug praise-lumber out of word-temple  then leaf it with language.  Toilet Hua Xi A toenail clipping floating in a toilet bowl like a crescent moon reflected in water, beauty is quiet and self-conscious. A character in a novel sits on the toilet. Sometimes for forever.  There Are Journeys Sargon Boulus, translated by Miles Cayman I arrive in my country after crossing a river astrologers immerse themselves in with their rusty instruments searching for the stars The Car Rachel Mannheimer When we were together, it was often he who drove. But sometimes we drove separately, we drove ourselves to different destinations— to the store. I drove to walk, to go on walks. We had two cars. We both could drive. Illustrations by Na Kim. Copyright © 2024 The Paris Review. All rights reserved. Our mailing address is: The Paris Review 544 West 27th Street 3rd Floor New York, New York 10001 Add us to your address book Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe, if you must.