Founding editor of Socialist Revolution, then foreign editor of In These Times, John Judis has gone on to serve as a writer and editor at a number of more mainstream journals including The New Republic, The New York Times Magazine, and the Washington Post. His latest books are The Populist Explosion (2016) and The Nationalist Revival (2016). This interview was conducted by James Livingston and Bruce Robbins in April...
Read MoreTHAT M.J. ANDERSEN’S “LEAVING THE PAPER” IS LISTED IN THE 2019 EDITION OF “BEST AMERICAN ESSAYS” AMONG THE “NOTABLE ESSAYS AND NON-FICTION” OF 2018. CONGRATULATIONS TO M.J., AND MAY SHE WRITE FOR US AGAIN! Leaving the...
Read MoreAfter our last “Car Poems” installment of the season, scheduled for Thursday, June 28th, we’re driving off into the sunset for summer vacation. We hope that our readers will also relax, repair, and create new works we can publish when “Car Poems” resumes in September 2018. The address for submissions is carpoemspl@gmail.com or through the Politics/Letters submission link. The deadline to submit poems for publication in Fall 2018 will be September 20, 2018. In addition to “Car Poems,” which focuses on poems about cars, travel, transport, driving, or anything remotely related to the road and its inhabitants, we are launching a new literary section this June that will continue throughout the year. Titled Anti-Genre, this new section will feature poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, and cross-genre explorations. Your imagination is our only limit (or the main limit, at least). Submit previously unpublished writings for this new, non-automotive section via the Politics/Letters submission link, or to editor@politicsslashletters.live Deadline for fall publication is also September 20, 2018. Thank you so much for your loyal reading. See you in the autumn! Theresa Smalec and Matthew Friedman ...
Read More
Sharon Dornberg-Lee’s “On Burning” is our 24th installment, and a perfect vehicle for welcoming the heady spells and sultry journeys of summer. *** On Burning I am filled with twilight desires, for nicotine, and weed, and sex with soulful strangers. My mother warned that escalators were like teeth waiting to chomp your untied laces, mailbox mouths couldn’t be trusted to deposit your letters on a single swing of their lazy jaws. I am tired of caution, playing the sentry, waiting for the light to change. So I drive with the windows rolled all the way down, stereo too loud,...
Read More