The Winter issue is on the way from the printers. As promised, today we’re releasing the PDF of the issue online: Dowload the Winter 2011 Issue. Look out on campus or around Hyde Park to pick up a copy. Enjoy!
Monthly Archives: February 2011
Sneak Preview: “Against Elegy” by Adam Tavel
We know you’ve been waiting, and soon your patience be rewarded: The Winter 2011 issue is off to the printers and will be available very, very shortly! Watch out in the next couple of days for the release of the PDF on this website.
In the meantime, enjoy a sneak preview from the issue, the poem “Against Elegy” by Adam Tavel. We’ve posted it here.
Important Message From the Editors: Updated Submissions Guidelines
As many of you may have noticed in the past week, we recently revamped our website to be more accessible in anticipation of Euphony’s forthcoming Winter 2011 issue. In keeping with the theme of change, we would like to take this opportunity to announce an update to our submissions guidelines. Due to the high volume of submissions we receive, electronic submissions must receive priority in our reading pool, and so as of March 16th 2011, we no longer accept print manuscripts. That means that from that date, we only accept literature submitted electronically to euphony@uchicago.edu.
We will, however, continue accepting print submissions from writers who have absolutely no access to the internet—meaning, if you are reading this now, this exception does not apply to you.
Thank you for your understanding, and we hope to see more excellent work in the future!
- the editors
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Welcome to the online version of Euphony Journal, the biannual literary magazine of the University of Chicago. Please feel free to have a look around: use the navigation bar to the right to browse through our web-exclusive content, or refer to the above menu for information about the journal, past issues, and submissions guidelines.
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Poetry: “Casting” by Noel Sloboda
From between toppled logs, spider legs and
mouse droppings spill, as wood downed once
again falls like fate, and I prepare to
rebuild. Scanning the wreckage, I search
for a catch to release the base row
committed to ripening in place.
The rotten logs must be wrestled loose,
carted to the deep woods to be forgotten—
I know from years past, they won’t go
without a fight with the living, clinging
to muddy March ground, as if to suggest
the recently dead dream of roots.
