Days we thought we’d lived before:/ routines of conversation and television/ shows that we already knew the endings of.
What it means to live in a world where anyone can hide behind a screen but anything, once written on a screen, can’t be hidden.
After a while, we stopped counting the dead/ and let the body of the wind push us into departure.
I was looking for a way into the history of the counterculture in America and how it moved—into my generation and beyond.
Each essay is a testament to the complicated relationships between mothers and their children and to all the silences that surround them.
This short story by Jung Young Su has been translated from Korean by Anton Hur.
When the shadow of the earth fell on the moon it was red like the cherry you left on my neck.
Each month, Blurbed features a curated list of things to read, events to attend and news from Columbia Journal.
These poems first appeared in Anna Glazova's collection For the Shrew and have been translated from Russian by Alex Niemi.
Testing out photos like ties or cufflinks for the occasion, dressing the dead in the distracting garments of life.
“Seafood” by Sophie Ohrn is a Fiction Finalist in Columbia Journal’s 2019 Spring Contest, judged by Alexandra Kleeman.
The poet Jericho Brown talks about his new collection The Tradition and reads from two poems, "After Essex Hemphill" and "Duplex: Cento."