New York Review of Books

Sponsored by CUNY Graduate Center, The Writers’ Institute

Tim Judah
Ukraine’s Volunteers

Even more impressive than Ukraine’s will to fight is the vast network of citizens who are supporting the armed forces and helping those in need of food and supplies.

Ben Lerner
The Faces of Victor Serge

The radical writer’s novels are unsettling explorations of the tension between individual and collective life.

Alastair Macaulay
The Encyclopedia of the Dance

The first full-length biography of Bronislava Nijinska does long-overdue justice to one of the twentieth century’s great women artists.

Kilowatt Hour

a poem by 
Natalie Shapero

I didn’t pin it as grief at first, the feeling
of imagining placing myself
in the path of that truck, but of course
it was grief, grief for myself
in the future—not being around…

Free from the Archives

In the Review’s first issue of the new millennium, we published a poem that had been written by Joseph Brodsky while he was in internal exile in Norenskaia, in the Arkhangelsk region of northern Russia. In the Soviet Union, New Year’s celebrations came to be seen as a substitute for Christmas.

The translation was found among Brodsky’s papers after he died in 1996.

Joseph Brodsky
January 1, 1965

The kings will lose your old address.
No star will flare up to impress.
The ear may yield, under duress,
to blizzards’ nagging roar….