Scoundrel Time

Women’s March 2018

The Women’s March returns this weekend. The goal? Reigniting the resistance with a focus on our collective political power. “We are the leaders we have been waiting for,” the tagline reads...

Winner, Editors’ Choice Award in Poetry: Plasticity

In celebration of Scoundrel Time’s first anniversary, our editorial team is excited to announce the winners of our first annual Editors’ Choice Awards. Elly Bookman’s “Plasticity” is...

Winner, Editors’ Choice Award in Fiction: My First Friend

In celebration of Scoundrel Time’s first anniversary, our editorial team is excited to announce the winners of our first annual Editors’ Choice Awards. Maria Saba’s story “My First...

Winner, Editors’ Choice Award in Creative Nonfiction: The Double Punch

In celebration of Scoundrel Time’s first anniversary, our editorial team is excited to announce the winners of our first annual Editors’ Choice Awards. Regan Good’s “The Double Punch:...

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News & Announcements

 

We’re thrilled and grateful to Entropy Magazine for selecting Peter Trachtenberg’s essay, “I Lift My Lamp,” for their terrific “Best of 2017” list.

Contributor Hillary Jordan’s novel Mudbound has been made into a film that premiered at Sundance in Jan. 2017 and is now available on Netflix. Jordan’s ekphrastic poem, “Flamboyan,” appears in Scoundrel Time.

We are excited to announce Scoundrel Time’s first-ever Pushcart Prize nominees. The following works and authors are nominated by our editors:

Fiction:
Maria Saba, “My First Friend”
Matthew Olzmann, “The Blanket Room”

Poetry:
Gabrielle Brant Freeman, “Girltrap”
Amanda Newell, “thousands of spirit limbs [were] haunting as many good soldiers, every now and then tormenting them”

Essay/Dispatch:
Timothy Denevi, “The Future Is a Ceiling of Impossible Water”
Raqi Syed, “My Mother’s Pilgrimage”

In addition, we’re excited to share that the following works appearing in our journal have been nominated by Pushcart Prize contributing editors:

Essay/Dispatch:
Peter Trachtenberg, “I Lift My Lamp”
Dana Sachs, Factory Men: Migrants in Patras, Greece

Fiction:
Carolyn Ferrell, “How the World Really Feels About You”
Tracy O’Neill, “Shuffle Off”
Karen Brennan, “Requiem”
Karen E Bender, “Describe Hope: Assignment Given to Undergraduate Creative Writing Class on November 9, 2016”
David Ulin, “Any Humans Here?”

We are proud of the work that we’ve featured in our first year. Thank you for reading!

Alyssa Quart’s poem, “Comey: Cut-Up,” has been reprinted in The Nation. The poem is made of fragments from James Comey’s testimony before Congress.

Rachel Ann Brickner’s dispatch, “Another Year Older and Deeper in Debt,” will be reprinted in a new edition of the anthology, Without a Net: The Female Experience of Growing Up Working Class, forthcoming from Seal Press.

Elizabeth Rosner has a new book out: Survivor Cafe: The Legacy of Trauma and the Labyrinth of Memory. Her essay, “Before and After,” appeared in Scoundrel Time in July.

Scoundrel Time editor is interviewed for Bethesda Magazine: Searching for Truth: Bethesda writer Paula Whyman heads a new journal intertwining art and politics” by Janelle Harris, Sept/Oct 2017

Scoundrel Time is featured in “Writers, Editors Resist,” by Sarah Seltzer in Poets & Writers Magazine, May/June 2017

 

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“In the increasingly convincing darkness / The words become palpable…" —John Ashbery

“Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world.” —Grace Paley

Poems by Paul Otremba

The Representatives   When they showed up at my ready door, it was their taste for flesh that misled me, and it was a picture produced later that confirmed what provisional and corrupt intelligence we’ll go on, and successfully. They were not...

The Hierarchy of Suffering

    When I hesitated before posting #MeToo on social media several months ago, I noticed that I wasn’t the only woman wondering if my experiences of workplace sexual harassment fully qualified for this conversation about the ubiquity of...

The Beauty of the Ship

When, staunchly entering port,
After long ventures, hauling up, worn and old,
Battered by sea and wind, torn by many a fight,
With the original sails all gone, replaced, or mended,
I only saw, at last, the beauty of the Ship.
__________
Image By: 

Requiem

  I woke up one morning and my country was gone. It was strange. It had been there the night before, sparking and hissing, but now it was gone. I could feel its absence in the air, which is a feeling like no other. The garden was still there...

My Appointments

My appointments: Maple Syrup. Pertussin. Recusals. Refuseniks. Dutch aunts. Dachshunds. Irish setters. Nodules. Old oatmeal. Truffles. Bone density. Sebaceous cyst. Pain in the crown. The Neck. Rattle of the Time Machine. No Back Ups for Ninety Days...

A Daybook for Late Summer, 2017

Antifascists say the time for waiting is over, or rather that fascism will only grow stronger if we wait for it to grow stronger. I’m scared. ¨ Tonight’s sky was a foreboding beauty, the kind that makes the heart fold in like the...

Two Poems By Virginia Beards

Song for the Camo Girls and Boys “You know in Africa no woman ever misses her lion and no white man ever bolts.” -The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber, Ernest Hemingway   They grin from ear to ear In camo artfully splotched For grinning...

Poems By Erin Hoover

PR Opportunity at the Food Bank It’s Thanksgiving and I’m at a dinner service with a journalist, trying to wedge my fable about urban generosity into the newsroom’s mollusk heart. I stand next to mothers, their kids shouting Christmas carols, also...

The Peace Grant

No singing of any kind. All year the rooms dark. Then a week of lights. The owners have returned, their daughters haunt the balconies. One of them looks at me and doesn’t look away. A thousand years pass. Whatever happened in that moment, what...

Bride

  The saddest man in the world lived in a little town at the base of a mountain. It was a pretty town, but nothing much happened there. The townsfolk went about their lives. Sometimes they discussed the saddest man, and shook their heads in sympathy...

Not Seeing the Friend of God

To get to the Old City of Hebron, al-Kahlil, medieval Ottoman city of white and lustered limestone and to the souk where chickens roasted on rotisseries, lambs and rabbits hung on meat hooks, wasps buzzed near bins of nuts and candies, and I bought...

Dream House: Biography in Brick

At Monticello, Thomas Jefferson built a north octagonal room and dome. The elongated dome with rear windows half clear and half mirrored was Jefferson’s twist on the Temple of Vesta in the Roman Forum, even though all temples to Vesta are reportedly...

Portfolio: Six Poems by Jill McDonough

Spelling “Prostitutes” I volunteer at a juvie, call it kid jail. We play a homemade Boggle, make all the words  we can, make Mad-Lib things with them like this: lip split from slipping in shit, I sit and sip spilt spit.  We write Fast Poems...

My 6th Grade Teacher

Mr. Barren chose two boys each week to swim with him at the downtown Y back when it was male-only–to swim nude in the cool chlorinated waters amid schools of old men, their buoyant testicles and laps without end. One girl got to sit on his lap...

Girltrap

I This game is a machine involving bowling balls, sipping birds, boots, babies, bullets, pulleys, and rope. Begin at the beginning. Measure the natural waist with tape and a wandering eye. Correct with strings pulled tight, tug with a foot in the...

Taking a Knee at the Symphony

  One Sunday evening last month, my husband and I sat in a side balcony in the Concert Hall at the Kennedy Center, waiting for the music to begin. We looked down at the stage, where National Symphony Orchestra musicians in tuxes and glittering...