Dedicated to “exploring the experience of disability through literature and the fine arts,” Kaleidoscope subverts the usual categories of “normal” and “disabled” by bringing the reader inside the phenomenon of disability as it affects the life of one (normal) person at a time.

Nik Hospodor’s “sophisticated flourenscentism” visual work, featured in “Landscape,” captures attention on Kaleidoscope’s front cover with a magical, surrealistic, fairytale world. Equally captivating is artist SylviAnn Murray’s “surreal -expressive” style.

Kaleidoscope magazine “(explores) the experience of disability through literature and the fine arts.” The articles, essays, stories, and poems in this issue do just that, giving the reader insight into life with many different conditions, including Parkinson’s disease, cerebral palsy, lupus, and multiple sclerosis, to name a few. Most importantly, the authors featured in this magazine present honestly and admirably, without asking for pity, without resorting to sentimentality.

There are few among us who can say that a disability, in some form or another, hasn’t affected our life or the life of someone we love. Whether it is an accident that results in paralysis, a struggle with mental illness, chronic disease or a learning disability, the fact is, according to the United States Department of Labor, nearly fifty million people in this country have a disability. Kaleidoscope, born out of a beautiful idea back in 1979, is the literary journal published by the the United Disability Services. It gives voice to those living with, or within the shadow of, a disability. This issue of Kaleidoscope is a thoughtful literary collection that focuses on the experience of disability while avoiding any unnecessary sentimentality. Within its fiction, personal essays, poetry, articles and reviews the undercurrent moves readers through content rich with honest stories of determination.

“Accept the changes, Celebrate the advantages, Find Purposes.” This quote from Mike Shirk, a disabled artist featured in Kaleidoscope, exemplifies the humanity, humility, and honesty you’ll find in the issue. A magazine dedicated to discussing disabilities through art, fiction, poetry, and personal essays, Kaleidoscope is inspiring. This “Significant Relationship” issue (the last print issue before they transition to a digital model) offers comfort to caregivers, understanding to outsiders, and hope to the disabled. Kaleidoscope is different than almost every other literary magazine I’ve read; it is art with a purpose—with a humanitarian agenda and a palpable sense of community.

With the explosion of online literary journals over the past several years, I have found myself becoming particularly attached to those which are pleasing to the eye, well organized, and contain interesting and well-written prose and poetry. On all of these counts, the Kennesaw Review, which has been in business since 2000, acquits itself well.

Despite a couple brief hiatuses throughout its long history to stabilize the journal’s financial situation, The Kenyon Review remains a staple in the literary world and consistently publishes first-rate material. Many prominent writers have been featured over the years, from Flannery O’Connor to Robert Lowell. In this issue, there is fiction from Laura van den Berg, poems from Natalie Eilbert, and an essay by Floyd Collins, among others. The pieces go in many directions, but they tend to share the theme of the characters discovering more about themselves and the surrounding world.

The May/June 2016 issue of Kenyon Review is so of-the-moment with its new section of “EcoPoetry,” wherein each poet gives a personal take on the deterioration of the world’s environment. Poetry Editor David Baker showcases 31 poems “awash with warning,” he says. “The devastation and peril often feel so massive they are already beyond words. But in important ways poetry is always about what is beyond mere words, just past our grasp and our understanding.”

This issue of Kenyon Review might help a newcomer to the literary world learn who’s who; there are so many well-established poets and writers here: Alice Hoffman, Stanley Plumly, Marvin Bell, Carl Phillips, David Lehman…and the list goes on.

There's a lot of death in this issue. A lot of death. Also: depression, senility, thoughts (and acts) of suicide, and many, many old people. If, as Andrei Tarkovsky said, "the aim of art is to prepare a person for death," you'll get some good practice here. Personally, I prefer art that prepares me for something else. I don't know what, exactly – call it mystery.

This issue of The Kenyon Review contains three absolutely delicious article-length book reviews of collected letters: The Letters of Robert Lowell (2005), reviewed by Willard Spiegelman; Love Amy: The Selected Letters of Amy Clampitt (2005), reviewed by Sam Pickering; and A Wild Perfection: The Selected Letters of James Wright (2005), reviewed by Saskia Hamilton. (Hamilton’s review is double, covering also the 2005 Selected Poems by James Wright.) These critiques of three great 20th century poets emphasize the personal letter—that intimate form of correspondence, sadly retired in our internet-driven world—as an art form. The reviewers’ insights into the life and work of Lowell, Clampitt, and Wright renew my reverence for them; yes, I will read the letters and return once again to their poetry!

The Kenyon Review opens with a note from David H. Lynn describing a new project: KR Online. Although the editor mentions that pieces selected for online publication may be different than those selected for the journal, he promises that the “critical judgment and standards will remain intact.” If the online pieces are held to as high standard as those in the journal, readers should check out this new online addition.

The Kenyon Review, from its heartland perch in Gambier, Ohio, has captured the map of American experience for some seventy years. Over time, it has grown to represent international literature and the arts, with a lively internet presence and a summer residential writing program. It has been easy to obtain (a submariner once purchased a gift subscription for me from a faraway port), which is important in a business sense; some publications have mysterious distribution practices, and now, more than ever, each literary magazine should be ubiquitous. To this end, over the past year, The Kenyon Review has been available on electronic platforms, which is a great advantage to the otherwise unforgiving minute, as Kipling might say. I hope more literary journals are available electronically so that, as a reader, you can salvage from the loss of time—waiting on a train or a bus, stalling in the supermarket line—remnants of loss, joy and redemption.

In his editor's note, David Lynn bemoans the Atlantic Monthly's decision to discontinue publishing fiction and reaffirms his journal's commitment to literary short fiction.

The Kenyon Review can always be counted on for exceptional poetry and prose; their latest effort is no exception. A wonderful new section debuts in this issue, Andre Bernard’s “The Casual Reader,” in which the author discusses the books that found their way onto his reading list and struck a chord.

This issue of The Kenyon Review sustains the journal’s well-deserved reputation as an elite, erudite vehicle for criticism, fiction, and poetry. It opens with a long essay by distinguished philosopher and essayist George Steiner. “Fragments (Somewhat Charred)” consists of philosophical observations on, or circling about, aphoristic phrases allegedly appearing on a charred scroll found in Herculaneum. Steiner deconstructs, linguistically and semantically, eight of these—phrases like “When lightning speaks it says darkness,” and “Evil is.” Of “When Arion sings why do I weep?” Steiner says “[it] encapsulates a perennial fascination by the powers and effects of music in Greek sensibility. An uneasy inquiry into the penetration of sung and instrumental music into the human psyche.” Later in the essay, he continues, “We know of no human community that lacks music. . . . Could a musical experience be the only human encounter with time made free of temporality as we know it in biological and psychological processes?” Such questions intrigue us; the effort to explore them deeply constitutes a rare offering.

The Kenyon Review offers a special edition, with the theme of culture and place. The annual index appears in the back, offering an overview of an entire year fiction and poetry. Poems focus on place, from Jennifer Grotz’s artistic “Arrival in Rome” to the incredibly detailed “A Flat in Jaipur” by Vinay Dharwadker. The latter poem offers brilliantly vivid images, from the rainbow film of oil on water to banana peels “black and limp as strips of leather” (122). “Japanese Magnolia” by Virgil Suarez paints a delicate picture of the lovely flower, with simplistic double lined stanzas rich with meaning. The poems create scenes from distant countries, heightening the reader’s awareness of the world.

A glorious 70^th anniversary issue. “Within these pages we offer a model of what KR has aspired to across those decades,” explains the editor’s note, “remarkable stories by friends of long-standing…and emerging authors who offer vibrancy and freshness right now and who may well come to take their own places among the renowned.” Long-standing friends in this issue include Joyce Carol Oates, E.L. Doctorow, and Carl Phillips. This issue’s “New Voice” is poet Kascha Semonovitch, introduced by Kenyon Review poetry editor David Baker. The edition also features the winners of the magazine’s short fiction contest (limited to writers under 30 with submissions of no longer than 1200 words, selected and introduced by Alice Hoffman); poems by a roster of “poetry stars,” in addition to Carl Phillips (Linda Gregerson, Michael S. Harper, Rachel Hadas, Carol Muske-Dukes, among others); and essays by Rebecca McLanahan, Wyatt Prunty, and Alfred Corn.

This issue is dedicated to work by North American indigenous authors. With work from emerging voices like Sara Marie Ortiz, Eddie Chuculate, and Eric Gansworth as well as the acclaimed writers like Leslie Marmon Silko, LeAnne Howe, and Joy Harjo, the writing in this issue is as vibrant and dynamic as the indigenous literary tradition it represents. Compiled here is a stimulating survey of indigenous poetry, fiction, and nonfiction.

It may or may not be intentional (though given this journal’s outstanding editorial management, it is likely to be deliberate), but the relationship between this issue’s cover and the poem “Desert” by Adonis, translated from the Arabic by Khaled Mattawa, is nothing short of exquisite. The cover photo is a 1938 “Night View” of New York City by the always-amazing Berenice Abbott. The Adonis poem begins: “The cities dissolve, and the earth is a cart loaded with dust / Only poetry knows how to pair itself to this space.” The poem and photograph are both, as they should be, impossible to describe accurately, except to say that each evokes a particular atmosphere that could not be a better example of the medium’s potential and success. “The city’s voice was too tender,” writes Adonis (such a beautifully translated poem). This is a long poem of shifting tones, expertly rendered, as Abbott’s photo is a composite of so many lights, creating one whole ultra-real vision.

Every issue of The Kenyon Review offers reason to celebrate, but this issue is particularly special, as it commemorates the journal’s seventy-fifth anniversary. Even better, the editors are taking a look back as they continue to publish cutting-edge work. The Kenyon Review’s first editor, John Crowe Ransom, published philosophical and aspirational statements composed by prominent intellectuals of the day. The tradition will continue in the coming year; sixteen writers who published in The Kenyon Review early in their careers will offer their own “contemporary credos.”

The cover image of Kestrel’s recent issue is a mixed media collage of photo transfer, ink, and colored pencil suggesting a window through which we’re invited to peer deeper into “a story” (the artwork’s title), the text which, along with “1934,” appears as part of the illustration. Artist Julie Anne Struck’s arresting compositions are featured inside the journal as well, collaging image, paint, pencil, text, and texture to results akin to a two-dimensional Joseph Cornell assemblage perfect for the paginated exhibit and super appealing as cover art. As illustrations that beg the viewer to imagine their narratives, what could be more appropriate for this issue’s strong collection of prose and poetry?

The cover art chosen for the Spring 2011 issue of Kestrel is a misty-blue piece titled Okeanos IV 2010 by Kathleen Holder, the visual artist featured in this issue. The artwork reminds me of a cold day on a beach, where the sky and the water fuse. Donna Long writes in her editorial comment, the submissions selected for publication sometimes “just seem cosmically ordained to share an issue.” Long tells us water is this cosmic connection, bending and rolling through the work like the thread of a river tying up a landscape. And I see that connection from the opening essay, “Upstream Against Forgetting” by Rob Merritt, to the poems, such as “Aqua Vitae” by Charles Tisdale or “Meditation: Labor Day” by Nancy Takacs. Wonderful.

The Spring 2016 issue of Kestrel, a journal of literature and art out of Fairmont State University in West Virginia, includes a broad selection of poetry, an entertaining collection of short stories, and a fascinating group of art works. I know, that sounds like a pretty clichéd opening; the content, however, does not permit using novel exaggeration and false praise. It’s just good work that needs noting quickly and energetically. The work is definitely energetic.

The Summer 2018 issue of Kestrel is particularly focused on the theme “Love, Labor, and Loss.” In the Editor’s Note, Elizabeth Savage introduces work that  “indicate[s] the unwitting effects and lessons of labor. . . . what counts as labor [ . . . ] —work valued for what it created or for the wages it earned.”

Keyhole 3 opens with Shellie Zacharia’s story “Stitch,” where the narrator obsesses over whether her sewing instructor may in fact be a girl from grade school whose stitches she touched on a school bus dare. The story contains the swirl of emotions that a moment from the past often evokes: the anxiety about whether that is the same person, and whether that person remembers that one moment of cruelty you indulged at their expense, the need to defend one’s childhood self, and, ultimately, the remorse and the desire to let the past be the past, hoping that the scar of that one act healed quickly and vanished.

Harvest time is my favorite time of year, so I was naturally drawn to this “Harvest” issue of Kindred. From the photographs to the stories and poems to the how-to pieces in this issue, Kindred not only brings the harvest season to life on the page, but also accomplishes its goals of bringing the sense of home and togetherness, fusing two themes of harvest and community.

Containing socio-political commentary, pop culture interest pieces, comics and even recipes, Kitchen Sink—something of a catchall—is aptly named. It’s more zine than litmag, though, and looks the part. Graphically stunning, the entire thing is printed in blue—a harbinger of novelty from the get-go. Right at home in indigo is “Out of Sight,” a poem by Jonathan Loucks that captures fabulously the not-quite-sadness of a man reflecting on the way a passionate relationship has become staider with time. As for the fiction, it has a highly Californian flavor, being full of heart but slightly left-of-center. More enjoyable are the delightful articles, especially “The Price of Parenthood,” which fairly addresses the ambivalence of modern would-be procreators. Another piece, about “why poetry readings suck,” is resonant with candor:

In this issue of Kitty Snacks, the introduction belongs to Deb Olin Unferth. Her “Limited Observations” is not so much a story in its traditional form, but an amusing list of things the ubiquitous ‘she’ has observed. This style lends itself well to the itemized life that ‘she’ lives. For example, two delightful items in this list are “Committees” and “Deletion.” For the first, Unferth writes,

From its Facebook page: “An online literary journal devoted to experimentation, humor, and the crossbreeding of the arts, featuring stories and essays by established and emerging writers, interviews with writers, and reviews of just about anything.”

Knock: Hurt on Purpose is as amazing, off-the-wall, and anguished as the title suggests. There are some very strange pieces inside. Weird. Off-beat. Even creepy. And downright original, stunning, hair-raisingly good! Try the odd short-fiction piece, “Artificial Heart” by E.C. Jarvis, which effectively gives the reader a rise with its dark, twisted sense of humor. Then, “Plump” by Matthew Hamity, a love-hurt story, complete with a villainess-narrator that gives a chilly slant on the definition of “love,” complete with tears.

There is a collection of art pieces by Tyler Ingram within the most recent issue of KNOCK that perhaps captures the journal’s idiosyncratic and smart aesthetic better than any words written here can. Working with acrylic, canvas, paper, and Smith & Wesson – not to mention a Winchester Model 25 .12 gauge shotgun and Remington .22 caliber rifle – Ingram quite literally blasts ordinary images and plain paper with paint, creating a wild paroxysm of colorful abstractions and unorthodox configurations. This sensibility – color! zeal! nonconformity! – is at the gonzo heart of KNOCK, and if you’re willing to move with its freaky beat, then you’re going to like what you find between its garish covers.

Knock is published bi-annually by Antioch University Seattle and has lots of flavor and flair; it is comprised of poems, fiction, essays, excerpts from books, interviews, and some fantastic color art and one hybrid piece. It must have been difficult to choose which artists' and writers' names would be featured on the cover as this issue shocked me with a tremendous amount of quality work. The editors certainly live up to the expectation of publishing “cutting edge” writing.

This handsome inaugural issue of Knockout Literary Magazine starts with a poem by Marvin Bell that could serve as a mission statement. “Knockout Poem” is a lament for the state of contemporary poetry: “I was like them. Even before the appetite for self-promotion / and glamour overtook our literature, back when books were books.” It is also a call to arms: “Poetry should have punch.” (A knockout, one assumes.)

Simply put, the collection of poems in Knockout Literary Magazine is breathtaking. This edition includes a wide variety of topics such as suicide, oppression against homosexuality, and love (straight and queer). In its third volume, the heavy-hitting journal presents forty astounding poets, who make their way to the page bringing dark imagery, fearless honesty, and fresh voices, including Jeff Mann, Robert Walker, Joseph Massey, Jim Tolan and Ronald H. Bayes. Knockout also features translations from Dag T. Straumsvag, Yannis Ritsos, Harry Martinson, Jesus Encinar, and Olav H. Hauge.

Let me admit this up front: I normally am not a big fan of literary humor. It's not that I don't think funny and literary can exist side-by-side; Mark Twain proved that the two mix well a long time ago. But this first issue of Kugelmass is truly funny, and truly enjoyable.

For a fledgling magazine only on Issue 2, Kugelmass has snagged some pretty impressive comedic authors. It offers 13 writers of essays, stories and “whatnot” and starts us off with “nonsense from the editor,” David Holub. It promises uncompromised humor, and it definitely delivers. It’s not humor in the slapstick sense, but in the emotionally distressed, heartbroken psychosis variety, which makes for some pretty hilarious thought processes woven into essays and stories.