Featured Articles
The Republican Nightmare
David Bromwich
The return of Newt Gingrich, the belligerence of Rick Santorum, the rise of Ron Paul
The Wrong Leonardo?
Charles Hope
An unprecedented opportunity to view two versions of 'The Virgin of the Rocks'
The Mother Courage of Rock
Luc Sante
I first heard of Patti Smith in 1971, when I was seventeen. The occasion was an unsigned half-column item in the New York Flyer, a short-lived local supplement to Rolling Stone, marking the single performance of Cowboy Mouth, a play she cowrote and costarred in with Sam Shepard, and it was possibly her first appearance in the press. What caught my eye and made me save the clipping—besides the accompanying photo of her in a striped jersey, looking vulnerable—was her boast, “I’m one of the best poets in rock and roll.” At the time, I didn’t just think I was the best poet in rock and roll; I thought I was the only one…
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