Check him out. Wouldn’t you like to have him come to speak at your school? I know I would. I would need to get several departments on board with me to organize this, though. Perhaps for next year. Meanwhile, following the advice of Unsane and inspired by Morphological Confetti and Wandering Caravan, I have been … More Geoffrey Philp
This week’s best and most beautiful post is by Liprap. Read it, then act. Carlos Pellicer, the modernist poet, was from Villahermosa, Tabasco. He wrote in 1943 of Tabasco in blood, water, earth, sun, and time. . . . /water of Tabasco, I come / water of Tabasco, I go / my lineage is made … More Agua de Tabasco
THE SPHINX (To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration) In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy thinks A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me through the shifting gloom. Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she does not stir For silver moons are naught to her and naught … More Oscar Wilde
“[An] aching debut…[with] echoes of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings…” —Publisher’s Weekly “Reading Dedra Johnson’s Sandrine’s Letter to Tomorrow, I was fully in the presence of the mind, heart, and soul of a richly rendered, fascinating fictional character. I knew I was also in the presence of the brilliant voice and sensibility of … More Dedra Johnson
I I have lately been impressed because it has been in the high sixties at night and the high seventies to high eighties during the day. This is lovely, cool, October weather here, and civilized weather for me. But this evening it is raining and downright cold, certainly weather for long sleeves. It has not … More François Villon
Today we are reading about Jack Kerouac, and seeing him read on television in 1959. Our host is Comment, Critique and Criticism. Winter is upon us. I know because I have seen a man a felt hat. Straw hats are for summer. I put up the neighbors’ canning pears in wine. I picked key limes … More Jack Kerouac
I Buey que vi en mi niñez echando vaho un día bajo el nicaragüense sol de encendidos oros, en la hacienda fecunda, plena de armonía del trópico; paloma de los bosques sonoros del viento, de las hachas, de pájaros y toros salvajes, yo os saludo, pues sois la vida mía. Pesado buey, tú evocas la … More “Buey que vi en mi niñez…”
IDILIO MUERTO Qué estará haciendo esta hora mi andina y dulce Rita de junco y capulí; ahora que me asfixia Bizancio, y que dormita la sangre, como flojo cognac, dentro de mí. Dónde estarán sus manos que en actitud contrita planchaban en las tardes blancuras por venir; ahora, en esta lluvia que me quita las … More Idilio Muerto [Dead Idyll]
[A prose poem after Vallejo and Lorca.] Jeg har en søster, som jeg ikke ser for meget af, og som jeg hellere ikke snakker så meget med. Men hun kom og besøgte mig dengang vores mor døde. Hun har set her i huset den røde pude, som ligger der på sofaen. –Den er smuk, elegant, … More Puden
This is “We Spent the Fourth of July in Bed.” Check it out, it is great. I learned about Suheir Hammad from Ridwan. Axé.
coldhearted scientist وداد 