Mary Leader says: “A poem is a thing.” By that definition, a poet would be someone who makes things. I think any narrower definition would seem to me needlessly exclusive.
Transit Comet Eclipse – Muharem Bazdulj
Are these characters mere wood for the burning furnance of an Auster-enamored author?
Foreigners in the West Bank nervously stumble over their words when speaking each other: “So, how long have you been in Palestine, and Israel…or, I mean the area?”
Good Stock Strange Blood – Dawn Lundy Martin
Martin takes no heed; the pages of this book are rife with violence, both outside and within the family, the home.
Some people write from life, others from dreams — I write from research
The Overstory – Richard Powers
What if a hundred thousand humans dressed as trees and migrated to Washington? How about a “War on Christmas (Trees)”? Fleet-footed activists come out at night and spray the trees for sale on city streets with orange paint, recalling Agent Orange and disrupting wasteful tree farms.
American Anonymity: Reading Alex Dimitrov & Tommy Pico
In our constant fight to feel accounted for inside the crowd, we shout, we overshare, we reword until others think it sounds beautiful enough to publish—whether we are distilling that experience to its most basic, relatable pieces or pushing the boundaries of how that experience can be shared.
Death is by no means as “hidden” as we might pretend, nor is it the abstract “universal” that is often spoken of in both secular and theological discourse.
UFO Drawings from the National Archives – David Clarke
Neither Mulder nor Scully nor us ever found joy in a narrative that offered us “the truth” since the “out there” was always more than enough.
If you want to surpass your childhood you have to pick up Aristotle or Hui Neng and imagine being on a long walk with the speaker, with the attitude of “I will listen.”