VILLAGE VOICES (PARIS) ~

 

R E A D   M E

     Seven Stories Press

      2024

DAVE BRUBECK'S LULLABIES ~

 

2020

ROBERT HUNTER'S SILVER SNARLING TRUMPET ~

 

R E A D   M E

   Hachette 2024

NEW! FROM LONGHOUSE ~ J.D. WHITNEY ~

 

Cousin Night:

Earth's 

  

             own

shadow.

Cousin Redwood:

Long-

standing

                tall-

standing

                fog

drinker.

Cousin Shadow:

Whose     

             ghost

were

you

        

         before

you were mine?

J. D. Whitney

 Cousins & Cousins

$ 12.95 postpaid in the USA

We accept Paypal or we can invoice you

Please use our email address of 

longhousepoetry@gmail.com

More ways to order ~ through ABE Books, Alibris and Biblio

Payable by check ~

Longhouse 

PO Box 2454

West Brattleboro, Vermont 05303

VIRGINIA HAMILTON, LIBERATION LITERATURE ~

 

V I R G I N I A   H A M I L T O N

Virginia Hamilton

"Liberation Literature"

ReLIT Book

edited by Arnold Adoff & Kacy Cook

_____

"Five Novels"

Library of America

edited by Julie K. Rubini

TOM ROBBINS ~

 

T O M   R O B B I N S

Gone, at age 92

JAMES CARLOS BLAKE ~

 

J A M E S   C A R L O S   B L A K E

                                                     Novelist of Outlaw Life, Is Dead at 81

SISTER ROSETTA THARPE ~

 

BLACK PROPHET, NAT TURNER ~

 

R E A D   M E

Farrar, Straus, Giroux

2024

THE PHILOSOPHY OF TRANSLATION ~

 

R E A D   M E

    Yale, 2024

AUDRE LORDE ~

 

R E A D   M E

Farrar Straus Giroux

2024

ROBERT SCHELLING'S COOKING CARTOONS ~

 

         Robert Schelling ~ look him up!

PAUL YAMAZAKI ~

 

R E A D   M E

The Paris Review

RAY JOHNSON ~

R E A D   M E 

      Matthew Marks Gallery

      2017

ACCORDION DREAMS ~

 

R E A D   M E

     Catapult 2024

AZO VAUGUY ~

 

R E A D   M E

      Action Books, 2023

HANNAH ARENDT (POEMS) ~

 

The end of days

the threshold of evenings

still it is not night

still the birds take flight

still the trees stretch out.

Soon it blows cooler,

the night and the dream.

~

And no record

of those days

tangled into one another

devoured by flames

that burned us:

The wounds of happiness

Become stigmas, not scars.

There would be no record,

if your account

had not been imparted —

poetic language

is a place, not a refuge.

~

I love the earth,

as if traveling

to a foreign place

and not otherwise.

So life spins me

quietly on its thread

into unknown designs.

Until suddenly,

like a journey's farewell —

the great silence cuts the thread.

_______________________

What Remains

The Collected Poems of Hannah Arendt

TRANSLATED BY SAMANTHA ROSE HILL

Liveright, 2025

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT ~

 

2023

YU XIUHUA ~

collecting firewood in the field

as the afternoon sun hits my throat it takes on the quality of a melody:

solitude is sufficient as long as you live well. i remove my dirty shoes

and find myself falling thoroughly in love with how small my feet are

they've walked tens of thousands of miles and they're still the same

diminutive size, they've withstood day after day of inclement weather

i should have hardened and hidden my heart in the mud decades ago

thrown out the banality of carnality to leave a clean corpse with fine bones

i could not care one whit less about suffusing my spirit with nobility

the wheat in the paddy field is sprouting marvelously well

a bright red crane flits from tree to ground, ground to tree

i love you

would i really go so far as to call this a life?

every day i draw water from the well, put meals on the table, remember to take my medication.

when the sun is high up in the sky i steep myself in its light like fruit peel or tea leaves in hot

water: jasmine, rose, lemon, chrysanthemum. the sun and tea pull ne back towards springtime,

so each day i am able to hold back the frost in my heart as i sit

in a clean yard, reading your poems. feelings between people are as formless as darting

shadows cast by the flight of a started sparrow. there's no way i'd get my intestines in a twist

and chop up my innards just to lay them bare before you, look, if i mailed you a book, it wouldn't

be poetry.

i'd give you a book about plants.

on farming. teaching you how to differentiate between rice and weeds.

telling you about the lobe weed that couldn't stop quaking like a leaf one fine

spring morning

Yu Xiuhua, born in Hengdian, Hubei Province, China, is a poet from an

impoverished rural background who was born with cerebral palsy. Yu

began writing poetry in 1998. Her first poetry collection Moonlight

Falls On My Left Palm was published at Guangxi Normal University Press.

STEVE ALMOND WORKS CONSTRUCTION ~

 

R E A D   M E

     Zando, 2024