LARRY WILLIAMS ~

 

GLORIA GERVITZ ~

 

New York Review of Books

 2020

SHIRLEY JACKSON ~

 

R E A D      M E

Random House

2021

BILLY LEE RILEY ~

 

 

THE HISTORY OF BONES, JOHN LURIE ~

 

R E A D     M E

Random House

2021

DION ~ SAM COOKE ~

 

BIG JOE WILLIAMS ~

 

SVETLANA ALPERS ~

 

ROBERT BLY ~

 

Dec. 23, 1926 ~ Nov. 21, 2021

Snowfall In The November Afternoon

I
The grass is half-covered with snow.
It was the sort of snowfall that starts in late afternoon,
And now the little houses of the grass are growing dark.

II
If I could reach down, near the earth,
I could take handfuls of darkness!
A darkness that was always there, which we never noticed.

III
As the snow grows heavier, the cornstalks fade farther away,
And the barn moves nearer to the house.
The barn moves all alone in the growing storm.

IV
The barn is full of corn, and moving toward us now,
Like a hulk blown toward us in a storm at sea;
All the sailors on deck have been blind for many years. 

"Snowfall In The November Afternoon" by Robert Bly, from Eating the Honey of Words: New and Selected Poems.

 © Harper Flamingo, 1999

WALKER EVANS AGAIN ~

 

R E V I E W

A TENT IN ARCTIC SIBERIA ~

 

Gordon Clarke

LOUISE GLUCK ~

 

Song

Leo Cruz makes the most beautiful white bowls;

I think I must get some to you

but how is the question

in these times

He is teaching me

the names of the desert grasses;

I have a book

since to see the grasses is impossible

Leo thinks the things man makes

are more beautiful

than what exists in nature

and I say no.

And Leo says

wait and see.

We make plans

to walk the trails together.

When, I ask him,

when? Never again:

this is what we never say.

He is teaching me

to live in imagination:

a cold wind

blows as I cross the desert;

I can see his house in the distance;

smoke is coming from the chimney

That is the kiln, I think;

only Leo makes porcelain in the desert

Ah, he says, you are dreaming again

And I say then I’m glad I dream

the fire is still alive

_____________________________

Louise Gluck

Winter Recipes From the Collective

FSG, 2021

FRANCIS BACON ~

 

Francis Bacon

Revelations

by Mark Stevens & Annalyn Swan

Knopf 2021

THE JAPAN JOURNALS (DONALD RICHIE) ~

 

R E A D     M E

RUTH BROWN ~

 

ED BULLINS ~

 

ED  BULLINS

1935 ~ 2021

AUDREY MUNSON ~

 

PATRICIA HIGHSMITH ~

 

R E A D     M E

Bloomsbury 2021

 

E T E L     A D N A N

1925 ~ 2021

M O R E

JOSEPH SPENCE ~

 

LOVE, ICEBOX ~

 

R E A D      M E

The John Cage Trust

2019

ADA LIMON ~

 

A Name

When Eve walked among

the animals and named them —

nightingale, red-shouldered hawk,

fiddler crab, fallow deer —

I wonder if she ever wanted

them to speak back, looked into

their wide wonderful eyes and

whispered, Name me, name me.

________________

Ada Limón

The Carrying

Milkweed Editions

2018

Ada Limón - Image: Christopher.Michel on Visual Hunt

GEORGE R. STEWART (NAMES OF THE LAND) ~

 

R E A D     M E

EVERYTHING SHE TOUCHED ~

 

R E A D    M E

Chronicle Books

2020

THE COMPLETE MEMOIRS (NERUDA) ~

 

R E A D     M E

W.G. SEBALD ~

 

R E A D      M E

There have been at least three biographies 

all by women, all about men 

each one outstanding —

Thoreau

Hemingway

now, Sebald

Thoreau, a life by Laura Dassow Walls

Ernest Hemingway, Mary V. Dearborn

Speak, Silence, Carole Angier

No hesitation

TASH SULTANA ~

 

THE WAY TO HOLD A CONCERT (1969) ~

 

POEM FOR STILLNESS ~

 

Poem for Stillness

He stirs his tea with a gun barrel

He solves the puzzle with a gun barrel

He scratches his thoughts with a gun barrel

And sometimes

he sits facing himself

and pulls bullet-memories

out of his brain

He's fought in many wars

but is no match for his own despair

These white pills

have left him so colorless

his shadow must stand up

to fetch him water

We ought to accept

that no soldier

has never returned

from war

alive

___________________

Garous Abdolmalekian

Lean Against This Late Hour

Penguin, 2020

NABANEETA DEV SEN ~

 

First Confidence

Rain sweeps through my drapes

this monsoon morning, as curtains toss,

every door flies open toward the past.

The dry leaves melt away, soaking wet,

the footprints now lie hidden in moss.

I unfold my face into the rain,

I wrap my body in drenched gair.

Now, lifting my eyes, I stand tall

and, in this free and weightless light,

I say with confidence, for the first time —

I have forgotten all.

Sometimes, Love

It comes when called. Like a pet cockatoo,

it sits on my finger, fluttering.

It sways its neck, fluffs its feathers, swings its crest,

and recites its practiced lines, uttering

every pleasing word.

My lily-white bird

repeats to me all that it's been taught and sings best.

Saying just what I want to hear,

it pours honey into my ear.

But behind my back, soon after,

alone, perched on its base,

my lily-white bird

clatters its shiny shackles

as it cackles with laughter,

shedding feathers

in empty space.

Acrobat

Nabaneeta Dev Sen

translated by Nandana Dev Sen

Archipelago Books 2021

BOB ARNOLD, BACKROAD CALLER ~

 

Bob Arnold

Back Road Caller

Longhouse 

2021

A fine sheaf

many-colored

& limited

$10

postpaid

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Longhouse 

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