Tuesday, November 30, 2021

Monday, November 29, 2021

Saturday, November 27, 2021

Friday, November 26, 2021

Thursday, November 25, 2021

Wednesday, November 24, 2021

Tuesday, November 23, 2021

Monday, November 22, 2021

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




Sunday, November 21, 2021

Saturday, November 20, 2021

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




Friday, November 19, 2021

FRANCIS BACON ~

 





Francis Bacon
Revelations
by Mark Stevens & Annalyn Swan
Knopf 2021


Wednesday, November 17, 2021

Saturday, November 13, 2021

Friday, November 12, 2021

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






Wednesday, November 10, 2021

Monday, November 8, 2021

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


Sunday, November 7, 2021

Friday, November 5, 2021

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






Thursday, November 4, 2021

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




Wednesday, November 3, 2021

BOB ARNOLD, BACKROAD CALLER ~

 









Bob Arnold
Back Road Caller
Longhouse 
2021


A fine sheaf
many-colored
& limited
$10
postpaid



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