Wednesday, June 11, 2025

DON'T WORRY BABY (BRIAN WILSON) ~

 



B R I A N   W I L S O N


June 20, 1942, in Inglewood, Calif., ~ 2025




TONIGHT SOLO MONK ~

 




   1964

ELAINE EQUI ~




Weather Vane



If only I had one,

I'd keep it for a pet.


Let it perch on the roof

tethered in the wind,


warbling a tinny,

whirring song.


Let the body of the house

sag beneath its talons,


go limp as it lifts,

it and us up — up.


Gilded bird,

crowing at midnight,


pecking at the grain

of stars.



________________

Elaine Equi

Out of the Blank

Coffee House Press, 2025



Tuesday, June 10, 2025

THE MAKING OF SYLVIA PLATH ~

 


R E A D   M E


      University Press of Mississippi

      2024



Monday, June 9, 2025

THE WHITE LADDER ~



NIMS PURJA CLIMBED  THE FOURTEEN EIGHT-THOUSANDERS IN THE WORLD

IN SIX MONTHS AND SIX DAYS

R  E  A  D    M E 


    Norton  2025



Saturday, June 7, 2025

STEVE CROPPER TONIGHT ~

 



Stax Music

Booker T & the MGs

etc.

Thiago Ávila ~ Madleen, the Freedom Flotilla ship sailing to Gaza ~

 



      Democracy NOW!



HOW THE WORLD FAILED TO STOP THE DESTRUCTION OF GAZA~

 



Language is damaged when demands to stop killing civilians are 'antisematic', when an army that dehumanizes its enemies is 'moral', when an enterprise of obliteration is a 'riposte', when a military operation openly conducted against Palestinian civilians is the 'Israel-Hamas war'. Thinking is suffocated when debates are prevented, lectures banned and exhibitions cancelled, when the police enter institutions of higher education and prosecutors are imposed to ensure orthodoxy. An oppressive atmosphere of suspicion and accusation has endangered freedom of speech.

— Didier Fassin 


R E A D   M E


    Verso, 2025



Wednesday, June 4, 2025

THE HOUSE OF WOLFE ~

 


R E A D   M E


     The Mysterious Press

      2015



Tuesday, June 3, 2025

ROCK FLIGHT ~

 



R E A D   M E


      Giramondo Poetry

      New Directions Publishing



Monday, June 2, 2025

Saturday, May 31, 2025

RON PADGETT ~





from  Pink Dust

          ________________


I shovel a path

from the porch to the truck

and another around the house

to the back door, stopping

to see if I'm one

of those geezers

who have heart attacks

while shoveling snow,

and when I'm finished

I'm not. Look

at all that snow out there

going down the hill

as far as the eye can see.



=



In my sleep I caressed you

and when I woke up

I caressed the memory

of the dream.

I never caressed you

in "real life."

I never even wanted to

though I was close

to liking the idea of caressing you.

If I had caressed you

I would remember it,

which is what I did last night.



=



I almost feel sorry

for the human thumb,

off to the side, alone,

and not looking much like

its four nrothers and sisters—

the real fingers.

They invite the thumb

to help them when they need it,

but otherwise keep their distance.

Just across the way, though,

there's another thumb.

In the old days

the two used to twiddle.

Now they're happy enough

just knowing they're both there.



=



It's satisfying to eat

exactly the right amount

of, say, French toast

and then stop,

for you have just

achieved a moral victory

in the middle

of the flow of time,

and though it slows away,

this victory,

you have its aftertaste,

along with butter

and genuine Vermont maple syrup

from a tree not far down the road.



=



A haiku went up into a tree

and sat there on a limb

it had just made up.



__________________________

Ron Padgett

Pink Dust

New York Review of Books, 2025







Friday, May 30, 2025