journal
introduction to a poem that doesn’t exist
This is a poem called ‘a nice friendly chat,’ or: ‘the familiar bathos at the unfamiliar time, at bath time.’ Or: ‘as I look out upon the devastation we have caused, I can’t help thinking, I should write about this.’ or, have you noticed when ... poets begin to read
introduction to a poem
This is an introduction to a poem called ‘All it Takes’ or ‘Clay Birds.’ Although I hesitate to call it a poem. But that’s my problem. Not yours. And I’ll be talking about that in another introduction.
I was listening to the editor of The Economist magazine. When
a musical interlude–takes me back to chapter two you know who
sketches of Kawaeranga
don’t trust bird stories they have short lives are pleased to please themselves tell of quick movement quick and alive and don’t trust the pain of trees they bear up the sky look the sky is blue … the big kauri on the ridge supports half the sky calls
the déjà vu of an extensive and multifarious declaration of perplexity, Juan Gabriel Vásquez, The Shape of the Ruins, the past that is ruined, in its jealousy, by the present’s 2 minutes hate
… the worst vices of our digital societies: intellectual irresponsibility, proud mediocrity, implausible denigration with impunity, but most of all verbal terrorism, the schoolyard bullying the participants got involved in with incomprehensible enthusiasm, the cowardice of all aggressors who used pseudonyms to vilify but would never repeat their insults out loud.
Rodrigo Garcia: Gabo, Mercedes & an image of death as impenetrable, as object of a singular encounter, as departure
each person has their own singular encounter, not just with the deceased but also with the event itself, … death … Nobody can be denied their relationship to it, their membership in that society. And death as something that is, rather than as the lack of something, is sobering to behold. That