writing

writing
Mon Frères
03.03.10 | Permalink | comment?

Today you may call me DeLilah, I’m feeling like the midnight dj. What are your favorite love songs? I think I’m always being swept up by various ones whether en flagrante delicto or not, but there are two that always make me die in their simplicity, the way they feel open and mysterious [...]
writing
On Those Who Are Islands
09.01.09 | Permalink | comment?

This is by far my favorite poem by him. I will read it again every month or so and feel myself come to understand something closer to the heart each time.
My Father’s Wedding, Robert Bly
1924Today, lonely for my father, I saw
a log, or branch,
long, bent, ragged, bark gone.
I felt lonely for my father when [...]
writing
From The Book of Hours
04.13.09 | Permalink | 1 comment

by RilkeI am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
dark and shrewd.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves towards deed;
and in those quiet, [...]
writing
Found Poetry
04.03.09 | Permalink | comment?

At many times I feel like I cant just be myself because I feel that my real self is just an embarrassment to people and disrespectful. For instance when I am having a great time I usually will show it by being loud and wild. When we go bowling when I am doing really good. [...]
writing
…the Rest Is Silence
03.23.09 | Permalink | 2 comments

One of the most sublime moments in art is silence. It’s rare, to articulate open space while at the same time filling it; how do you push a narrative forward while standing absolutely still?
It’s a matter of timing, really. And of restraint. Art that cares for slowness feels like the intake [...]

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writing
Yours and Mine
02.19.09 | Permalink | 1 comment

I’m taking a class at Brown this semester (unfortunately not two). My professor has good taste. We read this and I looked around and I wondered if the other women in the class, mostly older than me, were shaking their heads out of sympathy or pity. I felt bad that I am a perennial infant [...]
writing
A Poem For the Coming Year
12.31.08 | Permalink | comment?

One of my favorites.
Touch Me, Stanley Kunitz
Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that’s late,
it is my song that’s flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled [...]
writing
I’m Sorry It’s Slow
11.02.08 | Permalink | 2 comments

It always sort of bummed me out that I was not a poet. In fact, I resented it so much, I used to hate poetry, and made a deliberate effort to not understand it. Now I think of it as the most direct way of speaking, of communicating; the most beautiful. A good poem pulls [...]
writing
Calvino, on Quickness
09.11.08 | Permalink | comment?

Among Chuan-tzu’s many skills, he was an expert draftsman.
The king asked him to draw a crab. Chuang-tzu replied that he needed five years, a country house, and twelve servants.
Five years later the drawing was still not begun.
“I need another five years,” said Chuang-tzu.
The king granted them.
At the end of these ten years, Chuang-tzu took up [...]
writing
Contrasting Depressions
08.20.08 | Permalink | comment?

As opposed to Neruda’s sadness, here is sour Phil.
Aubade by Larkin
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall [...]
writing
Youth & Beauty
08.08.08 | Permalink | comment?

I wrote this down in an old journal of mine. It’s from an interview with Michael Hurley. I think it’s perfect.
I wandered in NYC and hung out in the village. I was interested in Beatniks because they didn’t have to go to school and got to drink wine and they were cool. After awhile, of [...]
writing
Customer of Size
08.04.08 | Permalink | comment?

I read this story, Customer of Size, the other day from the last issue of Carve Magazine. It’s by Mary Jones.
It humanizes a moment which most people don’t give much thought to. I always hear so much chatter about fat people like they’re another, lesser species, abstract persons “punished” for abstract crimes. The sort of [...]
writing
Being Read To Is One of Life’s Greatest Pleasures
08.04.08 | Permalink | comment?

The other day I went to that reading, and it was wonderful.
Ada Books is, first of all, an exquisitely curated little bookstore with a pleasing and simple aesthetic. Also, I stole a very cushy chair while everyone else sat on wooden ones because I am apparently a real princess. I say apparently like this is [...]
writing
boothboy reads to boothgirls
06.30.08 | Permalink | comment?

William Walsh is brilliant. Here, let me show you:

Girls like you aren’t born until highschool. Born atsixteen years old. You give birth to yourself, youglamorous creature, you beautiful girl. But you’reso young. Baby woman. You just startedmenstruating. You like it. You like menstruating—you are that young. Last week your pee-pee hadbeen an inert slit. Now [...]

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