Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Priya Parmar, Vanessa and her Sister

‘I was wrong. The sea does not offer its rhythm, nor its colours, lightly. It is a snarling blue beast in one moment and a frothy jade pool the next.'

Monday, March 20, 2017

Maggie Nelson, The Red Parts

‘Because there is currently no way to date DNA, under the right light, cells from thousands of years ago would glow right alongside the cells we are leaving in our wake today. Under the right light, the present and the past are indistinguishable.'

Maggie Nelson, Jane: A Murder

'Two slugs turn the light of the mind into dull meat'.

Friday, March 03, 2017

The Inferno of Dante Alighieri: A New Translation by Ciaran Carson


'the more a thing is perfect,
pain and pleasure both intensify.’

Frank Bidart, Star Dust













                                                       Were you
giving me a gift. Did you want fixed in my brain
what I will not ever possess. Were you giving me


a gift that cannot be possessed. 

- 'The Phenomenology of the Prick'

Emily Berry, Stranger, Baby


Emily Berry, Dear Boy













                                 'And I was grown up, with your face on, 
heating spice after spice to smoke out the smell of books, to burn
the taste buds off this bitten tongue, avoid ever speaking of you.’

Ben Lerner, Hatred of Poetry

 '‘Poetry’ becomes a word for an outside that poems cannot bring about, but can make felt, albeit as an absence, albeit it through embarrassment.’

Anne Boyer, Garments Against Women

‘The flâneur is a poet is an agent free of purses, but a woman is not a woman without a strap over her shoulder or a clutch in her hand.’

Frank Bidart, The Book of the Body


'He married 
meat, and thought it was a wife.'

Anne Carson, Decreation

‘Decreation is an undoing of the creature in us - that creature enclosed in self and defined by self. But to undo the self one must move through self, to the very inside of its definition. We have nowhere else to start.’

Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet

'What is erotic about reading (or writing) is the play of imagination called forth in the space between you and your object of knowledge.'

Agathie Christie, Murder on the Orient Express


Monday, February 06, 2017

Agathie Christie, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

‘Roger was so fond of handling queer curios. His hand must have slipped, or something.'

Anne Carson, Nox

'Prowling the meanings of a word, prowling the history of a person, no use expecting a flood of light. Human words have no main switch. But all those little kidnaps in the dark. And then the luminous, big, shivering discandied, unrepentant, barking web of them that hangs in your mind when you turn back to the page you were trying to translate.’

Anne Carson, The Beauty of the Husband


'I broke the glass and jumped.
Now of course you know 

that isn't true story, what broke wasn't glass, what fell to earth wasn't body.
But still'

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red


'Don't want to be free want to be with you. Beaten but alert Geryon organized all 
his inside force to suppress this remark.'

Donika Kelly, Bestiary

‘O, to do away with the meat and light of me.’

Vahni Capildeo, Measures of Expatriation

‘Language is my home. It is alive other than in speech. It is beyond a thing to be carried with me. It is ineluctable, variegated and muscular. A flicker and drag emanates from the idea of it. Language seems capable of girding the oceanic earth, like the world-serpent of Norse legend. It is as if language places a shaping pressure upon our territories of habitation and voyage; thrashing, independent, threatening to rive our known world apart.’ 

Thursday, January 26, 2017

Anne Carson, Glass, Irony & God


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Everything I know about love and its necessities
I learned in that one moment 
when I found myself

thrusting my little burning red backside like a baboon
at a man who no longer cherished me.
There was no area of my mind

not appalled by this action, no part of my body
that could have done otherwise.
But to talk of mind and body begs the question.

Soul is the place, 
stretched like a surface of millstone grit between body and mind, 
where such necessity grinds itself out.

Sunday, January 22, 2017

William Shakespeare, Othello

'What wound did ever heal but by degrees?'

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Jarett Kobek, i hate the internet

'Nothing says individuality like 500 million consumer electronics built by slaves.'