I love patterns. I love making different kinds of patterns in space, in sound, on the page. I feel lucky that pattern recognition is one of the main things I get to do “for work.” Some patterns are sad to see, in recursion, but I reckon the (life) practice is learning to see those as teachers, too.
We will always have the moon, until we do not have it anymore
My god, I will miss this place where creatures whose names I do not know make sounds in the night.
so interesting—will hunt down this scene!
Ah, yes! Such helpful notes—Mackey is such a presence elsewhere in the project but need to look again at the Hornbook, has been a long while. And Derrida-Nancy—thank you for these thoughts 🫀
Yes—I keep thinking of this and B’s teeth. I’m not a Poe scholar—so I’m curious about the origins of his insistence on these insistent body parts.
Writing about pulse—the heart organ, its many and branching metapoetic metaphorizations, the beat and its irregularities, circulation, hydrologics. Any and all recommendations welcome—poetic, historical, theoretical.
“Meet me everywhere.”
The Time Is Now to spark your writing! This week we recommend a classic book on poetic forms by Lucy Alford, and #PWWritingPrompts on summer dualities, materialists, and relationship dynamics. Read more: at.pw.org/TTIN
Arrived on Saturday—exactly in time for its name day. Deepest gratitude to John Yau and Black Square Editions and for the immense gifts of time, care, attention, and language offered by Michael Snediker, Juliana Spahr, and Michael Rutherglen. Welcome to the world, little book ✨
May the lived & living world continue to break our hearts—over & over & over & over again. We are conditioned to believe ourselves to be armored, special, individual beings—a sad fiction. We grow into or relearn love (aliveness) through some interaction of grief, tenderness, time, and repetition.
(Sharon Cameron, Lyric Time, p. 139; quoting Dickinson. P1056)
“For pare all of temporality to a single moment and awareness of the shadows that fall from one’s heels as one walks, distinguishing the self from its own image and that image from the difference of the ground, dwindles to nothing:
‘There is a Zone whose even Years
No solstice interrupts—
…’”
Realized I have not shared this here—
Such an odd threshold, this small book I’ve worked on for longer than any other, flying from my worrying hands. Out in April from Black Square Editions. Godspeed, little one. With gratitude to so very very many.
"Ignorance is a cure for nothing."
W.E.B. Du Bois
Six Voltas
“Time flies, time is fleeting, but then there comes a moment when time, no longer nimble-footed, no longer winged, is for us to carry.”
(Yiyun Li, Things in Nature Merely Grow, 68.)
“…one day gone, three days gone, a week gone, three months gone.
And the days, counted so closely, with all those hours and minutes for one to carry, feel simultaneously long and fleeting.”
(Yiyun Li, Things in Nature Merely Grow,” 69.)
“Where can we live but days?”
(Philip Larkin, “Days”)
“in the chance
of poetry to attend
Imagination
‘s song”
(Ed Roberson, from “echo echo etude,” Asked What Has Changed, p. 45)
Thank you so much for reading, and for sharing these generous words—moved and glad to hear that my book resonated with you! 💜🙏🏼
O how I love this
Morris Graves / Fire, 1947
Morris Graves / Hibernating Animal, ca. 1954
I’m in!
Thank youuuuuu