Ghosts of different shapes an sizes, floating

‘Whatever lost ghosts flare,
Damned, howling in their shrouds across the moor
Rave on the leash of the starving mind
Which peoples the bare room, the blank, untenanted air.’

📕 Sylvia Plath, November Graveyard
🖼️ Leonora Carrington, Samain

#BookWormSat #ghosts #poetry

Check out my poetry webpage which I need to update soon

www.writeoutloud.net/profiles/mic...

Time and surveillance
We cannot have one without the other apparently

States of mind and upside down worlds.

Comienzo
a perder instantes.

A perderme.

Una décima de segundo.
Un milésimo de silencio.

Nada me despoja.
Todo me desnuda.

Es lo infinito que regresa.

Aprendo
a habitar el esplendor
de la sombra.

Ana Emilia Lahittea, argentina, 1921-2013

Photo by Lynn Skordal

Great book and whilst experimental is very nuanced

Spanish trees

Conde writes about class and degradation in a way that combines an explicit political agenda and quite subtle literary framing. It is not crass or partisan in a crude sense but is committed and delicately presented.

The writing and story telling is very inventive and the voice of the characters and their views up front. It’s more than just a good story.

That’s an interesting piece of writing and the notion of witnesses as being around us in many shapes is interesting.

I wrote some social science materials but my heart is in my poetry projects

A part of my new collection.
My fourth endeavour coming out of some common concerns and inspiration by others.
Just closing off the four collection soon.

Southern English coasts and the piers that reach out under the moon
Deal Kent tonight

Shut it down
close the door
on the word for a bus station
leave the door swinging
and the pigeon pecking
on damp concrete
and edit out the
‘sun rays’ and
replace it with
‘grey Anglican clouds’
so your
protagonist is
forever stuck waiting
for the tired coaches
whose wheels
you punctured

Shut it down
close the door
on the word for a bus station
leave the door swinging
and the pigeon pecking
on damp concrete
and edit out the
‘sun rays’ and
replace it with
‘grey Anglican clouds’
so your
protagonist is
forever stuck waiting
for the tired coaches
whose wheels
you punctured

The back of Bayswater
Smiley’s land from long ago

When you are stuck in a writing rut but it’s due to the challenge of proofing and rereading and dreading the moment of closure. That is to say there are no more u turns or sidetracking or revising a word over and over. The violence of closure.

Careless Jupiter Our most affluent wave a thoughtless hand, Sending a hurricane to my neighborhood. Atop the world, perhaps sympathetic, Not enough to keep from smiting us. I certainly can’t control them Anymore than the weather. Unbridled hoarding births forces of nature. Unaffected, unjust, unwitting. At times they deem “necessary” an ocean Swallow a community, a state, a country. I just try to keep my family above water. All washed away, we get back up, rebuild. And when one should fall from Olympus? They wonder why we look up and laugh.

A poem about working class frustrations.
My submission for #PoemsAbout #WildWind

@brokenspinearts.bsky.social @alanparry.bsky.social
#poetry #poetsofbluesky

2024 Literary Studies Book and Journal Article List A companion list for lit studies scholars.

A companion to our history lists, here's a list of books, chapters, and articles published in 2024 in lit studies by scholars working off the tenure track. Compiled by @rcolesworthy.bsky.social and @hartmann-villalta.bsky.social.

Bilbao

What’s the daydream about or who or why?

Contemporary poetry is very outputs driven: hit targets, get the turnover, go big on the journals, etc. It’s sometimes about publishing but not being read or not bothering to explain what your trajectory is.
You get a sense of this.

You are right but unfortunately for many writers the journals and publishers of collections function on the basis of your reputation, presence & how you have ‘placed’ yourself. That ‘self-publishing ’ market is sadly problematic but allows people to start off & put something out there.

Serra at the Guggenheim
I feel a poem coming on