#99 - on poetry + isolation
Art by Eugen Spiro
The Master by Donald Hall
Where the poet stops, the poem
begins. The poem asks only
that the poet get out of the way.
The poem empties itself
in order to fill itself up.
The poem is nearest the poet
when the poet laments
that it has vanished forever.
When the poet disappears
the poem becomes visible.
What may the poem choose,
best for the poet?
It will choose that the poet
not choose for himself.
Other poems I enjoyed reading:
"Grandfather
advised me:
Learn a trade
I learned
to sit at desk
and condense
No layoff
from this
condensery"
-Poet’s work by Lorine Niedecker
"I’m waiting for a poem,
something rough, not elaborate or out of control,
something undisturbed by curses, a white raven
released from darkness.
Words that come naturally, without aiming at anything,
a bullet without a target,
warning shots to the sky
in newly occupied lands."
-from Waiting For a Poem by Luljeta Lleshanaku
Translated by Henry Israeli and Shpresa Qatipi
"I’ve been writing this since
a sparrow flew into my class
and crashed into the window,
laid to rest on a bed of tissue
in a shoebox by the swings, since
the morning I first stood up
on the bathroom sink to watch
my father shave, since our eyes
met in that foggy mirror, since
the splinter my mother pulled
from my thumb, kissed my blood." -from Since Unfinished by Richard Blanco
"poems cough and
metaphors hide
do parables describe or disguise?
if i wrote in rhymes would you read easier?
if i didn’t write at all would you breathe easier?
do the words get in the way" -from Life Poem by Bob Holman
"poetry workshops tell me to be less Poetry about my rage
poetry workshops also tell me to be less poetry in my poetry
to never let the poem know I’m talking about it, never let it know
where you are, what it is, don’t talk
about writing. never talk about writing, this is a game
to play while your people burn. today in the sun, tomorrow
in the sun also, but the next day they’ll be leather
on the tectonic hot plate under the west’s tongue / under the hiccup holding a pen,
drawing new lines where the earth was already wrinkled."
-from if teta never had to leave lebanon i wonder if she would make preserves by Jess Rizkallah
Recommended Listening:
She's Lost Control - Joy Division
The Emotional Toll of Living Online: Creative Class
Links of the Week:
While the pandemic forces publishers to slow down, this literary journal is relaunching itself (Nether's back!)
The Millennial Mental-Health Crisis
How We Quarantine: Relationships During COVID-19
See In Black
Irma Haselberger's Photography
Tawny Chatmon's project The Redemption
My 10 commandments for freelancing in India
Juzi: Bangalore's very own fruit bowl subscription service (I've been working hard to make this happen. Bangalore, get your daily dose of fruits!)
Workshop Alert:
CreativeMornings FieldTrip: Make Zines Together
I've been feeling fairly disconnected from people, and saying no to everyone who has asked me to go live on Zoom/Instagram. In truth, I've been missing my friends and family. I miss my less paranoid self who allowed strangers to come home and make zines together.
The good news is that I've decided to step out of my shell and show you all how to make zines, a DIY form of self publishing. Making zines is one of my favorite ways to recharge myself creatively, and I can't wait to share the super easy technique with a bunch of strangers around the world.
This is going to be a digital Field Trip on CreativeMornings Global. June 28th, 9pm IST.
Pre-registration is a must. Sign up here before the slots run out.
New on the website:
Art by Nayanaa Kanodia
Artist Showcase: Nayanaa Kanodia
Call for submissions: Send in your letter-poems for an e-book by Letters2Strangers
"Does the brush paint, or does the ink? Or does the paper, the hand, the brain, the mind, the vision, or the person? Or does a painting paint?"
-Kazuaki Tanahashi