Sarah V. Schweig

What’s Astonishing: Polina Barskova’s The Zoo in Winter and Austin LaGrone’s Oyster Perpetual

April 26, 2012
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Any review of literature in translation is also a review of the translation. And in this act, the review is also, in part, a comment on the endeavor of translation itself.

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Poem of the Week: Brittany Perham

July 29, 2011
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[In a Familiar City]

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Poem of the Week: Jason Labbe

July 21, 2011
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[Blue Note]

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Poem of the Week: Laura Eve Engel

July 14, 2011
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[Known Quantity]

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Poem of the Week: Peter Kline

July 7, 2011
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[Love-Busker]

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Ur Poems: Sarah V. Schweig

February 25, 2011
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The first poem I ever loved was The Raven. Specifically, one line from the poem haunted me when I was young, and still does: “The silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain.”

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This Just In From the Void

January 10, 2011
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Sestets is what it seems to be and a lot more: a small book of small poems that resurrect what they can from the nothingness.

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Anton Chekhov’s Letter to Dmitry V. Grigorovich

April 21, 2010

(The elderly novelist to whom this letter is addressed won his reputation in the middle of the century and was thus a survivor of the Golden Age of Russian literature.  He had written to young Chekhov, with whom he was not acquainted, hailing him as the outstanding writer of his generation and urging him to […]

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TheThe

March 31, 2010
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The time has come to reveal (I think) the source (for those who don’t already know) of The The Poetry’s name, namely, “The Man on the Dump” by Wallace Stevens.

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NOTES ON NOISE

March 24, 2010
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People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share…
-Paul Simon

Music, I regret to say, affects me merely as an arbitrary succession of more or less irritating sounds….
-Vladimir Nabokov

To my wife Anne, without whose silence this book never would have been written.
-Philip K. Dick, dedication page from The Man in the High Castle

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Paying and Being Paid

March 17, 2010
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I’d caught glimpses of them before. Maybe I’d been up very late and into the morning, taking the Brooklyn-bound train from Manhattan and had seen them standing with briefcases on platforms waiting for trains. Maybe I woke bright and early for my hangover, craving Naked Juice and sparkling water from the corner bodega. Maybe I had wild notions of pretending I had a nine-to-five writing schedule so that there would be an end to the thankless work.

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As If She Were a Symbol of Something

March 17, 2010
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Before I post my regularly scheduled post, in honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I give you an excerpt from James Joyce’s “The Dead.”

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Waverly Gate

March 10, 2010
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A certain esteemed professor requires that those enrolled in his poetry workshop meet with him in his downtown studio apartment, right off Washington Square.

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The Ex-Pens of Spirit

March 3, 2010
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(Disclaimer: Ok, yes. This is a post about pens. But bear with me—I actually do have an idea here.)

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The Lyric Workshop, Session 1: Theme From Shaft

February 24, 2010
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PROFESSOR: Mary Ann, would you mind reading your poem aloud so that we can hear it in your own voice?

MARY ANN: Absolutely. Ahem.

Who’s the black private dick
That’s a sex machine to all the chicks?
SHAFT!
Ya damn right!

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The Super Happy Fun Poem Challenge of the Day in Three Steps

February 17, 2010
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1) Read the following poem by James Wright: Autumn Begins in Martins Ferry, Ohio In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood, And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel, Dreaming of heroes. All the proud fathers […]

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