Arts & Society

Poem of the Week: Ai

by Joe Weil Academia
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[Salomé]

The Book Bag

by Joe Weil Memoir
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The weirdest things survive. I lost my parents and some of those friends also died: Eric, who introduced me to vampire comics and Henry Miller novels, his brother Greg who netted the biggest trout I ever caught, Huey who threw a good fast ball, and liked jamming with me on the piano.

Tom Waits’ many, many moons

by Daniel Silliman Music
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Waits has a thing for moons, and has been working on lyrical variations of this one metaphor for gong on 40 years.

Look What God Can Do!

by Colie Hoffman Memoir
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No one wants to appear childlike and vulnerable to others, but everyone (everyone who seeks out new experiences, anyway) wants to feel that way–along with love, awe is the one of the emotions people seek most deeply. And for writers, whose job is to express the inexpressible, the hidden, these two aims can feel at odds.

Tall Poetry: James Copeland’s To My Plants

by Levi Rubeck Film and TV
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James Copeland is a tall man, who rides a tall bike, drinks tall drinks, and writes tall poetry.

The photographic character of photographs

by Daniel Silliman Art
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A question I’ve been toying with: can one photograph in such a way as to make that invisible visible? In such a way as to make the photography part of the photograph? To show the texture of the thing, and not erase it?

Underground Revisited by Yahia Lababidi: With Introduction by Brian Chappell

by Brian Chappell Fiction
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Abominable Ladies and Gentleman, thank me for coming!

Ur Poems: Sarah V. Schweig

by Sarah V. Schweig Memoir
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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.”

In praise of crazy sculptures

by Daniel Silliman Art
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If all art does is make us stroke our chins and say in somber tones, “very interesting,” then art isn’t worth it to me.

Meditation on Milosz

by Joe Weil Memoir
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We must always be as careful with nostalgia as we are with most forms of vulgarity: it is too close to the whore’s heart, and can be used by politicians to promote a “purity,” an Edenic return that supports the most vile sense of the volk.

Anne Carson’s “Just Hearsay” with Illustrations by Bianca Stone

by Bianca Stone Art
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The poem “Just Hearsay” by Anne Carson, illustrated by Bianca Stone.

Dispatch after emerging from the post-AWP hangover: or My first AWP

by Adam Pellegrini Memoir
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At a party last Thursday night after a full day at this year’s AWP conference, I broke one of my own absolute rules – never, under any circumstances resort to quoting The Big Lebowski.

Ur Poems: Brian Chappell

by Brian Chappell Fiction
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Ashbery causes me to pause and reflect with awed humility that I could never do what he did in this poem.

Marriage Counseling for True Minds

by Alfred Corn Academia
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To what extent do the classics belong to our actual, lived experience?

Ur Poems: David Shapiro

by David Shapiro Music
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My first memory of my father is: “Hurled headlong flaming!”

Unstuck with Yahia Lababidi

by Brian Chappell Academia
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Yahia Lababidi remembers late nights in his dorm room at George Washington University, tossing in bed as the voices of Wilde, Rilke and Kafka reverberated around him.

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