Saturday, August 16, 2014
Premier Free Radical Scavenge
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Saturday, August 2, 2014
My brother once commented, 'Now I get how writers work. You're magpies.' Which we both understood to mean: Writers scavenge from wherever they can, In the case of 'Divine,' I scavenged from Dante, Plato, the Bible, fairy tales, old vampire movies…. When I googled 'magpies' for this statement, I discovered they possess a few more writerly traits: they are clever and often despised, little poètes maudits. The Chinese considered them messengers of joy, but the Scots thought they carried a drop of Satan's blood under their tongues. They are fond of bright objects.
The Best American Poetry 2013
Posted by Jack Saturday at 9:08 AM
Saturday, July 26, 2014
How do we measure? In as many ways as there are things to measure. We measure in stacks and skeins and stories, a lovely word for a building's height that comes to us from Gothic cathedrals who described the heights of their constructions by the number of stacked stained-glass windows they installed.
Made To Measure
from The Antioch Review
But my thoughts, I knew, moved in their own ways, logic clumping along on its path and imagination buzzing erratically from lilac to honeysuckle to rosebud, as well as violet, dandelion, red clover, morning glory, and all the other weeds I spent long afternoons prying out of the yard with a forked cultivator.
Helen Keller Answers The Iron
by Andrew Hudgins
from The Kenyon Review
Posted by Jack Saturday at 10:32 AM
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Doggie Daddy and Max Weber in the same pot! Or on it. Plus, of course, the unusual suspects.
Title stolen from the intro to Spider Robinson's podcast, Spider on the Web. Go enjoy him!
Everything that gets exchanged between people,
whether it's spoken or not, is a form of such thought. Human beings are
discourse. The rest is blood and bone and nerves. Call it speech, that flowing
between us. Compare it to the sun, which us always warming us, even when we
can't see it. This speech-sun is invisible, except when it takes form in
The Soul Of Rumi
…the Mercurius, the rogue who is sometimes
benevolent and sometimes a trickster, an enemy to the law and the revenue
officers, but a great friend to people of noble spirit, and to lovers. This
Mercurius figure is by no means confined to this play alone: it is part of the
apparatus of melodrama. Not infrequently the part was represented as being an
Irishman, and much of the character that Irishmen have in popular opinion for
being witty and irresponsible is the result of these stage representations.
Jung and the Theatre
Posted by Jack Saturday at 8:55 AM