Holding hands on the big wheel fifty feet above the Tuileries’ evening jasmine, I loved your play at fear, my brave stab at insouciance, the way the bright circuitry of Paris lay beneath us like the night sky, like the plan of our lives.
Mark Doty, Still Life with Oysters and Lemon, nonfiction: A dazzling meditation on the great Dutch still-life paintings of the seventeenth century, and on objects as vessels of human feeling and as occasions of intimacy, pleasure, mortality, and time. (Beacon)
The infinitive is a conservation law. Not to mention all the other things Without which we would have been lost, Like the diamond engagement ring Or the parsimony of the rich. A different context is a different play. The girl in the coffee shop Was a woman onstage. Timor mortis conturbat me. Philadelphia left me…
It’s mad, but it just might work, he said, and floridly signed his name to The Great Submarine Race. Submarines slumbered in his bloodstream and submarines burbled in shallow slips. The Flying Electrons bore the news around the world on cold white drafts and the news pierced the blue clouds. A man in the square…
Marilyn Hacker, translation of Here There Was Once a Country, poems by Vénus Khoury-Ghata: A searing translation of the poems of a prolific Lebanese writer who has always straddled two cultures, the Arabic and the French. Hacker luminously brings to life Khoury-Ghata’s intimate, mysterious, and unique voice. (Oberlin)
I stroll among wounded merchants’ daughters. What to buy? What to wear? The questions dreadless enough. I take them down from their posts. Heart cuff, woodpecker wing, suit-so-sorry. News of the repeating, damned repeating. Circles the sky. Once I tried crooning and fell apart simply. The girls in slit skirts made an art of revealing….
1. His camera absorbing the veld to expose its slow, tectonic motion, to let the inevitable gazelles graze the film as he rests easy, sleeping in emerging wheat . . . 2. Six years they coexisted in his case, symbiotic within silver slivers, as if forsaking faith in days to date in the negative. 3….
DeWitt Henry, editor of Sorrow’s Company: Writers on Loss and Grief, essays: Henry collects some of the finest contemporary essays about loss and the grieving process, the bridge between pain and recovery. These pieces are transcendent and ultimately celebratory, bestowing to its readers the gift of condolence. (Beacon)
for J.L. Thanks for your fan letter—I’ve built a shrine. I was up all night thinking of you up all night studying my use of slant and internal rhyme in A Shoemaker’s Dystopia. By line 317 the scheme I fear is obvious, so I was giddy as salmon at spawn that you found my little…
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