#Lia Purpura

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

("Will-o-the-wisp and Snake," Hermann Hendrich)

[Strange Company]

* * * * *

"Today it rained hard for much of the afternoon. It got dark fast, let go a hard, final downpour, and now the streets are clear and sharp-smelling. The light, these long last days of summer, is low enough to jewel and yellow, blur, and now, if I tilt my head, rainbow all the drops hanging from the phone line. It's that the colors weight the drops, slick them with fire and sea greens in shifts.

I walk through this rain thinking at one time I would point this all out to you in person, hold these drops on the wire against those astral stalks, iridesce the water, roll a pearly drop toward you, fray and sift asparagal light. But now you live in another city and you, in another country, and you (who have not yet even made an appearance here) and I no longer speak of such things.

But I want the shine to live. And before I know it, I am offering, tilting into the light and bringing forth . . . something: fine beads aloft, an abacus of pearls, say. I'm sowing some new green, but it's for you, Reader, whom I both know and do not know, who both exist and do not exist, who constitute an elsewhere far, further than I can imagine, years, maybe centuries away.

Whose elsewhere is a balm and a comfort." 

- Lia Purpura  :: Rough Likeness

 [via whiskey river]

[dk-thrive]

morning, morning, morning

There's the thing I shouldn't do and yet, and now I have the rest of the day to make up for, not undo, that can't be done but next time, think more calmly, breathe, say here's a new morning, morning, morning, (though why would that work, it isn't even hidden, hear it in there, more, more, more?)

- Lia Purpura, Resolution (Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 8, 2016, by the Academy of American Poets.)(via Whiskey River)

[johnesimpson]

You Feel Something Tugging at the Rug Beneath Your Feet

Eleanor Lerman, Tim Nolan, Roz Chast, et al.: 'You Feel Something Tugging at the Rug Beneath Your Feet'

[Image: a page from cartoonist Roz Chast’s 2023 book — a “graphic novel,” but not really — called I Must Be Dreaming. The book is about, well, dreaming, and consists mostly (as with this page) of accounts of Chast’s own dreams.] From whiskey river: Strange Life It’s as if you are alone in a room in an empty house and there’s music playing somewhere, the kind of music that you always knew…

[Read the rest]

[smellofwings]

“l d c h i o h d o” 

features the poem “future perfect” by lia purpura

[elizabethanism]

[postconnaissance]

Jean-Luc Nancy - Corpus (tr. Richard A. Rand)

[ademella]

currently reading

[therisingfog]

[littlebearblues]

from lia purpura's the smallest woman in the world you can find the full essay here

[existential-celestial]

think more calmly, breathe, say here’s a newmorning, morning, morning,

Lia Purpura, from “Resolution"

[poem-today]

A poem by Lia Purpura

Belief

Light being wavy and particulate at once is instructive— why wouldn't other things or states present as both/and? For instance I both believe and can't. Holding these together produces a wobble, I think it's time to take seriously as a stance.

Lia Purpura

Listen to Lia Purpura read her poem.

[literaryhousepress]

Our newest title, Scream (or never minding), by Lia Purpura made it to Small Press Distribution’s Nonfiction Bestseller List for October-December 2017! Go, little chapbook, go! 😱

[johnesimpson]

The Practice of Counter-Inevitability

Lia Purpura, Jennifer Moxley, et al.: 'The Practice of Counter-Inevitability'

[Image: “Something Like (But Not the Same As) Inevitability,” by John E. Simpson. (Photo shared here under a Creative Commons License; for more information, see this page at RAMH.)] From whiskey river: Probability Most coincidents are not miraculous, but way more common than we think —it’s the shiver of noticing being central in a sequence of events that makes so much seem wild and rare — because what…

[dk-thrive]

I have no idea what this means, but this means.

I read Dickinson when I was really young. And remember very clearly, not understanding at all what she was saying and thinking I have no idea what this means, but this means.

~ Lia Purpura Reads Carl Phillip's  "White Dog" (The New Yorker: Poetry, Podcast, June 21, 2017)

[mimenicodes]

Allegories | Lia Purpura

That crag, in its hunching, suggests a shawl under which we can slip our burdens, since we alone among creatures bestow likenesses for assurance we really exist, and name boulders and peaks Widow's this, Widow's that, so others might navigate by the forms of our grief.

[amaised44]