#marianne boruch

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of october

alfred starr a dark dreambox of another kind: the poems of alfred starr: "didn't you ever search for another star?

stephen spender new collected poems: "auden's funeral"

marianne boruch keats is coughing

noa micaela fields zoeglossia: poem of the week, may 17, 2021: "echolalia"

kevin young diptych

richard siken real estate

crisosto apache kúghą/home

mikko harvey for m

nathan hoks nests in air: "the barbed wire nest"

john a. holmes noon waking

crisosto apache 37 common characterisi(x)s of a displaced indian with a learning disability

oliver de la paz requiem for the orchard: "at the time of my birth"

zhang xun jiangnan song (tr. bijaan noormohamed)

paul violi fracas: "extenuating circumstances"

tianru wang after "yellow crane tower"

lloyd schwartz cairo traffic: "nostalgia (the lake at night)"

kamiko han the narrow road to the interior: "the orient"

rigoberto gonzalez unpeopled eden: "unpeopled eden"

adelaide crapsey verse: "to the dead in the graveyard underneath my window"

chester kallman night music

alan shapiro covenant: "covenant"

tom clark light and shade: new and selected poems: "radio"

tc tolbert my melissa,

charlie smith in praise of regret

carolyn kizer cool, calm, and collected: poems 1960-2000: "fanny"

julie sheehan orient point: "hate poem"

arthur sze the redshifting web: poems 1970-1998: "streamers"

joumana altallal everything here...in the voice of tara fares

abid b al-abras last simile

w.s. merwin to lingering regrets

george scarbrough music

shout me a coffee

[violettesiren]

Most of the rooms muted by cold, and the furniture there with its human chill under vast drapes of plastic for the season—

Because eventually we are an austerity, walking room to room enamored and saddened, all the crazy variations of bed and table, clocks, books on a shelf, foreign harbors etched some yesterday, framed for a wall. And the effrontery of windows assuming how lovely out, a certainty of lawn and woods, distance on a road, voices that in summer drift up and move away.

Desire. That continues and continuing is the part loved just as there is emptiness with an occasion in it, clothes to remove before you ease into a bath.

Branches and branches scraping is winter. And after midnight, near morning when I stepped out, the moon by half, was it deer I saw? A little one and maybe its mother. Or they were smaller than deer. Or larger.

Oh but they were strange, stopped across the snow like that.

I Saw a House, a Field by Marianne Boruch

[womens-art]

Marianne Boruch, "A Tiny Pre-Kangaroo Slips Out Its Mother's"

[s-hodne]

WHAT GOD KNEW

Marianne Boruch when he knew nothing.  A leaflooks like this, doesn’t it?  No oneto ask. So came the inventionof the question too, the way all at heart are rhetorical, each leafsuddenly wedded to its shade. When God  knew nothing, it was better, wasn’t it? Not the color blue yet, its deep unto black.  No color at all really, not yet one thing leading to another, sperm to egg endlessly, thus…

[poem-today]

A poem by Marianne Boruch

A Musical Idea

At the second light, you turn, the boy tells me. I turn. A musical idea. Turn then, when a light in any house goes on.

Dark end of the day on the street. Dark late afternoon in November. In any kitchen—revealed: the hum

starts in the freezer, down the lower shelves, takes the stove back to its fire. The sink is an absence:

one tea-stained cup left to seed. I live somewhere. But to walk away is a musical idea. Because a corner means

make a profile to however once you were. Once a child, I kept turning full-faced into everything, never

saying a word. You like to think that, my brother says. I heard you plenty of times. And you were hiding.

Marianne Boruch

[murphycooper]

Isn’t bite also touch?

The Crane Wife - CJ Hauser / Cadaver, Speak, Marianne Boruch / Murmur, Cameron Barnett / “Interview with the Vampire” Season 2

[bluehandprint]

Supernatural 2x03 Bloodlust / Marianne Boruch, The No-Name Tapestries / James Lee Byars, The Halo, 1985 / Valerie Martínez, Absence, Luminescent / Supernatural 4x16 On the Head of a Pin

[geryone]

Hannah !! Give me some poetry collection recs <3 <3 your poetry taste is out of this world

Hi Cianna!!! Love you!!! ❤️ I feel like I tend to recommend the same collections over & over so I’ll try to stick to things I’ve read in the last couple months!

I really enjoyed these collections:

So to Speak by Terrance Hayes

Removal Acts by Erin Marie Lynch

Red Ocher by Jessica Poli

Gut by J. Bailey Hutchinson

Cadaver, Speak by Marianne Boruch

I also loved these collections that are coming out in the next couple months:

Origins of the Syma Species by Tares Oburumu (ADORED THIS)

The Palace of Forty Pillars by Armen Davoudian

Thick with Trouble by Amber McBride ( I’m not finished this one yet but I love it so far!!)

[padmeanddorme]

ooh, do you think I deserved it all?

ooh, your flowers filled with vitriol

you built me up

to watch me fall

you have everything

and you still want more

I try to be tough, I try to be mean

“I love you”

But even after all this, you're still everything to me

And I know you don't care

I guess that’s fine

~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~

credits: song lyrics from the grudge, by Olivia Rodrigo. gifs do not belong to me. post inspired by @cheesenames’ post (see here https://www.tumblr.com/cheesenames/764646844545531904/star-wars-episodes-i-iii-george-lucas-star)

[violettesiren]

Last twilight, I pulled up withered stalks tomato and pepper, broccoli, squash threw them off toward the compost pile.

Dazed murmuring overhead, crackle of stem, whirl of sudden airborne root. It was half dark , it was a departing room and I was not

gentle, nor was I thinking about spring, some vague glad rejuvenation. None of that. I stood shadow and eater, eyeing one small squash

off the garden's edge, an afterthought of harvest stranded in the weeds. Carrots too, forgotten all summer, I coaxed them now into dim light: stubby creatures

alert in their brash color, even intelligent, as though they would walk a few inches for a joke if I asked. The moon stepped out—an awful

perfect lens. I stopped, then shredded off the leafy tops. I stuffed them cold into a basket. Behind some clouds, they stirred,

the elegant friends: planets, the old gods, death.

November Garden with Moon by Marianne Boruch

[womens-art]

Marianne Boruch, "Keats Is Coughing"

[vandroid-helsing]

Best of 2022

as always, this is stuff I loved in 2022, not necessarily stuff that came out in 2022 (in fact, it's mostly not!). and there'll be a more detailed post on Patreon.

BOOKS & COMICS

Squire, Sara Alfageeh & Nadia Shammas

The Argonautika, Apollonius of Rhodes trans. Peter Green

Scout Is Not A Band Kid, Jade Armstrong

Bestiary Dark, Marianne Boruch

Antigonick, Anne Carson/Sophocles

Flint and Mirror, John Crowley

Devil House, John Darnielle

Universal Harvester, John Darnielle

Vita Nostra, Marina Dyachenko

The Hatch, Joe Fletcher

Averno, Louise Glück

Job: A New Verse Translation, Edward L. Greenstein

The Thin Man, Dashiell Hammett

Heretics of Dune, Frank Herbert 

Iliad, Homer trans. Caroline Alexander 

Skin Folk, Nalo Hopkinson

Uzumaki, Junji Ito

Moon Witch, Spider King, Marlon James 

Footnotes in the Order of Disappearance, Fady Joudah

Ulysses, James Joyce

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, John le Carré

A Desolation Called Peace, Arkady Martine

Salt Fat Acid Heat, Samin Nosrat

The Bull from the Sea, Mary Renault

The Persian Boy, Mary Renault 

Normal People, Sally Rooney

Grief Sequence, Prageeta Sharma

A Frog in the Fall, Linnea Sterte 

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me, Mariko Tamaki and Rosemary Valero-O’Connell

A Secret Vice, JRR Tolkien ed. Dimitra Fimi

MOVIES

Loser, Urzila Carlson

Everything Everywhere All At Once, Daniels 

Saint Maud, Rose Glass

Promare, Hiroyuki Imaishi

My Neighbor Totoro, Hayao Miyazaki

Withnail & I, Bruce Robinson

Jenny Slate: Stage Fright, Gillian Robinson

Demon Slayer, Haruo Sotozaki

Stalker, Andrei Tarkovsky

Sk8 the Infinity, Hiroko Utumi

Barbarella, Roger Vadim

MUSIC

The Dream, alt-J

Renaissance, Beyoncé 

Hounds of Love, Kate Bush

“Lakes of Canada,” The Innocence Mission

The Loneliest Time, Carly Rae Jepsen

Dance Fever, Florence + the Machine

Mashrou' Leila, just like, in general

“Children of Light II”, Meg Myers

Leak 04-13, Jai Paul

Scheherazade, Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov

Rostam & Sohrab, Loris Tjeknavorian

MISCELLANEOUS

Getting an agent

Homemade baba ghanoush 

Seeing Drawfee live

Attending Tristan und Isolde

The work of Salman Toor

Guesting on The Spouter-inn

[reconstructionlegacy]

“What is dead may never die,” Theon said, remembering.

Theon I (A Clash of Kings), George R.R. Martin

When the chorus sing that the ‘name of the land will vanish’ and ‘Troy no longer exists’, they are singing for an audience for whom Troy’s name has survived.

P.E. Easterling, The Cambridge Companion to Greek Tradgedy

I begin with three ancient premises I almost believe. One: the dead move among us. Two: there is the thinnest veil between the things we see and the secret, heart-stopping place those images open to, and only image, the beloved particular, allows entry. Three: that hidden place is the source of poetry, of any art really, and tapping that requires two conflicting states of mind at once—vigilance and a kind of half-sleep, thinking and not thinking at all. I realize this sounds archaic and even unhinged, and that’s probably the best I can hope for.

Marianne Boruch, from Seeing Things, "The Little Death of Self" (University of Michigan Press, 2017)

I have written you down Now you will live forever And all the world will read you And you will live forever In eyes not yet created On tongues that are not born I have written you down Now you will live forever 

Poet, Bastille

One wants to tell a story, like Scheherezade, in order not to die. It’s one of the oldest urges in mankind. It’s a way of stalling death.

Carlos Fuentes

I think it’s because the minute they [poets] are dead all of their poems about death become poems about being alive.

Mary Ruefle, "Short Lecture on the Dead," Madness, Rack and Honey (Wave Books, 2012)

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Friday Night, Shanghai by Arthur Solway

ADVANCE ORDER: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/friday-night-shanghai-by-arthur-solway/

Friday Night, #Shanghai is a love letter to one of the most dynamic cities on the planet. Living as an #expatriate in #China for well over a decade, Solway’s poems are intimate meditations on what it means to be nomadic at heart, or “stranded in a world that won’t let go.” There are also poems about the transformative powers of art and the lives of artists—Giacometti, Warhol, Joseph Cornell, and Robert Mapplethorpe, as well as to our patron saints of literature such as Berryman, Rexroth, and Beckett. It is a book filled with music, its lyric tension generated through distilled syntax, tone, yet always with an unflinching eye for close observation, and for images that are at once evocative and indelible.

Arthur Solway’s poetry and essays have appeared in The Antioch Review, Barrow Street, BOMB, The London Magazine, Salmagundi, Southern Poetry Review, TriQuarterly, and elsewhere. His work has also been featured by the Academy of American Poets Poem-a-Day. His critical reviews and cultural essays can be found in Artforum, Frieze, and ArtAsiaPacific magazines. Living and working in Shanghai for well over a decade, he was the founding director of the first contemporary art gallery from New York to establish itself in mainland China. A graduate of the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers, he is a poetry editor for The Shanghai Literary Review and presently lives in Santa Cruz, California.

PRAISE FOR Friday Night, Shanghai by Arthur Solway

With their tight lyric tension and condensed but intricately musical syntax, Solway’s poems are so gemlike, they’ll make you ask yourself how it is that you didn’t already know this poet’s body of work. Well, it’s because somehow, this is his first book. But it’s that rare first book that demonstrates a lifetime’s investment in the art. The consistently understated endings of these poems resonate longer and more deeply than the tympani of a ta-da. International in their orientation, often in dialogue with works of art and literature, Solway’s poems remain intimate, softly-spoken, and durable.

–Forrest Gander

“…listen/ to the spores, the underbelly/ of a mushroom,” poet Arthur Solway begins this collection. But I did not. I read on instead, into light and color, the sound of “bickering crows,” then children on swings “a clockwork of legs/kicking the dusk,” another way into music. Because this is a book of sensual delights though danger cuts through it where “clouds are like shrapnel” and “blow themselves apart.” Along for the ride are the great spirits and guardians, among them Berryman, Giacometti, Joseph Cornell, Rexroth, Marie Curie. Vast, Solway’s range is that of the ocean: “sparkle” vs. emptiness.

–Marianne Boruch

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry

#china #expatriate

[inkandalchemy]

“Eventually one dreams the real thing.” - from Before and Every After by Marianne Boruch Day 9/100 #poetrymakesmehappy #leanintotheart #the100dayproject #readmeapoem (at Albuquerque, New Mexico) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cpc3fdsuBbd/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[llovelymoonn]

is it possible to rq a webweaving on wanting to be loved but not knowing how to properly feel it? tysm im advance

carl phillips wild is the wind: "the distance and the spoils" \\ marianne boruch keats is coughing \\ william steig \\ hélène cixous the love of the wolf (tr. keith cohen) \\ micah nemerever these violent delights \\ @ryebreadgf

kofi