(Portrait of Benjamin Franklin, 1778. Joseph Siffred Duplessis. Metropolitan Museum of Art) Over the last four years or so, events in the United States of America—a country in which, as you know, I myself have no small interest—have made it difficult for those of us who are, shall we say, permanently retired from . . .
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“Jim,” she said. He turned to her. He was sitting on the couch in the living room, that same sinking couch that had belonged to his parents, as had the house. She was in the kitchen making something to eat. They had been out late the night before, and had woken up . . .
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(Photo: A “Sarajevo Rose,” turned into an ersatz war memorial.) I’ve been thinking what to write since last night and I keep drawing a blank. Mostly because I figure you already know whatever I might end up saying. Also, cognitive dissonance, I think. The impossible becomes possible, then it becomes actual, but . . .
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The Regal Lemon Tree by Juan José Saer (Open Letter, 2020) Though I’m less than certain about the world, and definitely not optimistic at all about this country, as far as I’m concerned the New Year couldn’t have started better. I spent it at a family celebration: three brothers-in-law, two of their . . .
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The first day of their year arrived four weeks later than the rest of the world’s. Or, perhaps, the rest of the world’s year had simply started forty-eight weeks early. In either case, the day was marked by great occasion: work and study were suspended for a week to accommodate cross-country travel . . .
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(Photo: “M.R. Cursing the Darkness—Solstice 2020,” Videography: Daniel Warner.) Defined as a wave, yet it has no shore. It comes to a world created, in the third verse of the scriptures. To ignite it was needed: “And God said, Let there be light.” (Three syllables in Hebrew, yehi ‘or.) From then on . . .
Read MoreRead Parts 20-22 here “Now I must make amends.” It is often said (when people are talking of the “Auden group,” those poets who came to prominence with Auden in the Thirties) that MacNeice was the collective’s resident skeptic. Others, you will hear—from Samuel Hynes in his book, The Auden Generation, from Edna . . .
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(Photo: Christmas Rose, Helleborus x hybridus, Winter Jewels “Jade Tiger,” White Flower Farm) Read Part 19 here “So much for Christmas” Vita brevis, ars longa. The week before Christmas finds MacNeice in London’s National Gallery. Outside, movement continues and suggests ephemerality. Inside, “Other worlds persist,” caught and elevated to significance by the artists’ attention, . . .
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of a totaled car? Disc five there once,the library lectures-on-tape (Daily Life in the Ancient World)however fog-socked-in shattered day of arrival. But arrival: that would be the Present waitin for a Future to soothe—from “Is the Past What’s Left in the Glove Compartment,” Volume 61, Issue 3 (Fall 2020) Tell us about . . .
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For three hours I’ve been thrusting my body past the breaking waves on the northernmost beach in Tel Aviv, where the surfers go, and the lifeguards keep calling—little girl! Little girl, come back!—when I move just outside the border marked by red and white plastic lines tied to metal poles sunk into . . .
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