"Elizabeth Bishop only ever wrote one poem, a villanelle about an elk breaking up with her (“The Elk Breaks Up with Me”), and if I may say so she did very well with it."
Odysseus Amongst the Swine Glances Towards Ithaca
Sometimes my flailing
burnt-by-the wind heart
grows alarmed and pushes
my sentiments aside
and in their place
grow lists enumerating
ostrich feathers and tin-can
telephones to encode
the ratification of love.
The only way to touch
a poem is with the mouth.
I put this one in yours
and yours in mine
and for a moment
the lonely air between
us is filled with birds, leaves
and contrails underlining
the honest sun
under which I fail
to embrace you,
but don’t worry, that is
all my poems are doing
these days. Know that
although my words
often overwhelm me
and I grow unable to manage
their winds, the only ships
in my heart that are listing
are listing towards your shores.
A Secret Station, by David Gates : The New Yorker →
She put on the turn signal. “So who would have thought. No wonder we get along so well. Both galloping bisexuals.”
“Hardly that,” he said. “Unless you mean off into the sunset.”
She pulled into the parking lot, and began prowling for a space. “Now I’m supposed to tell you you’re not old,” she said. “Aren’t we tired of this dance?” She glanced over at the white-and-red Staples store. “You know, it used to be that all I had to do was see that logo and I’d feel myself blushing.”
“That’s a lovely stage,” he said.
“Stage,” she said. “That’s a lovely word.”
David fucking Gates.
ITCH - Narcosis →
#a thing what i wrote
So they were never especially clear, when they spoke of Narcissus; they called him beautiful, yes, but beautiful is a well so often drawn from that the waters are never still, and never clear - our reflections churning to the sound of buckets. We do not know what we look like in beauty, save that it would be different.
A short story/thing I wrote, trying to be all fancy and metatextual and accidentally spelling ‘Zeno’ as ‘Xeno’ and not getting picked up by the copyeditors.
thefacci tagged me and only because i love her so deeply do i accept.
Rules: In a text post, list ten books that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just ones that have touched you.
Not that this needed replying to, but I couldn’t form a list offhand, and it was bugging me kind of persistently, so eventually I tried to get it down and - honestly I think the blockage was a reluctance to admit that my big ones were fairly canonical/white/male/English-speaking. Or at least the ones whose impact I’m most conscious of?
1. Jorge Luis Borges - Labyrinths
2. Ursula Le Guin - The Earthsea Cycle
3. Jeanette Winterson - Sexing The Cherry
4. Raymond Chandler - The Long Goodbye
5. David Gates - The Wonders of the Invisible World
6. Mikhail Bulgakov - The Master and Margarita
7. Dorothy Parker - The Collected Dorothy Parker
8. Alain Robbe-Grillet - The Erasers
9. Jonathan Fowles - The Magus
10. Jonathan Carrol - The Land of Laughs.
…but jeeze. Gaiman! Pratchett! Adichie, Auden, Beckett, Byrne, Camus, Chatwin, Diaz, Eliot, Eliott, Foster-Wallace, Gibson, Hardwick, Jansson, Kipling, Lethem, and fucking on forever.