A Home in Dark Grass by Robert Bly
1. Fretting again. Throwing clothes in my luggage again. Unearthing then refolding, then unearthing them again. Wondering which books to bring. Why I'm bringing them in the first place. What the hell am I doing, leaving again. 2. I'm trying to find my
Oceans by Juan Ramón Jiménez
Lunch under the sunshine, singing in the afternoon, and conversations in the evening. It has been a good day, and too precious to share at the moment. Maybe tomorrow. Oceans Juan Ramón Jiménez Translated by Robert Bly I have a feeling that my boat has
Guard Duty by Tomas Tranströmer
1. Listen: if you are writing, then you are a writer. That's it. That's all there really is. It took me a long time to finally embrace the truth of it, but here I am. There is no true measure to
Kyrie by Tomas Tranströmer
1. Yesterday was— Perhaps it's better not talk to about it. 2. My manuscript is home now, all the way from Edinburgh. I look at your notes, M., and— You should see me here. Clutching the papers to my chest. 3. I've said it before, and I'll
Taking the Hands by Robert Bly
I was talking to S. last night about work—well, the perils of a creative life, really, and how being here, and doing this, puts us in a position where the measure of success is not quite so clear-cut (possibly un-quantifiable).
The Resemblance Between Your Life and a Dog by Robert Bly
1. I haven't been sleeping. I keep thinking of the road I am not going to take, and of the light slowly fading, a kind of now-or-never thing, you see, and I can't move and I am swallowed by panic. 2. What do
Things to Think by Robert Bly
Dear MMAC, 1. I am confused. As hell. As fuck. (Whatever do they mean when people say these things?) Again: I am confused. Evidence of this will come soon enough in my letter, splattered all over the paragraphs. I just need to
People Like Us by Robert Bly
Can't sleep. All this rain. When you live on an island it's hard to romanticize the weather; I've seen enough to know that it can destroy houses, families, lives. Still. Still. Last night in bed I listened to the rain
Black Stone Lying On A White Stone by Cesar Vallejo
Watching this new show, NUMB3RS. I think it's true, you know. Great mathematicians have no great facility for language, and great writers have no great facility for numbers. Or maybe, I am just not that well-read. Black Stone Lying On A