For me, the spiritual practice of writing poetry locates itself in the moment that the language in which I am immersed opens up into possibilities I neither predicted nor consciously desired and the decision I have to make about whether to trust where that language will lead me.
"I live in New York, where abortion is legal and where...it can be all too easy not to pay attention to what abortion bans around the country are doing to women, their families, and their doctors. To say that the right is waging a war on women is not to indulge in metaphor."
At the Brooklyn Book Festival on September 21, I had the opportunity to record this video for Sagging Meniscus press. I'm looking forward to reading the book, Wings, by Amir Or, translated from the Hebrew by Seth Michelson:
You know you are expected to respond, that rules establish how to choose your words. Instead, you lead her out beyond the edge and watch her iron shackles become birds. Surrender to this failure. Shave your head. Embrace her like the resurrected dead.
I write a blog for my publisher, Fernwood Press. Called Learning To Love The Questions, it's focus is the relationship(s) between and among poetry, politics, and spirituality (broadly defined). Check out this month's post: What Poems Do We Need Right Now?
They can’t be less inhuman than they are. The line of people leaving, a living scar across the flesh that was our home, stretched far beyond where I, at six years old, could see. Even now, that child breathes in me, riding his father's shoulders...
And there I saw the seed upon the mountain but it was not a seed it was a star but it was not a star in was a world but it was not a world it was a god but it was not a god it was a laughter
—from “Time in the Rock or Prelude to Definition,” by Conrad Aiken
would have kept us awake if our beds had let us sleep, duvets rapunzelling out of windows, but still the oven and the fridge carried on their terrible dance...
