A Poem by Dom Pedro
for Claire At the end of the road they will ask me –Have you lived? Have you loved? And not saying a word I Will open my heart full of names. –Pedro Casaldáliga, Brazil
Category: World Literature
A Reader to an Author
“A whole world collapsed before my very eyes, but you, my favorite author, are bringing it to life again.” –Miriam, in I.B. Singer’s Meshugah
Western Civilization
The uprising of the Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto began in the spring of 1943 and lasted about twenty days. Of the thousands of Jews still in the ghetto when the uprising began perhaps a…
So You Want To Be a Writer by Charles Bukowski
if it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it….
Dear 1L
You’re sitting in Civ Pro— Looking like you’re paying attention Masking skillfully Your ho-hum ennui Let me remind you— In your deep heart’s core You can always visit Innisfree Or even chat with Crazy Jane
This Makes Me Think of Kathy Kelly
The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live everyday, that we form by being together. There are…
Calming the Breath by Ko Un
Poised like an aging bear climbing a tree, hanging on tightly, I collect my breath. Poised like a bird stretching its neck out and pecking at food I collect my breath. Heaven and earth are…
After Reading Justin Kaplan’s Walt Whitman: A Life
July 2005 It was one month ago that I began to read Whitman in earnest, and, while I still have far to go in prose and poetry, an impression has been made, a fire has…
Share the Wealth with Te Martin: The Wisdom of Silence, Pilgrimage, and a Compost Pile– Reflections on Summer
Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come,…
On Ginsberg’s HOWL
It was a cri de coeur, an alarm, a vision. Its structure matched its energy which seemed the voices of many, not one. It was a rhizomic collage, just like life, a pastiche of the…