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mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Cinder: New and Selected Poems
Excerpt from "A Language" "The savior gets mixed up with the traitor, but the traitor stays as true to himself as a god." "The Knot" "The problem was how to begin with the end and then it turned out there were two ends: the end within the continuing that, continuing, enveloped the end. You passed yourself coming and going, went through one loop, then another, what was behind drawn through at a slide until it rose before you, sprung. Tangle like a bramble, like a rose. Start, start again against the tight- ening. A knife could give up on patience, but you were born among the dull and kind, who wait for Spring, and lightening and lightning." Excerpt from "After the Mowing" "to the Nth, like the truth of an ending unskeined across the crust of the white field. Though it happened only once, I am sending the thought of the thought continuing. To return to the field before the mowing. When a goldfinch swayed on a blue stem stalk, and the wind and the sun stirred the hay."
8 months, 1 week ago
Going to Meet the Man

8 months, 2 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Going to Meet the Man
"Secrets hidden at the heart of midnight are simply waiting to be dragged to the light, as, on some unlucky high noon, they always are. But secrets shrouded in the glare of candor are bound to defeat even the most determined and agile inspector for the light is always changing and proves that the eye cannot be trusted."
8 months, 2 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
The Collected Poems
"Sotto Voce" "Say to me only Huntress of nerves You too are lonely For the language that saves Heart be not alien Come to me strange In the breast of a felon Whose prison is songs Share with me always Though fraction be cross The instant of gallows The kiss of the axe" "The Layers" "I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends, those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face. Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat, with my will intact to go wherever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: 'Live in the layers, not on the litter.' Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes."
8 months, 2 weeks ago
mika_ added Midnight Robber to owned list
8 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Vox

8 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Indivisible (Native Agents)
"Besides wanting to experience a place we hated, we wanted to be insomniacs and loners, losers and drop-outs. To know the sky was the only location of meaning and joy left to us." "If you still desire a thing, its time has not yet come. And when you have what you desired, you will have no more desire, instead you will have time. Weak desires protect you from disappointment. But nothing keeps you safer than being a visible ruin." "What is between us is nothing. There is nothing between us. Nothing is love, because if you add anything to zero, it becomes a word. The air is thin for us but it is as if we each had two little darts lodged in our flesh in exactly the same spot and they moved in relation to each other like charged needles that seek a thread." "Goodness should have no force behind it."
8 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
The Fermata
"I don’t think that loneliness is necessarily a bad or unconstructive condition. My own skill at jamming time may actually be dependent on some fluid mixture of emotions, among them curiosity, sexual desire, and love, all suspended in a solvent medium of loneliness. I like the heroes or heroines of books I read to be living alone, and feeling lonely, because reading is itself a state of artificially enhanced loneliness. Loneliness makes you consider other people’s lives, makes you more polite to those you deal with in passing, dampens irony and cynicism. The interior of the Fold is, of course, the place of ultimate loneliness, and I like it there. But there are times when the wish for others’ voices, for friendliness returned, reaches unpleasant levels, and becomes a kind of immobilizing pain. That was how it felt as I finished packing up the box of sex machines."
9 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Favorite Plays list
Arcadia

9 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Arcadia
"It is a defect of God's humor that he directs our hearts everywhere but to those who have a right to them." "It's the wanting to know that makes us matter."
9 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Books of Poetry list
Red Clay Weather (Pitt Poetry Series)
"Play Dead" Gods envy us because we die, they kill us out of jealousy, and sometimes just because they're bored. When I was usurped by death...The ghosts roam nude except for their despair, eyeless in the underworld, unable to see, to touch, to taste or hear the world that was so good when they were too dissatisfied to notice. Hell is the place the dead who don't know they're dead go, or where the dead who've always been dead go when they die in earnest, filled with small gray flowers that seen up close are balls of dust. But they don't see them, though dust clings to them, covers them like shrouds, if they wore shrouds, if they weren't naked and dismayed, stripped of whatever made them whatever they were. Whatever made them whole has left this hole to call themselves, if they could call. But they're just shadows at noon, when shadows are abbreviated, barely cast. The dead move fast, nowhere to nowhere in no time at all.
9 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Red Clay Weather (Pitt Poetry Series)
Excerpt from "By the Entrance to Cordova Mall, I Sat Down and Wept" "I was a secret that the hurtling-into-summer world had kept too well. I turned, the key, I drove into the day that didn't know my name, drove myself sane again, and came up hard to the first red light." "Play Dead" "Gods envy us because we die, they kill us out of jealousy, and sometimes just because they're bored. When I was usurped by death...The ghosts roam nude except for their despair, eyeless in the underworld, unable to see, to touch, to taste or hear the world that was so good when they were too dissatisfied to notice. Hell is the place the dead who don't know they're dead go, or where the dead who've always been dead go when they die in earnest, filled with small gray flowers that seen up close are balls of dust. But they don't see them, though dust clings to them, covers them like shrouds, if they wore shrouds, if they weren't naked and dismayed, stripped of whatever made them whatever they were. Whatever made them whole has left this hole to call themselves, if they could call. But they're just shadows at noon, when shadows are abbreviated, barely cast. The dead move fast, nowhere to nowhere in no time at all." "Somewhere Off the Coast of Cyprus" "Gods don’t get what they want, they stumble, falter and halt at the frontiers of fulfillment, puzzled that power isn’t always pleasure. They want to know what know is (I have known, I knew, I know, I will know, I will have known), instead learn only no. (Conjugate this, decline every noun.) No happy ending to this sentence for a god, sentenced to helpless potency, all will and self-belief but somehow substanceless, a notion of force that steals a form and calls it body, steals a body and calls it mine, impervious to touch. A litter of porous marble’s all that’s left, paint-stripped but still stained, nothing that anyone could use. How useless immortality becomes in time, rubble retrieved from a receding river in a year of drought. The goddess has no arms, the god’s hand drawing back the bow is missing, there’s no protection for them anymore. Acid rain worms through their statuary skin. Better to wait for the waters to return, the mildewed monuments to finish crumbling. Let the shipwrecked cargoes sleep where they sank (myths buried in them like birds that won’t be heard), gold leaf and lapis lazuli dreaming of love, whatever love means to a god." "What It Is to Burn" "It's always four a.m., flourescent-lettered sleepscapes littered with green and yellow lights, with petrochemical artifacts, debris certain of its own uncertainty under the stainless -steel moon: the whole scene soiled with reference, so many garishly painted gods sewn back into the thigh after the ash of see me for what I am. Wake up and call it arsenic, benzene, lead, dioxin, and mercury, or various banned pesticides. No rain in months, a necklace of smoke strangles the neighborhood from someone's still-smouldering trash fire (defying the no-burn order), the smell of money smothers commodity gardens and yards. Faith clings like sweat, fine sheen of airborne dust and pollen, lies to the skin and won't let it be clean. History is what's left behind, decide in favor of the hidden costs (whatever's waiting half-outside, what is that stain?), and crawl back toward sleep again." "Approximately Nothing" "Any unanswerable problem is a god, some sky from which winter falls and the rains of no significance, another plush and vagrant error overflowing local sewers. (He was the weight of the world, the grace of fact frosting the windowpanes, this pain disguised as rain. My never-friend and guide to coldscapes seen through glass, sharp-edged but also blurred, too eager to be compromised, mythologized: he was that too, and saved me just enough.) The accidental ghosts break through bare branches like late winter light, and then retreat, the penitentiary sky shuts down again. And Shakespeare is a backyard sparrow foraging crumbs, the frayed and faded cardinals chase it away. They are a little policy of secrecy and domain, pugnacious reign. If it were human, it would know me, call me by my name."
9 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Embryos & Idiots
Excerpt from "Satan at Length" "I dream of the seaside, of the lone ravine of my own dead yawn, like a room with nobody else, and I know why I'm last in line, after the cattle. I'm firm as the plunger the plumber pumps to unclog our kingdom of memory's crud. I come in handy, without meaning much, like a happily-ever-after, or a belch of trust."
9 months, 1 week ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Sci Fi Books list
Fahrenheit 451

9 months, 1 week ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Fahrenheit 451
"If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you'll never learn." "We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real?" "'I don't talk things, sir. I talk the meaning of things.'"
9 months, 1 week ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
Metroland
"But I was thinking in the future conditional rather than the plain future; it's the tense that minimises responsibility." "At times, I suspect that the concept of maturity is maintained by a conspiracy of niceness."
9 months, 2 weeks ago
Fanny Howe
 Fanny Howe 9/10
9 months, 2 weeks ago
mika_ posted a list
Read in 2017 (58 books items)
9 months, 2 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2017 list
One Crossed Out: Poems
Excerpt from "Perfection and Derangement" "You asked me what I know about G-d and coincidence. I walk through you to tell you, the place where you stood like an opening in the form of an offering." "The Apophatic Path" "1. What isn't what is not Discover me! or Try to find me. If being is finding, can you find me? Who to, this address? ... Being as close to a shadow as a color what isn't is what is and I can't see but know as no. Non amari sed amare. ... Or will a question be, 'Is the discovery for real me?' Signature a stone??? Like what isn't is what is when not being ever ever ever found! 2. Basic science will blend ghostness among enemies. Now bodies cemented down in monster denomination to be counted one of the walking corpses I see whitening and emptying under a sun makes me know me to be no one. 3. Walk to developmental old trombone--I-- seeking to be found-- inside time!--by one whose blues seek by speaking tunes to this specific city afternoon of bread, fumes, and orange nasturtiums--am,still,solo-- even the base of me being, unknown."
9 months, 2 weeks ago
mika_ posted a image

9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 20 items to their collection
Virtual Light

owned

4/10

These Dreams of You

owned

8/10

Geek Love

owned

10:04: A Novel

owned

7/10

The Fermata

owned

8/10


9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
This Present Moment: New Poems
"Here" "In the dark (The new moon long set) A soft grumble in the breeze Is the sound of a jet so high It's already long gone by Some planet Rising from the east shines Through the trees It's been years since I thought, Why are we here"
9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Books of Poetry list
Singularities (Wesleyan Poetry)

9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Singularities (Wesleyan Poetry)
"Occult ferocity of origin each winged ambition sand track wind scatter Inarticulate true meaning lives beyond thought linked from beginning Pilings of thought under spoken Physiognomy of Liberty far friend forever Nestling Forfeit mortality Cycles snare mastery headlong centuries cycles ensnare Face answers face limit and quiet Limit Field of vision and field of future Shadowy Icarian figuration Vision closes over vision Standpoint melts into open wanton meteor ensign streaming" "Fence blown down in a winter storm darkened by outstripped possession Field stretching out of the world this book is as old as the people There are traces of blood in a fairy tale" "In the machinery of injustice my whole being is Vision" "Elegiac western Imagination Mysterious confined enigma a possible field of work The expanse of unconcealment so different from all maps Spiritual typography of elegy Nature in us as a Nature the actual one the ideal Self tent tree sere leaf spectre Unconscious demarkations range I pick my compass to pieces Dark here in the driftings in the spaces of drifting Complicity battling redemption"
9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
The Ancient Rain: Poems, 1956-1978
"Every time I open my big mouth I put my soul in it."
9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Traffic with Macbeth (Tupelo Masters)
Excerpt from "Nihilist" "there are no eyes, just destinies, and there goes mine-- streak across the heather, hairless wonder who knew better than to sit around and apprehend the thicket through and through." Excerpt from "Edgepoeple" "In the jigsaw of eternity, dying is the glue." Excerpt from "Accordion" "When you hate yourself, there is one less house keeping you in, at home. I'm running amok with emptiness where there's no such thing."
9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 16 items to their collection
Arcadia

owned

9/10

Red Clay Weather (Pitt Poetry Series)

owned

9/10

White Teeth

owned

Metroland

owned

6/10

One Crossed Out: Poems

owned

6/10


9 months, 3 weeks ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Edwin Mullhouse: The Life and Death of an American Writer, 1943-54, by Jeffrey Cartwright
"In the beginning was silence, womb of all words which all words seek, mother of these: breath of my life. How or when the first word sprang thence hither, I'll never know, nor why. Does it really matter? Perhaps sound is only an insanity of silence, a mad gibber of empty space grown fearful of listening to itself and hearing nothing. Thus are we madmen all. Or perhaps we are silence talking in her sleep, perhaps we are a long nightmare of silence as she thrashes in torment on her downy bed. And when she wakes? Idle speculations of an eleven-year-old soul, brooding on whence and whither. Edwin once agreed with me that the ideal order of words on a page creates in the ideal reader an ideal silence; thus words regain their mother; and all the shrill noises of adulation are nothing to an artist but evidences of his imperfection." "Genius...is the retention of the capacity to be obsessed." "'I aspire to the condition of fiction.'"
10 months, 1 week ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
The Testament of Mary

10 months, 2 weeks ago

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