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mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
The Left Hand of Darkness
"No, I don't mean love, when I say patriotism. I mean fear. The fear of the other. And its expressions are political, not poetical: hate, rivalry, aggression." "The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty: not knowing what comes next." "“How does one hate a country, or love one?...I know people, I know towns, farms, hills and rivers and rocks, I know how the sun at sunset in autumn falls on the side of a certain plowland in the hills; but what is the sense of giving a boundary to all that, of giving it a name and ceasing to love where the name ceases to apply? What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one mustn't make a virtue of it, or a profession." "It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end."
1 year, 1 month ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Spook Country

1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Middlesex
"Biology gives you a brain. Life turns it into a mind." "Everyone struggles against despair, but it always wins in the end. It has to. It's the thing that lets us say goodbye."
1 year, 2 months ago
Interpreter of Maladies
Unaccustomed Earth

1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Unaccustomed Earth

1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 3 items to their collection
The Genocides

owned

7/10

Tell Me How Long the Train

owned

7/10

Spook Country

6/10


1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Fantasy Books list
Life of Pi

1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Life of Pi

1 year, 2 months ago
Spotlight
 Spotlight 8/10
1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Inherent Vice

1 year, 2 months ago
Inherent Vice
 Inherent Vice 4/10
1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ posted a image

1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 5 items to their collection
The English Patient

owned

8/10

Gilead

owned

10/10

Going to Meet the Man

owned

6/10

Just Above My Head

owned


1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 2 items to their collection
Steven Millhauser

9/10

All the Pretty Horses

6/10


1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
All the Pretty Horses
"In the end we all come to be cured of our sentiments. Those whom life does not cure death will. The world is quite ruthless in selecting between the dream and the reality, even where we will not. Between the wish and the thing the world lies waiting."
1 year, 2 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
The Shadow Year: A Novel

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Books of Poetry list
Refusing Heaven

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Refusing Heaven
"Having the Having" for Gianna "I tie knots in the strings of my spirit to remember. They are not pictures of what was. Not accounts of dusk amid the olive trees and that odor. The walking back was the arriving. For that there are three knots and a space and another two close together. They do not imitate the inside of her body, nor her clean mouth. They cannot describe, but they can prevent remembering it wrong. The knots recall. The knots are blazons marking the trail back to what we own and imperfectly forget. Back to a bell ringing far off, and the sweet summer darkening. All but a little of it blurs and leaks away, but that little is most of it, even damaged. Two more knots and then just straight string." "Homage to Wang Wei" "An unfamiliar woman sleeps on the other side of the bed. Her faint breathing is like a secret alive inside her. They had known each other three days in California four years ago. She was engaged and got married afterwards. Now the winter is taking down the last of the Massachusetts leaves. The two o'clock Boston & Maine goes by, calling out of the night like trombones rejoicing, leaving him in the silence after. She cried yesterday when they walked in the woods, but she didn't want to talk about it. Her suffering will be explained, but she will be unknown nevertheless. Whatever happens, he will not find her. Despite the tumult and trespass they might achieve in the wilderness of their bodies and the voices of the heart clamoring, they will still be a mystery to the other, and to themselves." "The Butternut Tree at Fort Juniper" "I called the tree a butternut (which I don’t think it is) so I could talk about how different the trees are around me here in the rain. It reminds me how mutable language is. Keats would leave blank spaces in his drafts to hold on to his passion, spaces for the right words to come. We use them sideways. The way we automatically add bits of shape to hold on to the dissolving dreams. So many of the words are for meanwhile. We say, “I love you” while we search for language that can be heard. Which allows us to talk about how the aspens over there tremble in the smallest shower, while the tree over by the window here gathers the raindrops and lets them go in bunches. The way my heart carols sometimes, and other times yearns. Sometimes is quiet and other times is powerfully quiet." Excerpt from "What to Want" "He was finally alone. Without money. A wind blowing through where much of him used to be. No longer the habit of himself. The blinding intensity giving way to presence. The budding amid the random passion. Mortality like a cello inside him. Like rain in the dark. Sin a promise. What interested him most was who he was about to become." "Music Is in the Piano Only When It Is Played" "We are not one with this world. We are not the complexity our body is, nor the summer air idling in the big maple without purpose. We are a shape the wind makes in these leaves as it passes through. We are not the wood any more than the fire, but the heat which is a marriage between the two. We are certainly not the lake nor the fish in it, but the something that is pleased by them. We are the stillness when a mighty Mediterranean noon subtracts even the voices of insects by the broken farmhouse. We are evident when the orchestra plays, and yet are not part of the strings or brass. Like the song that exists only in the singing, and is not the singer. God does not live among the church bells but is briefly resident there. We are occasional like that. A lifetime of easy happiness mixed with pain and loss, trying always to name and hold on to the enterprise under way in our chest. Reality is not what we marry as a feeling. It is what walks up the dirt path, through the excessive heat and giant sky, the sea stretching away. He continues past the nunnery to the old villa where he will sit on the terrace with her, their sides touching. In the quiet that is the music of that place, which is the difference between silence and windlessness." Excerpt from "Moreover" "What we are given is taken away, but we manage to keep it secretly. We lose everything, but make harvest of the consequence it was to us. Memory builds this kingdom from the fragments and approximation. We are gleaners who fill the barn for the winter that comes on."
1 year, 3 months ago
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
What Narcissism Means to Me: Poems
Excerpt from "When Dean Young Talks About Wine" "But when a man is hurt, he makes himself an expert. Then he stands there with a glass in his hand staring into nothing as if he were forming an opinion." Excerpt from "Still Life" "Behind me in the distance I can hear some people who used to be my friends saying something about the problem of language in our time but I don't care. For me the story is the feeling of the rungs, one by one, pushing up into the arches of my feet, the chilled bars of metal in my hands, the dusty smell of morning turning into afternoon,-- as I climb to see just what the world has brought me to." "Excerpt from "Social Life" "silence is always good manners and often a clever thing to say when you are at a party." "Man Carrying Sofa" "Whatever happened to Cindy Morrison, that nice young lesbian? I heard she moved to the city and got serious. Traded in her work boots for high heels and a power suit. Got a healthcare plan and an attorney girlfriend. Myself, I don’t want to change. It’s January and I’m still dating my checks November. I don’t want to step through the doorway of the year. I’m afraid of something falling off behind me. I’m afraid my own past will start forgetting me. Now the sunsets are like cranberry sauce poured over the yellow hills, and yes, that beauty is so strong it hurts-- it hurts because it isn’t personal. But we look anyway, we sit upon our stoops and stare,--fierce, like we were tossing down a shot of vodka, straight, and afterwards, we feel purified and sad and rather Russian. When David was in town last week, I made a big show to him of how unhappy I was because I wanted him to go back and tell Susan that I was suffering without her-- but then he left and I discovered I really was miserable --which made me feel better about myself-- because, after all, I don’t want to go through time untouched. What a great journey this is, this ordinary life of ants and sandwich wrappers, of x-rated sunsets and drive-through funerals. And this particular complex pain inside your chest; this damaged longing like a heavy piece of furniture inside you; you carry it, it burdens you, it drags you down-- then you stop, and rest on top of it."
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to 100 Favorite Fantasy Books list
Tracks

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Tracks
"We started dying before the snow, and like the snow, we continued to fall."
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Wild Nights: New & Selected Poems
"Lives of the Poets" "One stood among the violets listening to a bird. One went to the toilet and was struck by the moon. One felt hopeless until a trumpet crash, and then lo, he became a diamond. I have a shovel. Can I turn it into a poem? On my stove I’m boiling some milk thistle. I hope it will turn into a winged thesis before you stop reading. Look, I’m topless! Listen: approaching hooves! One drowned in a swimming pool. One removed his shoes and yearned off a bridge. One lives with Alzheimer’s in a state facility, spittle in his white beard. It turns out words are no help. But here I am with my shovel digging like a fool beside the spilth and splosh of the ungirdled sea. I can’t stop. The horses are coming, the thieves. I still haven’t found lasting love. I still want to hear viols in the little beach hotel that’s torn down and gone. I want to see again the fish schooling and glittering like a veil where the waves shove against the breakwater. Gone is the girl in her white slip testing the chill with one bare foot. It’s too cold, but she goes in, so carefully, oh." Excerpt from "Scrapbook" "Our blues assume you understand not much, and try to be alive, just as we do, and that it may be helpful to hold the hand of someone as lost as you." "Heraclitean" "In goes the cafeteria worker in her hairnet. In goes the philosophy teacher explaining the theory of eternal return, and Anton Stadler with his clarinet, still owing money to Mozart. In goes Mozart. Everyone flopped into the creel of the happy fisherman, everyone eaten. Every river is Lethean, so why should we care if it’s not the same river? I hate how everything changes, tree to failing term paper, chatelaine to beheaded plotter, drug dealer to narc. The heart softening faster than cereal but then hardening to a relic which turns into another line of depressed poetry to recite to the next eager trainee anxious to be more than lint. Going up, you’re also going down, so either way, as your mother said, Be nice. When she went in, she was very thin. Earth, air, fire, water, mother. Fish pulse slowly under the river ice."
1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Lucifer at the Starlite: Poems

1 year, 3 months ago
mika_ added 1 item to Read in 2016 list
Tell Me (American Poets Continuum)
Excerpt from "The Numbers" "How many prayers are there tonight, how many of us must stay awake and listen?" "A Childhood" "Our drinks came with paper umbrellas. My mother put on tennis whites. My father went to the bar the way he always did. My mother put on tennis whites. My brother threw me against a wall the way he always did. I believed in my guardian angel. My brother threw my mother against a wall. I walked in my sleep. I believed in my guardian angel. I woke up far from the house. I walked in my sleep. My mother read fairy tales and sang to me. I woke up far from the house. My mother was old, my father dead. My mother read fairy tales and sang to me. My father and brother crashed through the door. My mother was old, my father dead along with my guardian angel. My father and brother crashed through the door. I went to the bar along with my guardian angel and our drinks came with paper umbrellas." Excerpt from "New Year's Day" "Today I want to resolve nothing. I only want to walk a little longer in the cold blessing of the rain, and lift my face to it." Excerpt from "Generations" "I walk the night city, looking up at lit windows, and there is no table set for me, nowhere I can go to be filled. This is the city of grandparents, immigrants, arrivals, where I’ve come too late with my name, and empty plate. This is the place." "'What Do Women Want?'" "I want a red dress. I want it flimsy and cheap, I want it too tight, I want to wear it until someone tears it off me. I want it sleeveless and backless, this dress, so no one has to guess what’s underneath. I want to walk down the street past Thrifty’s and the hardware store with all those keys glittering in the window, past Mr. and Mrs. Wong selling day-old donuts in their café, past the Guerra brothers slinging pigs from the truck and onto the dolly, hoisting the slick snouts over their shoulders. I want to walk like I’m the only woman on earth and I can have my pick. I want that red dress bad. I want it to confirm your worst fears about me, to show you how little I care about you or anything except what I want. When I find it, I’ll pull that garment from its hanger like I’m choosing a body to carry me into this world, through the birth-cries and the love-cries too, and I’ll wear it like bones, like skin, it’ll be the goddamned dress they bury me in."
1 year, 3 months ago

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