First Drafts: Fiction | Ploughshares →
This is mostly so I’ll remember to read this later, but I figure a few of my fiction friends might find this interesting too, especially as we come to the end of our first [big, terrifying, exciting] drafts.
Was told to follow the Library of Congress on twitter, then subsequently realized I was already following them. Boom.
Bless Their Hearts by Richard Newman : The Poetry... →
This is a great poem by Richard Newman, the guy I work for in the summers at River Styx, a literary journal in St. Louis. He writes great lines and does some very good rhyming (less so in this poem, by which I mean, there’s less, not that it’s not good–but if you want the good stuff check out his chapbook). Anyway, I like this poem. So go read it, goddammit.
The Destruction of Sennacherib
BY LORD BYRON (GEORGE GORDON) The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath...
I’m going to found-text this poem so hard it’s going to get lost...
WHEN WE SHIP THE LAST PAGE OF THE ISSUE
So damn true. editorrealtalk:
A Summer Garden by Louise Glück : Poetry... →
I really like this poem. Not as huge on parts of the ending (I think he looses his control once or twice and falls into overly-explicit moralizing at some points, and frankly there’s a simile or two that I think aren’t useful w/r/t his theme), but a lot of it is lovely. Especially the first section.
But of course the thing is
i need to sleep i guess but there’s coffee in my veins and i’m wide awake enough for the moment (and for the time to come) and there’s things that need doing and words that need writing (not these words, no, not these) but these things will have to wait for my bed calls to me longingly and asks where i have been gone these hours since i laid down to rest snoozing three times (or...
Easily one of my favorites. Enivrez-vous. Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867). Il faut être toujours ivre. Tout est là: c’est l’unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l’horrible fardeau du Temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve. Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu, à votre guise. Mais enivrez-vous. Et si quelquefois, sur les marches d’un...