Our time is less than infinite, and our monkey minds are full to bursting with the blather — so much of it repetitive, hucksterish, or simply dull — of everyday life. I say, take your poetry wherever you find it.
Judy was an outlaw. She disdained phony niceness, Republican grandstanding, and ambitious young women who claimed they weren’t really feminists. She was direct and uncensored; if you gave her a book she’d read before, she nudged it aside.
Playing music in middle age isn’t an impulse to risk your life. It’s a chance to show your soul.
From The Odyssey to The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, here's what I read over the summer and how it did (or didn't) change my life.
I look forward to a time when we bust the categories — male, female, black, white, gay, straight — wide open to make room for the complicated, contradictory, nuanced experiences that live inside and between those boxes.
What if you Instagrammed not the Martha-Stewart-worthy antipasto you crafted with radish rosettes and a frisée garnish, but the clotted, eggy mess that was your first pass at omelet-making?
If you navigate life by GPS, what happens to the ability to find your way by intuition and memory, by landmarks that, over time, acquire totemic significance?
We learn others’ languages to remember that we are not the hubs of the universe, that different people have their own disparate experiences, their own idiosyncratic modes of expression. When you learn a second language, you glimpse your own strangeness.
Poetry isn’t a cure, and it isn’t a miracle. But there are words, phrases, whole poems that — in the grimmest, loneliest, most broken moments of my life — have offered me a tiny lozenge of light.
These sixth-graders knew about ducking from danger; they live on tragic turf (sorry, no table for alliterations, either). They go to school in a city whose violent crime rate in 2012 was three times the national average, a place where nearly 30 percent of the residents squat below the poverty line. And when they wrote, their poems blistered with loss.