Friday Nights

The girl in the flip flops
heels in hand
teeters down the city’s streets
a slumped shoulder dangling a handbag


Trailer Park: The Sessions


I recently came across the trailer for the upcoming film The Sessions, which looks promising. It features a strong cast, starring the excellent John Hawkes as well as Helen Hunt and William H. Macy. The plot of the movie is strange but fascinating–The Diving Bell and the Butterfly with a sprinkling of The 40 Year Old Virgin, I suppose–and, accordingly to the trailer, based on a true story. My curiosity piqued, I did some research. What I found was more powerful and profound than the premise for an unusual sex comedy, albeit a touching one, as the trailer might suggest.
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The Poetry of Tomas Transtromer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The old cliché “write what you know” is something of a misnomer. The obvious question to me is “How can you write something you don’t know?” Even the most fantastical, absurd stories about aliens or ancient battles of thrones come from some common pool of one’s humanity and taps into the deep, unconscious myths of existence.

That being said, there are writers who seem to take “write what you know” to the extreme in that their writing is very much seeped in the time and place of their existence. One of these writers is the great Swedish poet Tomas Transtromer, the 2011 winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature. Read the rest of this entry »


The Prodigal Son by Ranier Maria Rilke

In recent days I have had less time to write longer posts, so I have decided that I would try to do more and more smaller posts about things I have read recently or found interesting.

The other day I rediscovered Rilke’s reinterpretation of “The Prodigal Son” story from the bible. This passage ends Rilke’s only work of fiction called “The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge,” which I highly recommend as well if you have time to read it.

Rilke does not tell the story of the prodigal son as someone who lapses into sin and debauchery but is welcomed back to his family with open arms. Instead Rilke tells the story of “the legend of a man who didn’t want to be loved.”

There are some beautiful pieces of writing such as:

For he had loved again and again in his solitude, each time squandering his whole nature and in unspeakable fear for the freedom of the other person. Slowly he learned to let the rays of his emotion shine through into the beloved object, instead of consuming the emotion in her. And he was pampered by the joy of recognizing, through the more and more transparent form of the beloved, the expanses that she opened to his infinite desire for possession.”

Anyway, I encourage you to read the rest.


Untitled

Untitled

Raindrops on lenses
scattering streetlamps
and carlights
like Monet
(or is it Manet?)
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The Kids

The Kids

These kids
with beards
and tight jeans
drink whiskey
till 4 a.m.
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Print it out and put it in your pocket

In honor of Poem In Your Pocket Day, here’s a short near-haiku I wrote sitting on the roof of a cabin in Maine, almost ten years ago.

The leaves follow
the logging trucks
like an afterthought.