This animation is a bit, shall we say, weird. I like it, but then no one has ever called me normal. I’m including it here because it features audio of John Masefield reading his poem, The West Wind.
“Either give me more wine or leave me alone.”-Rumi
Wine, wine, wine
Sylvia Plath reading The Applicant.
If I was pressed to make a list of my favourite writers, several from Dublin would make the cut. One would also fill the top spot. Guess who?
Dublin Writers Postcard. Top, left to right: Shaw, Yeats. Bottom, left to right: Joyce, Beckett. Artwork by Paula Pohli.
“Reading is important-read between the lines. Don’t swallow everything.”-Gwendolyn Brooks
Cold, mossy gravestones whisper laments as I stroll past them in the shadowy pathways on an autumn morning. The tree swaying outside my apartment shouts poetry through the window. The pavement beneath my mobile feet croons a love song to the beauty of the late afternoon sunlight that dances across its craggy surface. Squirrels leaping across wires recite snippets of stories. I experience words everywhere I go: sometimes they are new combinations, asking or demanding to be written down. Stories waiting to be told. Sometimes they belong to other people. Stories waiting to be retold.
The bus stop across from the gallery would like permission to transform into flash fiction./The memory of a creepy photograph, seen briefly weeks ago, wants to be reborn as a horror story.
Chilly October evenings evoke the landscape of Hardy, so I’ve been reading The Return of the Native after the sun sets./ The Roebling Bridge, which connects Ohio to Kentucky, brings to mind Hart Crane./Then there’s my Sylvia Plath mug.
The trees of the mind are black.*
*From The Moon and the Yew Tree by Sylvia Plath.
Gwendolyn Brooks reading A Song in the Front Yard.
Take a tour of Robert Frost’s Vermont home (courtesy of Huffington Post).
English: Digital image of Sylvia Plath’s signature (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A Small Press Life: Books. Art. Writing. Life. Tea. 