Posts Tagged ‘poetry’
October 5, 2015 | by James Gibbons
Robert Seydel’s visionary, genre-defying art and writing.
How are we to regard the artist who writes or the writer who makes art? There’s a venerable lineage of creative figures working both sides of the street: think of the poems of Marsden Hartley, the photographs of Eudora Welty, the collages of John Ashbery, among others. In almost all such cases, a hierarchy effortlessly falls into place; what’s primary and what’s ancillary are self-evident. Would we be much drawn to look at the watercolors of Elizabeth Bishop if we did not know her first as the poet who wrote “Roosters” and “One Art”? True aesthetic ambidexterity seems vanishingly rare, particularly among top-tier figures: a great artist’s side projects invariably seem secondary and marginal.
The work of the genuinely hybrid artist Robert Seydel (1960–2011) chips away at our biases about one art form always taking precedence over another. Read More »
October 1, 2015 | by Adrian Nathan West
In an interview published three months before his death, W. G. Sebald referred to his aversion to the systematic and to his faith in the haphazard: “If you look at a dog following the advice of his nose, he traverses a patch of land in a completely unplottable manner. And he invariably finds what he is looking for. I think that, as I’ve always had dogs, I’ve learned from them how to do this.” Though my own aversion to structure is less an outgrowth of any faith in serendipity than a temperament both indolent and indecisive, rooting around has at times for me, too, yielded benefits that a single-minded approach to literature wouldn’t have afforded. And it is particularly fitting, in light of the quotation above, that I should have hit upon Marianne Fritz—whose novel The Weight of Things I have just translated—by following up on a footnote from Sebald’s posthumously published Across the Land and the Water, a selection of poems translated by Iain Galbraith.
In the late poem “In Alfermée,” named for a Swiss commune where Sebald twice visited the scholar Heinz Schafroth and where the ashes of the poet Günter Eich are scattered, the following two stanzas appear:
letter by letter
comes a language
you do not understand
The exhausted eyes
of the writer the fingers
of one hand on the
keys of her machine
September 30, 2015 | by Dan Piepenbring
September 29, 2015 | by Dan Piepenbring
September 23, 2015 | by Nicole Rudick
In his prose poem “Rounding Off to the Nearest Zero,” Albert Mobilio writes that “Driving, or at least driving alone, is, I’ve always found, conducive to thinking. The sense of forward motion, the calf’s calibrated flexing, the purposeful grip of the wheel combine, it seems, to concentrate the mind.” Trains have this effect, too: their linear haste through the landscape makes thoughts unspool. The final three chapters of “Big, Bent Ears”—including the latest, Chapter 10—follow the trajectory of the Carolinian 80 as it wends from Durham to New York, and its motion drew Ivan Weiss into a web of associations between the sounds and processes of Tyondai Braxton and of Oren Ambarchi as well as those with whom they collaborate. This new chapter revels in sensory confusion—rhythms that are seen, memories that are sonic, tables that make music—and in the comfort that can be found in music:
I’d walk into a room and be invisible, and music was always the thing that calmed the noise. It was where I found solace. I would go to sleep with the radio next to me and wake up with the radio next to me. Before my eyes would open, my hands would flick the on switch.
The chapter opens with David and Julia, pictured above—strangers who meet on the Carolinian 80 and whose conversation is loosed by the lull of travel. Their exchange, like the rest of the installment, recalls Joseph Mitchell’s lines from our first chapter:
The best talk is artless, the talk of people trying to reassure or comfort themselves, women in the sun, grouped around baby carriages, talking about their weeks in the hospital or the way meat has gone up, or men in saloons, talking to combat the loneliness everyone feels.
Read the latest chapter here, and catch up on the rest of the series:
- Chapter One, There Are No Words
- Chapter Two, Borderline Religious
- Chapter Three, Nazoranai, a Documentary
- Chapter Four, In Search of Lost Time in Knoxville
- Chapter Five, Alien Observers
- Chapter Six, Treatise on the Veil
- Chapter Seven, Anatomy of a Sequence
- Chapter Eight, Surrender to the Situation, Part 1
- Chapter Nine, Surrender to the Situation, Part 2
Nicole Rudick is managing editor of The Paris Review.
September 21, 2015 | by The Paris Review
Hats off to our National Book Award nominees—Angela Flournoy, Rowan Ricardo Phillips, and Jane Hirshfield—all of whose books include pieces that first appeared in The Paris Review.
You can read Angela’s fiction and Rowan’s poetry in our forthcoming collection of young writers, The Unprofessionals, alongside seminal works by Ben Lerner, Ottessa Moshfegh, Zadie Smith, John Jeremiah Sullivan, and others whose voices have already helped define a generation in American letters.
Preorder now and get the anthology of the year for just $12.