Part One “On Beyond Literature” by Lynda Barry
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Part One “On Beyond Literature” by Lynda Barry
“We know we are made of memories, but we don’t know the extent to which we are made up of forgetfulness. We think of oblivion as an absence, an empty space, a lack. But in most cases, with the exception of neurological disease, forgetting is an activity—it’s a choice that demands the same effort as remembrance. This is equally valid for individuals and communities. If you visit Mozambique, you’ll see that people have decided to forget the war years. It is not an omission. It’s a tacit decision to forget what were cruel times, because people fear that this cruelty is not a thing of the past but can again become our present. And moreover, in rural parts of Mozambique the notion of nonlinear time is still dominant. For them, the past has not passed.”
Our conversation with this year’s Neustadt International Prize winner Mia Couto.
Expecting, Kevin Young
Expecting Kevin Young
Grave, my wife lies back, hands cross her chest, while the doctor searches early for your heartbeat, peach pit, unripe
plum–pulls out the world’s worst boom box, a Mr. Microphone, to broadcast your mother’s lifting belly.
The whoosh and bellows of mama’s body and beneath it: nothing. Beneath the slow stutter of her heart: nothing.
The doctor trying again to find you, fragile fern, snowflake. Nothing. After, my wife will say, in fear,
impatient, she went beyond her body, this tiny room, into the ether– for now, we spelunk for you one last time
lost canary, miner of coal and chalk, lungs not yet black– I hold my wife’s feet to keep her here–
and me–trying not to dive starboard to seek you in the dark water. And there it is: faint, an echo, faster and further
away than mother’s, all beat box and fuzzy feedback. You are like hearing hip-hop for the first time–power
hijacked from a lamppost–all promise. You couldn’t sound better, break- dancer, my favourite song bumping
from a passing car. You’ve snuck into the club underage and stayed! Only later, much, will your mother
begin to believe your drumming in the distance–my Kansas City and Congo Square, this jazz band
vamping on inside her.
==
On this day in…
2010: The Choir, Luke Kennard 2009: I Come Home Wanting To Touch Everyone, Stephen Dunn 2008: Visible World, Richard Siken 2007: Anywhere Else, Maggie Dietz 2006: After Work, Richard Jones 2005: The Sheep-Child, James Dickey
Today, as in right now, a friend of mine is in labor delivering her first child, a baby boy. It's a beautiful day to be surging with life. Here is to Baby Shnay whose first cry will be just as good as "hearing/ hip-hop for the first time–power/ hijacked from a lamppost–all promise."
Inspired by two separate discussions of words that my friends and I prefer in languages other than our native tongues, I dug up this oldie but goodie, Aardman Animation's Not Without My Handbag. Let's leave it that both "handbag" and "purse" leave much to be desired for me. If "handbag" were not so antiquated perhaps I would prefer it. Perhaps not. Ever since I first saw this wonderful short 20 years go I cannot help but think of it whenever I hear the word "handbag."
Yvor Winters’ “author photo,” as sent to Poetry magazine.
I’m at the Sydney Writer’s Festival this week, and I’m so excited to see the British poet Kate Tempest read this afternoon. Here is her powerful performance of her piece, ‘Icarus’. And here is some beautiful advice she has for young poets, playwrights and performers:
“Finish things. That’s how you develop your voice. Whether it’s a poem or a short film or a painting or a piece of theatre, whatever it is, finish it. Let it go and move onto the next thing. Lots of the stuff I’ve done I think is really, really shit but it’s fine because it’s finished. You’ve got to try to be a better artist today than you were yesterday. And if you never finish anything that’s hard because you’re always trying to be the best artist that’s ever been.”
- Sheila Heti
As a poet I hold the most archaic values on earth … the fertility of the soil, the magic of animals, the power-vision in solitude, the terrifying initiation and rebirth, the love and ecstasy of the dance, the common work of the tribe. I try to hold both history and the wilderness in mind, that my poems may approach the true measure of things and stand against the unbalance and ignorance of our times.
—Gary Snyder
Bonus: Mutt Saturday! For Elyssa.
This past winter I happened upon a job teaching creative writing at RISD. Getting to Providence from NYC in the winter was a bit of a schlepp but I loved the community and my students so much I really didn’t mind it. Today, one of my students made this wonderful typography design for my beloved canine, The Pupper. I am so thrilled and inspired.
These workspaces are where Georgia O’Keeffe, Roald Dahl, John Lennon and Yoko Ono, and Mark Rothko made so many things.
Inspiring workspaces of 40 famous and creative folk.
Remember June’s long days, and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew. The nettles that methodically overgrow the abandoned homesteads of exiles. You must praise the mutilated world. You watched the stylish yachts and ships; one of them had a long trip ahead of...
Ross Simonini interviews the artist, Chuck Webster on the process of making his painting “No Negative Style” (oil, spray paint and oil on wood panel, “60 X “84, 2013). See more of Webster’s work at his site and at Dallas Art Fair alongside the work of Forrest Bess and Chris Martin.
THE BELIEVER: The painting you began was radically different than the painting you finished. is this usually how it goes for you?
CHUCK WEBSTER: It’s rare, but in this one I started off with one idea and the idea collapsed. I wanted to blow up a small drawing, which looked strange, as if the painting was trying to own up to something else besides itself. Too fussy. I like to work until the painting has gained a degree of self-knowledge, and tells me something. That one said, “Uhhhh…. not happening.” There are a few messy moves missing in between, but i ended up with the yellow background after a few work sessions and a large amount of reducing, staring, refusing and turning around to the wall. I usually get 75% of what I want initially, and then there a large amount of see above, followed by a final few, brave moves. I often to reject a lot of my favorite stuff because I have so many ideas that I can easily make four paintings in one. the picture always breathes better after I clean out unnecessary “chatter”, and find soemthing that makes sense simply.
BLVR: What do you mean by “self-knowledge”?
CW: The painting is starting to transform from set of raw materials into something else. As I work, references and new ideas will pile up, and ill try new things, like “oh perhaps red”, or “move this line over”, and so on. My goal is to work until the work starts to refer to nothing but itself; whatever easy references there could be fall away. It’s a living, breathing, knowing thing. It’s a combination of known and unknown things, of knowledge and mystery.
BLVR: Do you ever feel regret after you’ve painted over a picture?
CW: Oh yes. It happens all the time.That’s a big test, knowing when to stop. I think that’s partly why I keep a lot of surfaces around, in order to distract myself from destroying something that might be good, but I dont know it yet.
BLVR: So distraction is a good thing for you?
CW: I think so - I like the idea of looking at a picture through a filter, though another kind of narrative. I love to flip through books or play DJ. I often come up with the perfect idea for finishing a picture while walking the dog, going to galleries or watching a movie. There is a place in my brain for a painting flipbook, where the pictures stay and wait for a title or solution.
Attention is a very curious and wonderful phenomena. Near the end of a large picture the others fade and I’ll finish it with a few hours of concentrated attention, where I am thinking, feeling and doing at the same time. The picture has done its job and it exists, separately from me. An exchange of energy has taken place.
My friend Chuck Webster is featured on The Believer's Tumblr. Check him out!
Literary Birthday - 31 March
Happy Birthday, John Fowles, born 31 March 1926, died 5 November 2005
Top 12 John Fowles Quotes
There are only two races on this planet - the intelligent and the stupid.
There comes a time in each life like a point of fulcrum. At that time you must accept yourself. It is not any more what you will become. It is what you are and always will be.
The most important questions in life can never be answered by anyone except oneself.
We all write poems; it is simply that poets are the ones who write in words.
You may think novelists always have fixed plans to which they work, so that the future predicted by Chapter One is always inexorably the actuality of Chapter Thirteen. But novelists write for countless different reasons: for money, for fame, for reviewers, for parents, for friends, for loved ones; for vanity, for pride, for curiosity, for amusement: as skilled furniture makers enjoy making furniture, as drunkards like drinking, as judges like judging, as Sicilians like emptying a shotgun into an enemy’s back. I could fill a book with reasons, and they would all be true, though not true of all. Only one same reason is shared by all of us: we wish to create worlds as real as, but other than the world that is. Or was. This is why we cannot plan. We know a world is an organism, not a machine.
There are many reasons why novelists write, but they all have one thing in common - a need to create an alternative world.
That was the tragedy. Not that one man had the courage to be evil. But that millions had not the courage to be good.
Wealth is a monster. It takes a month to learn to control it financially. And many years to learn to control it psychologically.
I think all the arts draw on a nostalgia or longing for a better world—at root a better metaphysical condition—than the one that is. Self-destructive, I don’t know, but certainly we are all victims of some form of manic depression. That is the price of being what we are. I would never choose—even if I could!—to be a more “normal” human being; I would never choose something without that emotional cost, severe though it can become.
Writing novels is a time-consuming, psyche-consuming business. I mean I don’t think a good teacher actually would be likely to write good novels.
What interests me about novelists as a species is the obsessiveness of the activity, the fact that novelists have to go on writing. I think that probably must come from a sense of the irrecoverable. In every novelist’s life there is some more acute sense of loss than with other people, and I suppose I must have felt that. I didn’t realize it, I suppose, till the last ten or fifteen years. In fact you have to write novels to begin to understand this. There’s a kind of backwardness in the novel…an attempt to get back to a lost world.
If a novelist isn’t in exile I suspect he’d be in trouble.
Fowles was an English novelist influenced by both Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus. He is best known for The Magus and The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Fowles was named by The Times newspaper as one of the 50 greatest British writers since 1945.
Source for Image
by Amanda Patterson for Writers Write
Photograph of Julian Hawthorne Affixed to Bertillon Measurement Card
From the Inmate Case file of Julian Hawthorne, Inmate No. 4435
Dated March 26, 1913, this is the Bertillon Measurement Card for Julian Hawthorne, son of American novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne. Also an author and journalist himself, Hawthorne was sentenced to 1 year in the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary for his involvement in a stock fraud scheme. Hawthorne maintained his innocence and later wrote about his experience in prison in his work The Subterranean Brotherhood.
A system of physical identification pre-dating the use of fingerprints, Bertillon Measurements used anthropometrics, such as the length and width of the head and the degree of forehead slope to create an individual’s unique profile.
Covers of Virginia Woolf’s books, designed by her sister, Vanessa Bell. From little augury: Virginia’s flock.
“A hyperactive cutter and paster, Emily Dickinson repurposed scraps and clippings for original creative work, shifting—like Whitman, or perhaps like ambitious Facebook compilers today—from consumer to producer. Late in life, she wrote dazzling fragments of verse and prose on discarded envelopes, chocolate wrappers, and stray bits clipped from magazines and newspapers. These scraps functioned as something more than convenient notepads, encouraging spur-of-the-moment poetic spontaneity and the creative challenge of fitting stray thoughts to odd shapes of paper.”
Christopher Benfey: Scrapbook Nation
Photo: Emily Dickinson Collection/Amherst College