Rich Howard observes in foreword to "The Cloud Corporation", “every poem coils about its syntax like a sleek python of reticulated verbality”
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Rich Howard observes in foreword to "The Cloud Corporation", “every poem coils about its syntax like a sleek python of reticulated verbality”
Writers Here and Now: Courtney Brkic & Timothy Donnelly
Writers Here and Now: Courtney Brkic & Timothy Donnelly
Wednesday night was miserably cold in College Park, bitingly chill. I stayed late on campus to attend a fiction and poetry reading hosted by the Department of English at UMD. The coordinators had invited a diverse pair of authors to feature their recent publications: Courtney Brkic, an Associate Professor of Creative Writing at George Mason University; and Timothy Donnelly, an Associate Professor…
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Estamos entrando na era da Cloud Corporation
Estamos entrando na era da Cloud Corporation
Em 2009 quando escrevi meu livro de Computação em Nuvem, o tema ainda era tratado como curiosidade. Hoje, cinco anos depois, cloud é irreversivel e em breve nem mais falaremos em cloud computing e sim apenas em computing, pois cloud será o nosso modelo mental de pensar na aquisição e uso de tecnologia. O seu impacto vai muito além de efeitos limitados de redução de custos no uso de infraestrutura…
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The New Intelligence, by Timothy Donnelly
After knowledge extinguished the last of the beautiful fires our worship had failed to prolong, we walked back home through pedestrian daylight, to a residence
humbler than the one left behind. A door without mystery, a room without theme. For the hour that we spend complacent at the window overlooking the garden,
we observe an arrangement in rust and gray-green, a vagueness at the center whose slow, persistent movements some sentence might explain if we had time
or strength for sentences. To admit that what falls falls solitarily, lost in the permanent dusk of the particular. That the mind that fear and disenchantment fatten
comes to boss the world around it, morbid as the damp- fingered gust who rearranges the cheeses the minute the host turns to fix her a cocktail. A disease of the will, the way
false birch branches arch and interlace from which hands dangle last leaf-parchments and a very large array of primitive bird-shapes. Their pasted feathers shake
in the aftermath of the nothing we will ever be content to leave the way we found it. I love that about you. I love that when I call you on the long drab days practicality
keeps one of us away from the other that I am calling a person so beautiful to me that she has seen my awkwardness on the actual sidewalk but she still answers anyway.
I say that when I fell you fell beside me and the concrete refused to apologize. That a sparrow sat for a spell on the windowsill today to communicate the new intelligence.
That the goal of objectivity depends upon one's faith in the accuracy of one's perceptions, which is to say a confidence in the purity of the perceiving instrument.
I won't be dying after all, not now, but will go on living dizzily hereafter in reality, half-deaf to reality, in the room perfumed by the fire that our inextinguishable will begins.
Timothy Donnelly's Cloud Corporation book release party