Adam Staley Groves: Pondering My 2020 Vote
I actively supported Obama in 2008. I voted for him and I still feel it was the right thing to do. But I did not vote for Obama in 2012, or for Clinton in 2016. Why did I not vote?
Read MoreAsked for French Toast
My father, Seymour Robbins, “Sim,” grew up in his parents’ Jewish deli in Stamford, Connecticut. They cooked all their own meats; corned beef, pastrami, and tongue, and all the side dishes; kugels, knishes, and salads...
Read MoreSoaring Above the Skylark
At the summit stood a stone Shinto gate framed by chestnut trees. I climbed the worn stone steps to find an overgrown shrine filled with moss-coated sculptures—images of Buddhist deities and elderly sages in flowing robes...
Read MoreSerious Kailyarding
During its wildly popular late-nineteenth-century pomp, Kailyard literature (so-named for a cabbage patch) was characterized by sentimental depictions of rural Scottish folk in all their close-knit charm...
Read MoreThe beds turned dark brown, springy; they lifted from the earth…
My shovel hit the earth with a ka-chunk. My friend and I were digging trenches to lay down a line of asparagus. We didn’t get far...
Read MoreWhen was salt and snow first used to produce ice cream?
The earliest form of ice cream seems to have been produced a little before Della Porta started freezing wine...
Read MoreLilith: On Love, Living and Meritocracy
My father once said, “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” It is taken from Love Story, a 1970 movie based on the novel of the same name...
Read MoreSusanna Crossman: Riding the Baking Edge #6
In the current climate of #BlackLivesMatter and the Coronavirus, how to write about bread? Interviewed, on Thursday June 9th, Angela Davis said...
Read MoreAndy and Dom by Alexander McGregor
Prince Andrew and Dominic Cummings would likely not get along. Perhaps they might concord to share some garlic doughballs in Pizza Express...
Read MoreEd Simon: John Donne and Social Isolation
Late in 1623, the Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London fell ill with fever and had difficulty breathing. At 51 years of age, the poet and priest John Donne...
Read MoreWatching Mister Rogers by Eileen Hunt Botting
Mister Rogers typically kept his distance, but when he did break quarantine he would strike against racism and other prejudice...
Read MoreEli S. Evans: The Writer vs. the Pandemic III
Constant specter of illness and death, increasing likelihood of unemployment, nail in the coffin of the post-World War II order.
Read MoreJustice for Floyd
Here we go again. Another black person killed by the US police. Another wave of multiracial resistance. Another cycle of race talk on the corporate media.
Read MoreMarian Janssen on Elizabeth Bishop
Thomas Travisano paints a structured, sensitive portrait of Bishop. He is at his best when explaining her work, which he immaculately interweaves with her life.
Read More“Insurrection” and Black Citizens
The very terminology—“black citizen”—was, of course, an oxymoron upon the birth of this very nation...
Read More“Excess Deaths” and British Political Culture
The Financial Times reported today that the UK has the worst death rate from Covid-19 ‘among countries that produce comparable data’...
Read MoreThe memories are like stutters. Sometimes I inhale for air, and exhale a shaking chain of memories. A choking hazard. I for the ghost. The ghost for me.
Read MoreIf duende, the source of inspiration that Lorca sets out to champion in his essay at the expense of the Muse, is “in sum, the spirit of the earth”, a force linking body and soil through a struggle akin to death, then the Muse is a force that speaks to the head and inspires art that is, in the words’ most negative senses, cerebral and high-minded.
Read MoreBurton was born in Kentucky. He moved itinerantly before settling in Oakland. Temperatures rise, so does the suicide rate.
Read MoreI’ve been writing a more or less monthly memoir of my life in the sixties and seventies when I lived with Doris Lessing, and my continuing relationship with her until her death last year at 94. It is also an ongoing portrait of my incurable cancer.
Read MoreThe cars came scudding in towards Dublin, running evenly like pellets in the groove of the Naas Road. At the crest of the hill at Inchicore sightseers...
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