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SELF PORTRAIT WITH THE RADIO ONLast night I might have had Retsinaand not cut myself shaving before bedhad it not been for wishing to be elsewhere,goaded by the mirror to hurry, to clearits view of the room. Tonightwill end much the same: watchinga woman's hands pretend to knowthe piano keys, wishing to be fixedinside the song. When you visitthe Oracle, it's best to have your questionin mind as well as written on your hand.While a live rabbit or lamb might travelbetter than a statue, both are necessaryforms of appreciation. The spoilsof conquest or dumb luck, too.Laid against itself, notated inthe player's and composer's mind,shadow becoming shadow and backagain, to solid. The after-effect,peripatetic, multiphasic. If wateredinto bloom, again in the room, a handcoaxing a hand to become real.This could be the thing that lasts;Makes physical, thought. Is thishow to remember? This couldbe the things that lasts.
Glitched collabs from Andrew Brenza and Kristine Snodgrass find a neon outlet in the merging of vispo and digital alteration. This striking book features color-saturated work that enlivens the structural bombast inherent in Brenza and Snodgrass's stark visual poetry. What is glitched is not superceded nor muted, rather transformed in a true collaborative spirit.
Less Than What You Once Were begins in a pivotal moment for the speaker-during the 2008 "Battle of N'Djamena" in Chad's capital. This destabilizing experience-in which the speaker's home is broken into-results in the family embarking on a months-long departure from the place, and the narrative begins to cycle through childhood memories, from the first night when Brown lands at N'Djamena's airport as an eight-year-old boy to the failed attempt at bird hunting with a slingshot. These centering memories soon give way to stories of displacement as a young adult and, much later, a return to the country of his youth. This fragmented memoir, told in a similar, episodic style to Claudia Rankine's Citizen, is both a coming-of-age story and also a story of exile, ending in a state of dislocated adulthood, the speaker longing for a return to a childhood home that can't be accessed.
The Souls of Others is a powerful essay collection by American Book Award winner Shann Ray. Ray depicts the American west as both magnificent and destitute. The mountains are alive. The people are gritty, destitute, and resilient. Nature offers its bounty but never gives it with ease. Ray, having spent part of his childhood on the Northern Cheyenne reservation, expertly paints a place of family, sorrow, and a connection to Mother Nature that so many Americans have lost.
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