We’re just a whimsy, a way to move a clock forward. As usual, Jim said it better.
Author: Timothy Yu
I may not have the stamina to challenge Nick for the title of late-night blog champ, but I think Cassie may.
Finally getting around to responding to Steve Evans’s “widening the frame” around the whole Gustave “I Don’t Blog” Flaubert thing. I think it’s fair to say that critique—not pick-a-fight polemic, but fair-minded and well-argued critique—is not the form’s strong suit so far. Sigh. I guess I’ve been on about this since day one, when I suggested that Ron Silliman tugged…
I won one round with Nick but too tired for another round tonight. It’s that July surge in the NL Central followed by the August meltdown.
My template has come home to me. I’m not asking any questions.
At another point I went out and got some postcards with entries from those “Worst-Case Scenario” handbooks on them. They were thick and rigid, like a coaster, with rounded edges and a yellow border. This led to poems with titles like “How to Survive an Avalanche” and “How to Break Down a Door.” Instruct & delight.
I wrote my first postcard poem to Cassie on New Year’s Day in my parents’ living room in Chicago, having returned that afternoon from New York, where I’d sort of been able to see the festivities in Times Square from my hotel room; if I squeezed behind the desk, pressed my nose against the glass, and looked between my building…
Why sleep when you can blog?
Nick? Are you still awake? Nick?
my ship does not need a helmsman. only a woman who strokes my brow and laughs at the moon when it is full. It may be that the political power of this poem is in its pathos—its moving picture of a life lost to history, which might spur a reader into compassion and action. But there can be no question…