We are suffering home suffering home our red gates
splayed at random through the occupied city
our new old home passing through smoke our belovéd lungs,
suffering oxygen divided from nitrogen which goes home
into the soil heaped at the mouths of the red gates
standing open straddling the boulevard arranging air
turning the ones who enter into gods the ones entered into women
who must suffer to claim the names we’ve left for them
in bulldozed homes human bondage born of bombs
bombs embraced our suffering bombs pierced through the tongue
for a poignant pleasure red milk flowing through red gates
red sky thronging above arches and below arches
made into the interior of a plastic envelope bulked suffering
this is our task to be the wall between and among to be home.
This is gonna be a loooooong post. What follows is a freely edited transcription of my notes from the Zukofsky/100 conference at Columbia t...
Thursday, September 29, 2011 Berlin. Fog of sleep deprivation coloring an otherwise perfect blue autumn day a sort of miasmic yellow i...
Elif Batuman has amplified her criticism of the discipline of creative writing (which I've written about before ) in a review-essay tha...
Trained it down to DePaul's Loop campus this morning to take part in a panel, "Why Writers Should Blog," alongside Tony Trigil...
My title is taken from the comments stream of an article recently published by The Chronicle of Higher Education , David Alpaugh's "...
Will be blogging more or less permanently now at http://www.joshua-corey.com/blog/ . Or follow me on Twitter: @joshcorey
Farewell, Barbara Guest .
In one week Lake Forest will hold its commencement and I'll take off my professor's hat for the summer. A few weeks later, in June, ...
That's one of my own lines. From an untitled (they're all untitled) severance song: After form fails a furling, reports dying away,...
Yes, Ithaca is home. Arrived yesterday evening in hallucinatory blue skies, the local climate of gentle hippies and spaced-out kids immediat...