Death
At some point in the late ’70s, when Douglas Crimp and I were art history doctoral students at the Graduate Center, CUNY, he invited me to the ballet.
At some point in the late ’70s, when Douglas Crimp and I were art history doctoral students at the Graduate Center, CUNY, he invited me to the ballet.
On suffering, beauty, and utility.
The filmmakers take an unexpected approach to documenting people in the final stage of life.
After The Velvet Underground, a poetic underworld.
Broken, the madrilenial butterfly finally suckles / from the dime blood at the ankle of the tube sock.
The debut novelist of Self-Portrait with Boy on the DUMBO of the 1990s, accidental art, and the importance of being unladylike.
The late Iranian filmmaker’s final work is an ethereal study of the mechanics of cinema.
The story’s “contents” are spun from actual events: in August 1973, Klaus flies to Los Angeles to meet his then-partner, Lynda Benglis (referred to as “Her”), who was to drive cross-country with him back to New York. Instead, he drives back alone, lost in a disputatious reverie circling around language, Gertrude Stein, modernist literature, mapmaking, and the act of writing.
I remember your torso locked in a twill shell. / I remember the same rotating body bare. / Is my sadness ever any different?
THE GRANDUNCLE (stands up in the middle of the wake. Taps his glass with a spoon)
Historical analogies between the Civil War period and our own time are plentiful in a conversation about the author’s much-anticipated first novel, Lincoln in the Bardo.
I saw C.D. Wright at a party once. I wasn’t her friend or her student. She was beautiful and graceful; something girlish about her face under the white hair.
A few years ago, I drafted two linked stories, one about Kurt Cobain and the other about Raymond Carver. Both grew up in the Pacific Northwest. Both had fathers who worked at a sawmill. Both were, in one way or another, working-class kids.
The Dogtooth filmmaker talks about The Lobster, finding the right tone, and the state of Greek cinema.
“Post-love, post-work, post-faith, post-home. What’s left?”
Blue window where we waited for you.
I sit down this morning to write about this image. This image—which might be a poem—that I made as the result of an experiment.