evoketheforms:

James Baldwin interview on July 15, 1961 in WFMT studio in Chicago, IL
from Conversations with James Baldwin edited by Fred Standley and Louis Pratt, pg. 21

evoketheforms:

James Baldwin interview on July 15, 1961 in WFMT studio in Chicago, IL

from Conversations with James Baldwin edited by Fred Standley and Louis Pratt, pg. 21

(via essenangstessen)

evoketheforms:

James Baldwin interview on July 15, 1961 in WFMT studio in Chicago, IL
from Conversations with James Baldwin edited by Fred Standley and Louis Pratt, pg. 21

evoketheforms:

James Baldwin interview on July 15, 1961 in WFMT studio in Chicago, IL

from Conversations with James Baldwin edited by Fred Standley and Louis Pratt, pg. 21

(via essenangstessen)

Good stuff by poet, Patricia Spears Jones

a poem by a friend of mine and fellow Lesleyite.

dragonheartbeat:

(Villa Grimaldi)


there is no poem to write for the chains
sea-floor dredged and remembering
and i have never tried
i have never been so hungry that i willed hunger
never so tired as in failed empathy
there is no poem
not one word
for the garden that crawls
up from the blood-pissed soil

beautone:

Sun Ra - The Phonetic Shield (Handwritten poem, undated)

beautone:

Sun Ra - The Phonetic Shield (Handwritten poem, undated)

(via vagabondaesthetics)

aaknopf:

A window onto the childhood of Franz Wright, who turned sixty last year and won the Pulitzer Prize in 2005 for Walking to Martha’s Vineyard. This poem appears in F, his newest collection.
To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link » 

Learning to Read   If I had to look up every fifth or sixth word so what. I looked them up. I had nowhere important to be.   My father was unavailable, and my mother looked like she was about to break, and not into blossom, each time I spoke.   My favorite was The Iliad. True, I had trouble pronouncing the names; but when was I going to pronounce them, and   to whom? My stepfather maybe? Number one, he could barely speak English —   two, he had sufficient cause to smirk or attack without prompting from me.   Loneliness boredom and fear my motivation fiercely fueled.   I get down on my knees and thank God for them.  Du Fu, the Psalms, Whitman, Rilke. Life has taught me to understand books.

aaknopf:

A window onto the childhood of Franz Wright, who turned sixty last year and won the Pulitzer Prize in 2005 for Walking to Martha’s Vineyard. This poem appears in F, his newest collection.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link » 


Learning to Read
 
If I had to look up every fifth or sixth word
so what. I looked them up.
I had nowhere important to be.
 
My father was unavailable, and my mother
looked like she was about to break,
and not into blossom, each time I spoke.
 
My favorite was The Iliad. True,
I had trouble pronouncing the names;
but when was I going to pronounce them, and
 
to whom?
My stepfather maybe?
Number one, he could barely speak English —
 
two, he had sufficient cause
to smirk or attack
without prompting from me.
 
Loneliness boredom and fear
my motivation
fiercely fueled.
 
I get down on my knees and thank God for them.
 
Du Fu, the Psalms, Whitman, Rilke.
Life has taught me
to understand books.