Tag Archives: language

‘The Gravity of Curiosity’

… The gravity of curiosity. Our lives should be lived in interrogatives rather than imperatives. It’s more magnanimous to move through the world with wonder than with unearned certainty… [Poems] encourage us to ask the complicated questions, both of ourselves … Continue reading →

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‘It’s Death in a Modern Setting’

Whether it’s taken as a grin or a snarl, all skulls bare their teeth; it goes with being a skull. But sometimes an art historian is in pursuit of a story to tell — it goes with being an art … Continue reading →

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‘Attention Is the Rarest and Purest Form of Generosity’

Between “passionate” and “dispassionate,” why not the latter? Having a “passion” for something threatens to be trite. “Passion” emits heat, and there’s enough heat circulating already. How about “devotion” instead? I’m devoted to the art of mimickry. A bent for imitation, … Continue reading →

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Infinite Scroll on the Scripture Front

The cross-referencing contained in scripture reminds me of the infinite scrolling feature that afflicts social media. In the scriptures it doesn’t have pernicious intent, but can lead, nevertheless, to addictive chasing after the satisfaction of curiosity if one isn’t careful. … Continue reading →

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‘Colorful Ooze’

The Met’s new show… makes clear how astonishing it is that paint, of all things, became the center of Western art… There may never be another big American exhibition about this freakish little era, when artists figured out how to … Continue reading →

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Song of My Selves

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Turner, Monet, Morisot

Volcanic ash from Mount Tambora’s eruption, as well as coal pollution, gave Turner glowing atmospheres to paint in his day. So did the toxic air enveloping the city of London which Monet responded to in some of his paintings a … Continue reading →

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Ankle Bells Aquiver

Economy and directness are said to be paramount traits of poetry. “Directness” does heavy lifting in that statement. The poem by Alafia Nicole Sessions titled “Immature Animals” (Poetry, October 2024) stumps, like something glimpsed that you can’t identify, but so … Continue reading →

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‘His Lesions Are Legion…’

In a single poem Gwendolyn Brooks wraps up in a big bow the harrowing, goofy joy, the confused exultation salted with brow-knitting angst, that enters into raising yourself with children. “Life for my child is simple, and is good” is … Continue reading →

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From the NSFW Annals of Aesop

For preservation of decorum in public speech, generations of writers have stood on the shoulders of people like Sir Richard Burton, 19th-century translator of the Arabian Nights. He fathered workarounds with which to buffer readers from Anglo Saxon four-letter words, … Continue reading →

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