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Its untamable eyes in the night. Did you know a ghost has hair. A ghost has hair. I once heard Wright read from Deepstep. She read from it with such awesome confidence and surety of the work, the way a baseball player takes the bases after hitting a homerun. Under the influence of the aura and further authority her voicing gave the text, it was for me a reading as rapturous as the book itself. It explained something to me about my relationship to her sensibility, a relationship built on our shared Southernness and interest in experiment, but a feeling of kinship her work also elicits from readers across the globe.

Hell yeah. That summer was the first time I met C. I came to Napa to study with her, a venture freighted with everything her books had come to mean to me. Given the intensity younger writers often bring to their meetings with older writers they admire, it could have been a disaster. But C. The basic message of her pedagogy was: read widely, read weirdly, be ambitious for your work, be true to your process, keep writing, pay attention, and support each other.

And despite the fame that would soon come to her after the MacArthur, over the years she remained consistently supportive of me, my work, and the work of other poets in ways that never failed to make me remember: be ambitious, keep writing, support each other.

What began as a few memories, some notes about the arc of her career, and lists of favorite poems turned into this essay, my way of saying that her work meant the world to me: meaning, it has given me a way forward into this one. It embodies everything I love about C. It is, of course, in essence a list, intimate and expansive at once.

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Or prime the surface if I could get off without it. I made simple music out of sticks and string. On side B of me, experimental guitar, night repairs and suppers such as this. You could count on me to make a bad situation worse like putting liquid make-up over a passion mark. I never raised your rent. Never said I loved you.


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The future gave me chills. I used the medium to say: Arise arise and come together. Free your children. Come on everybody. But humor in her work makes very little laughable.

Cooling Time : An American Poetry Vigil by Wright, C. D. | eBay

Instead, it offers a statement about how to approach our shared existential and political situations, ones that are, after all, rather dire. To be able to laugh enables us to hold grand tragedies close without either being destroyed by them or diminishing their horror. In her laughter is the command to remember:. Wright was born in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas, the daughter of a judge and a court reporter. Prose Home Harriet Blog. Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library. Newsletter Subscribe Give. Poetry Foundation. Back to Previous.

Open Door. By Brian Teare. Wright was not in attendance, but at an afternoon panel, a white man got up to present and read to us a poem from Tremble : "Everything Good Between Men and Women" has been written in mud and butter and barbecue sauce. In a interview with Kent Johnson , she explains that her time as office manager at the San Francisco Poetry Center in the s had exposed her to The theoretically-driven San Francisco poets who were in cahoots with poets in New York and conversant with European vanguard movements—they provided me with a need to become critically aware of my back-home ways; sharpened me to a degree.

But the book is also characteristically full of Southern talk: Onionlight. Vidalia onions. Now do you know where you are.


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  • The boneman said apply flax and whites of eggs to bleeding eyes. So Gloucester had to smell his way to Dover. Or anywhere the air does not smell of barbecue. What did you buy at the cent table. Where do you folks live at. Between the a and the t. She read from it with such awesome confidence and surety of the work, the way a baseball player takes the bases after hitting a homerun. Under the influence of the aura and further authority her voicing gave the text, it was for me a reading as rapturous as the book itself. It explained something to me about my relationship to her sensibility, a relationship built on our shared Southernness and interest in experiment, but a feeling of kinship her work also elicits from readers across the globe.

    Hell yeah. That summer was the first time I met C. I came to Napa to study with her, a venture freighted with everything her books had come to mean to me. Given the intensity younger writers often bring to their meetings with older writers they admire, it could have been a disaster.

    But C. The basic message of her pedagogy was: read widely, read weirdly, be ambitious for your work, be true to your process, keep writing, pay attention, and support each other.

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    And despite the fame that would soon come to her after the MacArthur, over the years she remained consistently supportive of me, my work, and the work of other poets in ways that never failed to make me remember: be ambitious, keep writing, support each other. What began as a few memories, some notes about the arc of her career, and lists of favorite poems turned into this essay, my way of saying that her work meant the world to me: meaning, it has given me a way forward into this one.

    It embodies everything I love about C. It is, of course, in essence a list, intimate and expansive at once. Or prime the surface if I could get off without it. I made simple music out of sticks and string. On side B of me, experimental guitar, night repairs and suppers such as this. You could count on me to make a bad situation worse like putting liquid make-up over a passion mark.

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    I never raised your rent. Never said I loved you. The future gave me chills. I used the medium to say: Arise arise and come together. Free your children. Come on everybody. But humor in her work makes very little laughable. Instead, it offers a statement about how to approach our shared existential and political situations, ones that are, after all, rather dire.

    To be able to laugh enables us to hold grand tragedies close without either being destroyed by them or diminishing their horror. In her laughter is the command to remember:. Wright was born in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas, the daughter of a judge and a court reporter.

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    Prose Home Harriet Blog. Visit Home Events Exhibitions Library. Newsletter Subscribe Give. Poetry Foundation. Back to Previous. Open Door.