Keep Poop Brown
Poet, mother, feces activist. This is my reaction to the world of spectacle, crap, and nonsense.
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Quote reblogged from shhh! no running in the library!I think libraries are more vital now than they have ever been. And whatever form books take in the centuries and millennia to come, we will always need librarians.
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Quote reblogged from Thought At WorkYou won’t allow me to go to school.
I won’t become a doctor.
Remember this:
One day you will be sick.— Poem written by an 11 year old Afghan girl
This poem was recorded in a NYT magazine article about female underground poetry groups in Afghanistan. An amazing article about the ways in which women are using a traditional two line poetry form to express their resistance to male oppression, their feelings about love (considered blasphemous), and their doubts about religion.
One of the best articles I’ve read all year. Here’s the link
(via katyuno)
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What if we all had to fill our bookshelves with books that we titled ourselves? So cool.
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Post reblogged from POETRY since 1912
I am there again in the first days trying to speak
the dead language of naming: latissimus, pectoralis,
orbicularis orbis. For some of us, this was a language
we had heard before we could comprehendthe alpha and omega of muscularis. Someone
whispered that the very act of naming was holy.—Poetry, November 2005
Poetry contributor C. Dale Young is a 2012 Guggenheim Fellow.
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Hello followers. If you are still following this blog, I suggest you jump over to my other blog, Ex Vivo: Out of the Living Body (which I think is listed as Out of the Living Body), which I started because of the release of my new book. Having 2 blogs is kind of annoying, so I really only add things to the newer blog! Join me over there, where I am still the same feces activist that I am here. Happy Easter!
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Photo reblogged from Libraryland
April is National Poetry Month! Save a poet, read a poem. Or save a poet, eat a poem? Or save a poem, plagiarize a poet?
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Video reblogged from Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Your must-watch video of the day: “The Birth of a Book” at Smith-Settle Printers in Leeds, England.
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Post reblogged from Quoting the Books
“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life, anyway? We’re born, we live a little while, we die. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.”
— For quite some time I have been disturbed by my own reaction to Charlotte’s Web. As a child, I would have given my life for Wilbur. When I watched the movie, I wept. (Even though I hated the trippy spider web spinning song with the glistening dew drops.) When I had kids, and read the book again, I began to wonder, why didn’t people pay attention to the spider? She spelled words in a web! She had some crazy perspective that allowed her to form letters as she spun? For humans, it would be like writing enormous, billboard sized words, with our butts. Words that we couldn’t even see the shapes of!! That is a tremendous WTF. The sacrifice of her energy! (Mothers out there can relate.) And everyone came to see the pig? No one said, “Where is that miracle spider? Someone give that spider a blue ribbon! Someone canonize that spider! Call the pope!” They all just stared at Wilbur, who could do little pig flips now and again. And although I am team Charlotte, all of the way, I would still suck her up in the vacuum without a second thought. What does that say about me?
E.B. White, Charlotte’s Web
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Photoset reblogged from Better Book Titles
