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Tag "reading"
Here’s a bit of advertising for the new Alice book for the iPad. It’s pretty darn cool. A whole layer of activity on top of the text. It’s heading in the right direction.
Still more meaningful interaction would be so much better. Interaction that really illuminates to content not just bells and whistles. I have high expectations in this new space. We need someone like Cyan who originally created Myst to step up and shift the expectations in this reading environment.
If Alice in Wonderland was the text and an interactive experience like Myst imagine the experience!
You can download Myst for your iPhone and you can now play the next level of Myst online here.
Read MoreFYI : The Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival has been canceled due to economic pressure. Please contribute if you can. Just click through to YouTube.
Read MoreOff rows of windshields
in the Amtrak lot
rain in sudden
clumps like jacks. Parked cars
with people in them
awaiting people they imagine
hurtling through suburbs
of silver woods
awaiting them. True
love needs interference,
a certain blizzard distance,
for the words to worm through.
Remember Iowa?
August storms that would self-spark
as if our fights could trip
the finest wire beneath the sidewalk.
And the sunlight, harder after.
Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple
Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean
The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell
Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora’s scarves, I’m in a fright
One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel,
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,
But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak
Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,
Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.
Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.
Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.
Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.
I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern——
My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.
Does not my heat astound you! And my light!
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.
I think I am going up,
I think I may rise——
The beads of hot metal fly, and I love, I
Am a pure acetylene
Virgin
Attended by roses,
By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean!
Not you, nor him
Nor him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats)——
To Paradise.
Sylvia Plath, “Fever 103°” from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath, edited by Ted Hughes. Copyright © 1966 and renewed 1994 by Ted Hughes. Reprinted with the permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Source: Poetry (August 1963).
Read MoreHailstorm
Like a storm
of hornets, the
little white planets
layer and relayer
as they whip around
in their high orbits,
getting more and
more dense before
they crash against
our crust. A maelstrom
of ferocious little
fists and punches,
so hard to believe
once it’s past.
- Kay Ryan
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Tags: PoetLaureate, poetry, vision,
Read MoreI just read a delightful piece in the times. I hadn’t really been captured by one of the CITY articles quite like this one. The writing conjured up sounds and smells that made me feel quite warm inside, like a silky bitter hot cocoa. The piece was written by Caroline H. Dworin whose other work can be found at her website. You should read her work, because as she so simply says, ” She is a good writer, and she means well.”
This story reminded me of the moments in Harry Potter where he goes to Mr. Ollivander wand shop. Mr Ollivander climbs a ladder and reaches around many cardboard boxes looking for Harry’s wand. I also thought of the numerous fabulous art stores with wooden floors and ladders to reach stores of lithography inks and papers.
This is just one of the glorious insights into a place where time stands still and quality of materials and product are part of what defines the Putnam culture.
This floor is an orphanage of broken ladders, the bleaker version of those below. Gregg still rescues ladders from closing businesses, and sometimes even buys them back for $25 or $50. Once, while having dinner in a downtown restaurant, he spied one through the window of a closing bookshop, and wrote a letter to the owner asking to reclaim it. His friends and family are mystified by this ability to pick out his ladders from a distance, as if responding to some low-frequency cry.
Mostly I thought of this magical way that the ladders still speak to their makers.
You might want to order a ladder while you still can. Who knows how much longer they can hold off progress.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Tags: Putnam, library ladders, new york, nyc, Dworin
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So, I check my email today and there is an Amazon notice. New book by Ursala K LeGuin. What a great gift for my birthday! Margaret went down to Joseph Fox Books just around the corner and bought a copy — my gift to her. My gift would be that she would read it to me.
You can listen to her read here. http://www.ursulakleguin.com/MP3s/index.html
You can watch her read from her new book Lavinia at youtube. Here’s the video.
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