“Memory is each man’s poet-in-residence.” – Stanley Kunitz, poet
via “Memory is each man’s poet-in-residence.” — Art of Quotation
A collection of writings about place space writing and art …
“Memory is each man’s poet-in-residence.” – Stanley Kunitz, poet
via “Memory is each man’s poet-in-residence.” — Art of Quotation
I always feel like my life is in a state of peril. If you saw my bank account you would understand why I say that. I never have enough money. I’m never sure that they are going to publish my next book. And I’m not sure literally. And it’s not just me worrying about things. It’s really true that I’m still shuffling between various publishing houses trying to find my way. So at age 70, I never feel like I can retire. I just received a kind of ominous letter by email from Princeton taking about my retirement but I thought they can’t make you retire. And I can’t afford to retire. So I’ll just go on and stagger on until I fall in my steps.
Edmund White – Writers at Work, Kansas City Public Library, Public Talk, 2010. [Transcribed by MN].
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Novelist and critic Edmund White discusses his new memoir City Boy on February 22, 2010, at the Central Library, 14 W. 10th St., Kansas City, MO.
White became immediately became involved with the publishing industry upon moving to New York from the Midwest in 1962 but struggled to get his own writing career off the ground. His first book Forgetting Elena was finally published in 1971, but sold only 600 copies.
In City Boy, White says he “longed for literary celebrity” and recalls how he overcame setbacks and his own insecurities to write 23 books, including A Boy’s Own Story — his autobiographical novel about growing up gay in the 1950s. He explains how “Fun City” became “Fear City” with the AIDS crisis and recalls meeting such legendary figures as Truman Capote and William S. Burroughs.
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Listen to the full audio of this highly entertaining and very insightful talk about the trials and tribulations of writing life at: https://archive.org/details/EdmundWhiteCityBoy
Je ne suis pas dans le bon monde. Non. Tout n’est qu’yeux – les gens, les murs – même fermés ils sont étrangers, fixés sur mon visage étranger. Sous une lumière de souffre la lampe de lecture rugit sur les pages qui sombrent dans le bureau ; une joue frémit, fermente sous l’oeil ; dans […]
Merci après-midi de ma vie en cette fin de saison sans âge merci pour mes fenêtres au-dessus des rivières merci pour le véritable amour que vous m’avez apporté quand il était grand temps et pour les mots qui sortent du silence et me prennent par surprise et m’ont porté à travers le jour clair sans […]
via W.S. Merwin – Variation sur un thème — BEAUTY WILL SAVE THE WORLD
Les petits carnets Je regarde mon portable. 6:07. Mes yeux me piquent un peu. Le Tgv pour Paris est presque vide. J’ai deux heures pour écrire. Autour de moi quelques hommes, attaché-case posé sur le siège d’à côté, se mettent à travailler. D’autres dorment, la veste en guise de couverture et moi, comme à mon habitude je commence mon voyage en farfouillant mon sac.
via Les petits carnets — L’urgence est au bonheur, by Sophie Ausilio
If you care about something you have to protect it – If you’re lucky enough to find a way of life you love, you have to find the courage to live it. ― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany. (Transworld Publishers; First edition, November 1, 1989)
But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight, And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart– Open to me! For I will show you the places nobody knows, And, if you like, The perfect places of Sleep. — E. E. Cummings, from “You Are Tired (I Think),” Etcetera: […]
“The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which means never losing your enthusiasm.”
― Aldous Huxley
Charles Bukowski was a German-American writer of poetry and prose, whose cult image lives on posthumously. Often using graphic language or imagery in his work, Bukowski spoke with raw emotion, honesty, and lack of pretence. He wrote about his alcoholism, failed relationships, and his experience of being abused as a child. Bukowski lived a challenging […]
To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the breaking of bread.
— James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time
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