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Merle Haggard
THE BLUEGRASS SESSIONS
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From Wikipedia:
The Bluegrass Sessions is the sixty-first studio album by American country music singer and songwriter Merle Haggard, released on October 2, 2007. Produced by Ronnie Reno, former rhythm guitarist of The Strangers, the bulk of the album was cut live in the studio in one day, with very little overdubbing.
COLM TÓIBÍN
Restlessness: A Syllabus
I am interested in texts that are pure voice or deal with difficult experience using a tone that does not offer relief or stop for comfort. Sometimes, the power in the text comes from powerlessness, whether personal or political. Sometimes, death is close or danger beckons or violence is threatened or enacted. Sometimes, there is a sense of real personal risk in the text’s revelations. Sometimes, there is little left to lose. All the time, the tone is incantatory or staccato or filled with melancholy recognitions.
GALWAY KINNELL
"On The Frozen Field"
We walk across the snow,
The stars can be faint,
The moon can be eating itself out,
There can be meteors flaring to death on earth,
The Northern Lights can bloom and seethe
And be tearing themselves apart all night,
We walk arm in arm, and we are happy.
You in whose ultimate madness we live,
You flinging yourself out into the emptiness,
You—like us—great for an instant,
O only universe we know, forgive us.
OTTESSA MOSHFEGH
"The Smoker"
The man who had lived in my house on Hawkins Street had owed more on the house than it was worth. It was in an undesirable part of town, or so I was told, but I loved the neighborhood. The houses were small. There was a permanent lemon icee stand a block away. I was about twenty steps away from a bodega that functioned as the neighborhood grocery store. My next door neighbor was an elderly lady from Portugal who spoke almost no English and yet complained to me about all the dogshit in my backyard while bragging about the tomatoes in her garden, which looked exactly like her breasts beneath her housedress, heavy and sliding. We were separated by a chainlink fence.
EUSTACHE DESCHAMPS
"And Remedies Against Said Plague"
Contaminated air, poisoned ground,
Infected bodies in the cemetery, and the dead
Scattered in the fields in grievous wars,
Latrines piled with infectious dung,
Stench from garbage dumped
In fields, towns, and castles,
Great filth and heaps of excrement,
Refuse which is foolhardy to make,
Stale, polluted air, and swine:
All of these cause plague in many places.
To have a gluttonous mouth, scurrilous life,
To drink and eat without appetite,
To sit long at table is dangerous to do,
And likewise to eat too many courses.
Eating overly salted venison, beef, oxen, and pork,
Tench, eel, conger, all beasts,
Ocean fish, dairy products, fruit, leeks,
Onions and garlic, cheap wine with murky dregs,
Hard bread and unleavened cakes:
All of these cause plague in many places.
To live on water from swampy ground,
To be in heavy air when fog is thick,
Waking too early, leading a lewd life,
And to be stiff with anger are death.
To be too hot or too cold when doors are open,
To partake of spas and baths among those
Who are infected, putrid, and depressed
Engenders many similar diseases,
And such matters as in these prime examples:
All of these cause plague in many places.
Prince, one would do well in these special cases
And scurrilous circumstances, for one’s health,
To flee from them all, or at least some.
One should purge the body and keep warm,
Since without protection from such defects,
All of these cause plague in many places.
Translated by Anne M. Dropick
MALCOLM X
This is the media, an irresponsible media. It will make the criminal look like he is the victim and make the victim look like he is the criminal. If you aren't careful, the media will have you hating the people who are oppressed and loving the people who are doing the oppressing.
This is a propaganda tactic that I would call psychological warfare.
X. J. KENNEDY
"Cross Ties"
Out walking ties left over from a track
Where nothing travels now but rust and grass,
I half-believe in something that would pass
Growing to hurtle from behind my back
And when the night wind slams by, give a start:
Out of its mass the disembodied wail
Of a far night-shift like a bag of mail
Is flung. Moon looms, her headbeam rips apart
A cloud and strews it. Wings thrash: down to strafe
The crouched grass drops a mousehawk. There’s a screech
As steel stretched taut till severed. Out of reach
Or else beneath desiring, I go safe,
Walk on, tensed for a leap, unreconciled
To a dark void all kindness.
When I spill
The salt I throw the Devil some and, still,
I let them sprinkle water on my child.
KATHLEEN MORRIS
"A Prayer to Eve"
Mother of fictions
and of irony,
help us to laugh.
Mother of science
and the critical method,
keep us humble.
Muse of listeners,
hope of interpreters,
inspire us to act.
Bless our metaphors,
that we may eat them.
Help us to know, Eve,
the one thing we must do.
Come with us, Muse of exile,
Mother of the road.
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