i don’t have any words except INFINITE GRATITUDE. thank you to the
@TheCleggAgency
for the unwavering support & care; and to
@DavidEbershoff
and
@HogarthBooks
for the belief & new home. i can’t wait to work on this book, and share it with all of you 🧿✨💓✨🛸🏢
when my boyfriend is home i eat three square meals a day and when he is gone i creep into the kitchen for a handful of dry cereal or a pickle every two hours like a tiny rat in a bodega in bedstuy
A new bill seeks to basically make BDS completely illegal for citizens
Which is absurd and unenforceable. How are you going to tell me what I do or do not spend my money on? Fuck off
The time they get paid to waste is unreal
people keep asking who the new cultural critic of our time is, who is the susan sontag of our time, the john berger and joan didion, who can just read the world and see it clearly? and all along it’s been azealia banks on instagram stories
i tweet this once a week but what happened in the last two months has altered me on a fundamental level. i will never be the same again, and i will never look the same at some of you who have remained silent throughout it all. i feel a distance so vast it's unbridgable
being a poet is really astonishing. you earn nothing, you do everything yourself, nobody takes you seriously, your craft gets treated as the least important in the publishing industry, and yet everyone expects you to know what the meaning of life is
thinking about nicole sealey at the NYU job talk in 2018 saying "i don't want to write all the time. i want to have time to be in love, and to see friends for dinner."
i hate when people ask me if i write every day. do i look like an insane person? when i write i am literally tearing my hair out and crawling on the floor and conversing with the fire gods and it’s really not something one can do every day
most of the literary girls who love luxury objects grew up dirt poor, had precarious jobs, have definitely dated men just to be able to eat dinner. having a sense of style and aesthetics has nothing to do with money. trying to look like you belong somewhere is a survival strategy
forever haunted by that moment in girls when jenny slate says, "the book just poured out of me actually. someone like you, you're always really sweating it, you're really working at it, i really admire that effort to do something that is not, maybe, the most natural to you"
i went to the proust museum in paris & saw that he, who was so sick and bedridden, told his housekeeper that he could finally die because he finished “la recherche.” i cried. and then i wrote this! thank you, always, to
@Deardarkness
&
@ghazalblues
&
@NewYorker
the woman at the coffee shop stopped me bc of my tote bag and was like DO YOU WORK AT ASTRA? MY BOYFRIEND WORKS AT ASTRA. and then we spoke for five minutes about astra until we realized her boyfriend works for astra, the rocket company, and i work for astra, the literary mag
whenever i read something by ocean vuong, or hear him speak, or stand in his presence, i am moved to tears because i can literally feel what my mother calls a “clean heart.” and maintaining a clean heart takes a lot of care. it’s something we should all aspire to, and learn from
Individuals who want to believe that there is no fulfillment in love, that true love does not exist, cling to these assumptions because this despair is actually easier to face than the reality that love is a real fact of life but is absent from their lives.
—bell hooks
my students are so overwhelmed, confused, depressed. especially the first-generation students without a security net or financial support from outside. i cannot believe that we're expecting them to complete coursework and pretend as if everything's normal.
i don’t even want to go back to normal anymore. i don’t even want to go to a rave or have fun. this year has been so long, just let me go to an early 20th century sanatorium for hysterical women so i can stroll around a lawn in a white gown and stare at the sky and be silent
Still dizzy from the moment I got the call, but it’s a dream come true. I’m terrified and excited to announce that I’ve accepted a Stegner Fellowship in Poetry. I cannot wait to see how my poems evolve. Thank you, poems. Thank you, poets 💞
bittersweet: i have a new poem in the new yorker today, mourning the friend i lost in april last year, at the beginning of it all. even if poems make nothing happen—or very little—thank you, always,
@Deardarkness
and
@ghazalblues
what i still don't understand is that poems have a life of their own. they travel and reach people and work for you. they're bees from the subconscious that create a system. they go into the world with a mission and a music. they have purpose. you write into the future.
do you ever think about what your ancestors went through? the women in your family, how many hellscapes they had to overcome? that none of them were ever meant to survive and yet you are here, at this point in history, alive, and writing poems. god, what is this glory
“I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge – even wisdom. Like art.”
—Toni Morrison
growing up really is about realizing that you have to make your own family out of friends and pets and books and select blood relatives, and that nothing else matters
poets shouldn't write novels bc they take every sentence and weigh it on a kitchen scale, then bring their little nail scissors and start pruning the commas and the images and the sounds until everything is perfect and how are you supposed to do that with a story that's 60k words
no one:
girls in novels: i was so short, he lifted me. i was small and thin and weak and the wind was blowing me away, and he called me his small autumn leaf. i was wearing his shirt as a dress. i was very skinnily thin and he carried me on his hand like an eyelash, so tiny
god i love libraries. i love them so much. for how many of us were they the landscapes of our childhood and adolescence, the real playground, full of possibilities—and then later, the places we worked at. crying a little bit
writing a sex book so i can make $$$ and buy my parents a nice house where they can retire and never speak to me again as they will disown me for writing a sex book. it’s called being an immigrant daughter
if joe biden wins the primary, trump will eat him alive in two seconds on national tv. and we will be stuck with fascism until 2250, when all of human life on earth will be wiped out and elon musk will successfully have colonized the moon and mars as a retreat for millionaires :)
i'm european. i will NEVER reply to an e-mail within the first day of receiving it, unless i harbor erotic desires towards the sender, in which case i am unstoppable
remembering how at the end of our workshop terrance hayes said “you’re all getting As, not because you deserve it, but because of the rules of the MFA. real life and not getting published later on will be punishment enough. in your heart of hearts you know if you did the work.”
honestly hate how outer space is in the process of being colonized by white supremacists and venture capitalists, when outer space was, for such a long time, the place for a radical afro-futurist and anti-colonial imagination
i remember every single “famous poet” who was nice to me even when i was a baby with no publications, and i remember every single “famous poet” who was absolutely horrendous to me then & yes i will carry the grudge to my grave
when i taught at an elementary school in harlem and made the kids write ekphrastic poems after this varo painting, they wrote things like "my moon is very sad because i won't let her play with other moons" and "i don't know the moon's favorite food, because it cannot speak"
Heart breaking more and more for the people of Afghanistan with each article I read and each world leaders lacking response. Any links or ways to help folks, especially women, from abroad?
notes to self:
—all poems should be simpler
—no more intimacy without responsibility
—no more love when i am met with indifference
—scrub the unnecessary metaphors
—risk what you need to risk
—extend the work off the page
—guard your heart, but do not shut it
I began writing because I had made friends with the dead: they had written to me, in their books, about life on earth and I wanted to write back and say yes, house, bridge, river, hair, no, maybe, never, forever.
––Mary Ruefle
my roommate has spoken so little to me that she doesn’t know i have written a book or hung out with most of the writers whose books she’s reading and thinks she needs to explain to me
i swear to god the short story is the hardest literary form to master. people who write good short stories are wizards who have unbounded access to the ancestor spirits
i love poets. i love how much hot trash we talk once we are together in a hotel bar in nyc with the appropriate amount of liquor. i love cigarette breaks. i love the muggy summer air at night. i love how romantic we all are, and how fucking full of shit and gossip and tenderness
This poem always makes me shiver, it makes me kneel. It humbles me down to the earth. I have never experienced magic like this.
"All night my hands / twisting fruit as if entering a thousand doors, all night my back a straight road to the sky."
Let me call my anxiety, desire, then.
Let me call it, a garden.
Maybe this is what Lorca meant
when he said, verde que te quiero verde—
because when the shade of night comes,
I am a field of it, of any worry ready to flower in my chest.
––Natalie Diaz
idk what is going on here today i just know that this poem is one of the best things that has ever happened to english as a language and to love as an emotion
i have a secret list of books for a hypothetical partner, books i want them to read in stages, earned by trust. my rule is that if someone makes it to the end, i’m sure i’ll marry them. kiss the frog but make it a book club. no one until now has made it past book 3
love the american south. love the global south. love southern europe and my south-facing window, and the plants that grow in that direction. love what is south of my mind. and i even love when everything goes south, because it is ruin and earth, which is where we belong
i love that every craft talk essentially boils down to "you need to kill the ego and let the spirits move through you" and that actually can't be taught at all.
no writing advice makes sense. if you write good sentences, you can do literally anything. if you have music, a thumbprint, something to say. if you have a vision, and the craft for it. "don't write about drugs", "don't write in present tense," "don't this, don't that." stfu pls
Let it matter what we call a thing.
Let it be the exquisite face for at least 16 seconds.
Let me LOOK at you.
Let me look at you in a light that takes years to get here.
––Solmaz Sharif