![]() |
|
|
I find myself wondering: has a book changed my life lately? I mean the way The Brothers Karamazov or The Waves or Kafka's diaries or Salinger's Glass family stories changed my life before? Newer finds are more crucial to me at the moment, but I don't think I could say that any one of them has changed my life. I may have reached a point (temporarily, I hope!) where the only books that can really change my life are the ones I'll manage to write.
If a book is important to me, I read it more than once. More than twice, most likely. The book I'm re-reading right now: Immanent Visitor, selected poems of Jaime Saenz.
A big blank book with nice heavy pages, in case I have to write and draw with berries. (There will be berries, right?)
I was giddy at first, then flipped and pulled inside out by Brenda Coultas's Early Films. It's amazing. (I only learned of its existence in the interview we did last month.)
When writing reaches me, whatever else is included, there's usually an aspect of sorrow. I guess the book that made me feel sad most recently is the one I finished writing a few days ago, The Last 4 Things. At least I think I finished. I cried yesterday reading a poem from Rebecca Loudon's forthcoming book Radish King.
The comprehensive, surprising, and insightful biography (in English) of Paula Modersohn-Becker. The one with all the gorgeous color plates.
A book on the work of Anselm Kiefer called Heaven and Earth, by Michael Auping. (The picture at the top of this post is from that book.) Also Beverly Dahlen's A Reading 18-20, just out from Instance Press. Both engrossing.
The Fast by Hannah Weiner.
|
|