Monday, July 28, 2014
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Sunday, July 13, 2014
I love that Michael Robbins, poet, has reviewed these two books. And very well, too!
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Moral: it’s not about your story. It just ain’t. It’s about your sentences. Geoff Dyer is the bus driver, and he’s taking all the kids to school.
I’ve written a lot of reviews for the Chicago Tribune's Printers Row. This might be my favorite.
Monday, July 7, 2014
Nick Spencer begins his spirited history of atheism with a fairy tale. Once upon a time, people lived in ignorant superstition, offering sacrifices to monsters in the sky. Then some clever folks used special weapons called “science” and “reason” to show that the monsters had never really existed in the…
Sunday, July 6, 2014
"Fame is a fickle food," Emily Dickinson wrote upon the occasion of David Markson’s death in 2010. "Pretty much the high point of experimental fiction in this country," David Foster Wallace called Markson’s novels (or "novels"), which sold about a thousand copies, but everyone who bought one started a band.
Friday, July 4, 2014
From behind the paywall, the little bark of my wit now lifts her sails
Monday, June 30, 2014
Ben Ratliff and the poet Michael Robbins discuss the current state of metal and the music’s perhaps surprising similarities with poetry.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
God bless the midnight bus depot, / the busted guitar case. / God bless diazepam, / its dilatory grace.
It was all a dream, I used to read The New Yorker magazine.
Monday, June 16, 2014
This was a different kind of conversation than one you might have had with the parish priest or a friend; for one thing, the analyst was often more concerned with the form of your speech than with the gist of what you were telling him — he listened as much to what you weren’t saying or didn’t know you were saying. We tell ourselves stories in order to live, in Joan Didion’s formulation, but Freud knew we tell them also in order to avoid living.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Matthew Rohrer, Bianca Stone, and Michael Robbins will be reading and then talking about what inspires them with John Deming, Editor-in-Chief of Coldfront. You can RSVP/invite all your friends on Facebook here. See you Monday!
Monday, May 26, 2014
My life in NYC so far
I went to a movie & I went to a movie. I saw Swans w/ Sasha. I went to the park, then I went to the park. I bought many records. I bought many books. I bought a burger & a milkshake. I got in a minor altercation. I called a locksmith. I ate a crawdad & I ate a catfish po boy. I was asked to give a reading & I agreed to give a reading. I was asked to give another reading & I said I’d think about it. I wrote a thing about Freud. I had dinner w/ Zach & Amanda. I had dinner w/ Rose. I had dinner w/ Alex. I went to the bookstore w/ Garnette. I had lunch w/ Anahid. I went to the bookstore w/ Anahid. I had lunch w/ Anna. I had dinner w/ Emily. I went to the bookstore w/ Alex. I went to the bookstore by myself. I had lunch by myself. I had dinner by myself. I wrote a thing about hating. I injured my back. I bought a slice of pizza, saw a movie, & bought another slice of pizza. I saw a movie w/ Anna. I saw a movie w/ Rose. I had dinner w/ Rose again. I had dinner w/ Shannon. I scheduled lunches or dinners w/ Paul, Emily, Anahid, Ben, & Ben. I made plans to see a concert w/ Ben. I looked at buildings. I looked at other buildings, then at other buildings, then at buildings. I read in a park. I watched dogs run in a park. I watched dogs play in water in a park.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
The Reading List is a feature of Poetry magazine’s Editors’ Blog. This month contributors to the May issue share a book—or several—that held their interest recently.
What I was reading when Poetry asked me what I was reading. JJS, oak/vinyl dreams, Piketty reviews …
Saturday, May 3, 2014
what happens when I leave the room for 5 seconds
Thursday, May 1, 2014
I’m forever near a stereo saying, ‘What the fuck is this garbage?’ And the answer is always the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
Dickey remained to the end a votary of that period style that liked its bourbon neat and its hawks locked in spiritual combat.