We could shave our heads, burn our bras, protest the patriarchy, and criticize the male gaze, but Cha suggests a simpler solution: true friendship among women.
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We could shave our heads, burn our bras, protest the patriarchy, and criticize the male gaze, but Cha suggests a simpler solution: true friendship among women.
A few years ago, I was brought on board by a New York-based publishing house to be a fiction editor. My first assignment was, instead, a book about Trump’s relationship to Russia.
I want to convey to my students that what poetry does above all, and Roethke above others, is help us see the world, not outside of ourselves as much as in our hearts, and in our own thoughts and words and expressions.
I found myself tensing in crowded places and in groups of loud teenagers, until Paris passed from curfew into our second confinement. Now my mind is over-packed with thoughts of isolation, injustice, and the upcoming election.
The three deaths of Susan Taubes occurred in one week.
The phenomenon that is “Trump” is a manifestation of patriarchal whiteness—the ghost still animating imperial and post-colonial machines—and its present incarnation carries the force of State violence to compel its attendant vision.
If someone as intelligent as Alexander Chee could believe in the occult, why couldn’t I? Perhaps the supernatural was not the opposite of natural, just the part of it that was yet to be explained.
“This is the peace of upper atmospheres. This is the idea of flying. The dream of it, of being that eagle, the sound of wind steadily pushing past our feathers.”
