One of the Persimmons

If you will forgive me, sir… I ate one the persimmons. There were six, but one was bruised and I knew you wanted the picture to be a balance of brush strokes and paint and persimmon. Like Mu Qi. I know you think perfection is an illusion found in art alone, but… It could haveContinue reading “One of the Persimmons”

Poetry about poetry and poetry about hunger

I too, dislike it, Marianne Moore writes in a poem she simply called Poetry: as if sensing the ensuing fate of poetry is to be genuinely ignored—but offers a quick apologia: poetry is a place for the genuine, she insists. It is useful. One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by halfContinue reading “Poetry about poetry and poetry about hunger”