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I belong there. I have many memories. I was born as everyone is born.
I have a mother, a house with many windows, brothers, friends, and a prison cell
with a chilly window! I have a wave snatched by seagulls, a panorama of my own.
I have a saturated meadow. In the deep horizon of my word, I have a moon,
a bird’s sustenance, and an immortal olive tree.
I have lived on the land long before swords turned man into prey.
I belong there. When heaven mourns for her mother, I return heaven to her mother.
And I cry so that a returning cloud might carry my tears.
To break the rules, I have learned all the words needed for a trial by blood.
I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a
single word: Home.

Mahmoud Darwish, I Belong There

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Home: A Short History of an Idea, a solo exhibition by Tim Buwalda.

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“There’s a certain Slant of light,
…
That oppresses, …

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –
We can find no scar,
But internal difference –
Where the Meanings, are –

When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –”

Emily Dickinson, There’s a certain Slant of light

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“I never knew I loved
The curves of
An apple until
…
Shameless indifference”

Ann Pedone, After Nazim Hikmet’s “Things I Didn’t Know I Loved”

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“A cortege of clouds’
shifting planes”

James Brasfield, Palladium

Now let no charitable hope
Confuse my mind with images
Of eagle and of antelope:
I am by nature none of these.

I was, being human, born alone;
I am, being woman, hard beset;
I live by squeezing from a stone
The little nourishment I get.

In masks outrageous and austere
The years go by in single file;
But none has merited my fear,
And none has quite escaped my smile.

(Elinor Wylie, Let No Charitable Hope)

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https://www.tumblr.com/birdbird/730638262057779200/via-f77crelwiaabjse-jpeg-image-1037-1348

“But morning comes with small
reprieves of coffee and birdsong.”

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Let’s Ride, Art history after Black studies by Huey Copeland, Sampada Aranke, Faye R. Gleisser. Copeland engaged Aranke (Death’s Futurity: The Visual Life of Black Power) and Gleisser (Risk Work: Making Art and Guerrilla Tactics in Punitive America, 1967–1987) about their respective books, in ArtForum.

Also, Hal Foster reassessed The Anti-Aesthetic (Bay Press, 1983); a book aimed at postmodernism.

“And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
love,
little things,
landscape and bread”

-Roque Dalton, Como Tú, translated by Jack Hirschman.

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A poem = A loaf of bread, via O, Miami and Zak the Baker, this October.