It's like I forgot how

But I haven't. I've just, apparently, switched over to Facebook for brief musings and digital ephemera. It's not a statement. It's just easier to use FB discreetly at work than Blogger, which has a screen-hogging interface.

But also I wanted to make an effort, concerted in fashion, to write more prose about books. (I just got Stephen Burt's Close Calls with Nonsense, but that's part of addressing this impulse not the root of it.) I have resisted, repeatedly, articulating many of my opinions on poetry (which is not to say poets, though those opinions are much less literary). This is a resistance I would like to investigate, for personal reasons, but I suppose it has to be done "aloud." And if I don't overcome it, or decide not to, well, maybe I can write about why. Instead.

So right now I will just list some things I am reading. Not all of this will be poetry. I never only read poetry. That would be, like, an affectation or something.



C. D. Wright, Rising, Falling, Hovering
Henning Mankell, Faceless Killers
Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz, Everything Is Every Thing
Aase Berg, trans. Johannes Göransson, Remainland
Susan L. Smalley & Diana Winston, Fully Present

This is just a list. More, about some/all, later I guess. Back to work.