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seventydys.bsky.social
David Hayden
@seventydys.bsky.social
3.8K followers 2.4K following 1.7K posts
the sea is completely written for me

https://www.transitbooks.org/books/darker
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seventydys.bsky.social
Resting on my notebook.
February 18, 2026 at 10:17 PM
Reposted by David Hayden
plashingvole.bsky.social
Look what’s arrived, @katrinanavickas.bsky.social
Book: Contested Commons by Katrina Navickas.
February 18, 2026 at 8:23 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
an empty house

Eva Figes, from ‘Equinox’
She stood on the landing with her hand on the banister and one foot hanging over the first step down, not so much poised as slack, staring out through the window above her own front door. Houses. Twelve thousand people died in the few moments when the houses of Agadir crumbled. Even tombs collapse in time on their inner emptiness. She could see the top of her own gate and a bit of the wet, deserted roadway beyond. She thought: my house, damp and extinguished, beginning to mildew at the corners with lack of use. The telephone has not rung all morning, the milkman left his two pints before I was even awake. No through traffic and people don't shop when it rains. What am I doing here, what could I possibly do? The skeletal shapes reappear, again and again: the eye follows the branches of leafless trees with hypnotised attention. The beauty of it, dwelling on death. I ached to move and the doctor said yes. The haemorrhage came before the contractions before red roses, before I came home empty. Having got up. Empty-handed to an empty house.
February 18, 2026 at 5:22 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 17, 2026 at 11:59 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 17, 2026 at 10:14 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
The late Frederick Wiseman was one of the great filmmakers. An indispensable, curious and humane documenter of American institutions, communities and lives.
February 17, 2026 at 6:27 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 16, 2026 at 11:30 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 16, 2026 at 12:09 AM
seventydys.bsky.social
Peter Weiss, ‘Das große Welttheater’, 1937
Peter Weiss, ‘Das große Welttheater’, 1937
February 15, 2026 at 5:50 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
‘Niels Lyhne’ by Jens Peter Jacobsen, an essential Danish novel of art and failure, love and doom. Much admired by Rilke, Joyce, Ibsen, Freud, Giacometti and T. Mann. This translation by Tiina Nunnally, the first in English by the great Australian novelist Ethel Florence (Henry Handel Richardson).
FORD MODERN CLASSICS NO. 2 "Of all my books, I find only a few indispensable... the Bible, and the books of the great Danish author Jens Peter Jacobsen." RILKE Niels Lylne JENS PETER JACOBSEN TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH BY TIINA NUNNALLY
February 15, 2026 at 3:51 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 14, 2026 at 7:52 PM
Reposted by David Hayden
seventydys.bsky.social
‘Four Night Seas’ is an exceptional first book of short stories. Niamh Mac Cabe takes the reader deep into the textures and instabilities of memory, desire and loss, with well-judged humour and vivid depictions of landscape and character. Published @lilliputpress.bsky.social March.
February 10, 2026 at 1:31 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
sweet in that air

Edwin Morgan, ‘Strawberries’
STRAWBERRIES There were never strawberries like the ones we had that sultry afternoon sitting on the step of the open french window facing each other your knees held in mine the blue plates in our laps the strawberries glistening in the hot sunlight we dipped them in sugar looking at each other not hurrying the feast for one to come the empty plates laid on the stone together with the two forks crossed and I bent towards you sweet in that air in my arms abandoned like a child from your eager mouth the taste of strawberries in my memory lean back again let me love you let the sun beat on our forgetfulness one hour of all the heat intense and summer lightning on the Kilpatrick hills let the storm wash the plates
February 14, 2026 at 11:40 AM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 14, 2026 at 12:21 AM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 13, 2026 at 12:52 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 13, 2026 at 1:01 AM
seventydys.bsky.social
any of their past

David Wojnarowicz, from ‘Canada-bound Trucker on Interstate 90’ in ‘The Waterfront Journals’
Ya see somethin happens in their lives and they end up not wantin to do anything but move on get away from everything and everybody. They don't even wanna work again for nobody ... they don't wanna be around anybody for too long ... just movin on when things get crowded ... movin from town to town and drinkin their wine ... that's all ... that way they don't have to face any of it... they don't recognize any of their past in anything... they consider life one big zero and they themselves show what they think by becoming the same thing ... no aim and no point...
February 12, 2026 at 7:03 PM
Reposted by David Hayden
dan-sinnamon.bsky.social
I have a big new essay out that argues that Erich Auerbach is the crucial figure for historicist reading in lit studies today + argues that the epistemology of such reading depends on the profoundly humanist criterion "sufficient passion" muse.jhu.edu/pub/1/articl...
February 12, 2026 at 5:22 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
the world’s having difficulty breathing

Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, ‘Ark of the Covenant’ / Toircheas 1, tr Medbh McGuckian
MEDBH MCGUCKIAN Ark of the Covenant How can I begin to explain my quiet to you? As the sleepwalk of treasure-laden clouds, Their full sails poised and stationary? As the sun's speechless exit, stage right? Or where, in the flat stomach of the lake, Sporadic bubbles betray the insatiable pike Orbiting the eternal dark for the fish That marshal in their mouthfuls? A seed lies dormant in the damp, sunless clay Despite the world's having difficulty breathing, And the last opening of light fades From peak to peak like an infectious yawn. NUALA NÍ DHOMHNAILL Toircheas 1 An féidir scríobh ar chiúineas? — Ar an tslí a sheolann gaileoin néalta tríd an aer, a seolta arda, bolgacha, gan chorraí is ar dheis, an ghrian, gan gíocs, ag sleamhnú faoi? An loch ina leamhach, ach bolgáin ag éirí thall is abhus i bhfianaise go bhfuil éisc ag scuaideáil thíos sa doimhneas is an liús ocrach ar thóir a ghoblaigh gan stop ná staonadh. Ins an chré phatfhuar, thais, tá síol gan chorraí. Ba dhóigh leat a anáil tairrigthe ag an saol. San eadarlinn éalaíonn luid deireanach an tsolais ó bhun go barr binne faoi mar a éalaíonn go minic an mhéanfach ó dhuine go duine.
February 11, 2026 at 6:11 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
My short story 'Arrival' with images and sound by Ian Maleney @fallowmedia.bsky.social.
fallowmedia.com/2020/feb/arr...
February 11, 2026 at 11:56 AM
seventydys.bsky.social
‘Four Night Seas’ is an exceptional first book of short stories. Niamh Mac Cabe takes the reader deep into the textures and instabilities of memory, desire and loss, with well-judged humour and vivid depictions of landscape and character. Published @lilliputpress.bsky.social March.
February 10, 2026 at 1:31 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
chewed by bookworms

Jean Ray, from ‘The Black Mirror’, tr Lowell Bair
Mr. Thorndike, who ran a rental library in Staple Inn, looked for the thousandth time at the strange wooden-fronted houses that faced his establishment. There was no one around the black tables laden with books to whom he could repeat once again that he admired the Tudor style of those buildings, and that they were the only ones that had survived all the fires and upheavals of the City since the fifteenth century. No one. ... It was not strictly true, but the lone customer who was casually looking through the greasy volumes hardly counted for Mr. Thorndike. Dr. Baxter-Brown was an ordinary general practitioner who lived on Church Street, where he occupied two rooms in one of the tall, pale houses bordering Clissold Park. He had neither a library nor a laboratory, and he received his few patients in a shabby living room with black horsehair chairs. Twice a week he made a long, sad journey across the city, which took him to Holborn and Thorndike's dusty den, where he spent an hour or two before leaving with a rented book. It was drizzling that day, and his reading table was in the darkest corner of the rental library, but Mr. Thorn-dike had no intention of lighting one of his green-shaded lamps for such a poor customer. Dr. Baxter-Brown was leafing through the thick pages of a history of England, which he was not reading. He deftly slid another book under it; it was a thin volume, speckled with rust spots and chewed by bookworms.
February 9, 2026 at 8:05 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
‘Swirl & Vortex’, the collected poems of Larry Levis, just published by @graywolfpress.bsky.social is an immense gift to readers. A lyric, attentive, voyaging, truth-speaking poet who, as his editor David St. John wrote, held “a kind of passport of otherness”.
COLLECTED POEMS LARRY LEVIS SWIRL & VORTEX Edited by David St. John with James Ciano & L.A. Johnson
February 9, 2026 at 2:47 PM
seventydys.bsky.social
become less attached

Francis Ponge, ‘The Trees Decompose in a Sphere of Fog’, tr C.K. Williams.
The Trees Decompose in a Sphere of Fog …•• In the fog enveloping the trees, their leaves are stripped away; already discountenanced by a slow oxidation and mortified by the sap's withdrawal for the benefit of flowers and fruit, they have, since the dog days of August, become less attached. Vertical furrows dug in the bark lead the moisture to the ground, where it loses interest in the living portions of the trunk. The flowers are scattered, the fruit laid down. From earliest youth relinquishing the living qualities and portions of their bodies has become a familiar exercise for trees.
February 9, 2026 at 11:20 AM
seventydys.bsky.social
February 8, 2026 at 7:19 PM