My husband and I have been thinking about having kids recently, so this one by Sharon Olds, from her Selected Poems, really got me. That final image—“poems heavy as poached game”—poetry as food, poet as hunter-provider, poems as heavy (guilt-laden?) things.

Colm Tóibín on Clarice Lispector's Hour of the Star.

A writer who is equally mystifying and true.

www.theguardian.com/books/2014/j...

The closing paragraph of Joyce's 'The Dead', which took place on Twelfth Night, is one of the most beautiful in all of literature. Never fails to give me goosebumps.

Soul swooned slowly -- falling faintly [...] and faintly falling...

Sublime.

"Shortly before [my mother] died she gave me a lecture about confidence. Not for the first time, she told me she was disappointed in me for not having enough of it."

Donal Ryan's essay in @stingingfly.bsky.social on writerly self-confidence is well worth a read.

stingingfly.org/2023/08/02/y...

I’m sorry, what in the what? Sancho and Quixote are waiting in the dark because they’ve heard a terrifying noise—Sancho decides that now is a good time to drop trou’ and take a dump—which Quixote not only hears, but smells? And then shades Sancho about it?

Read with a mix of dread (what will happen next?) and dread (you know what’ll happen).

Can’t read this story without thinking about Gaza. Reminded me of the idea that poetry can’t stop a war, but it can bear witness.

Terrific by @rid9way.bsky.social

www.theatlantic.com/books/archiv...

This is the first official thread of Gnarled Red Line, a new literary magazine from Southeast London. Have a look through the tweet thread for more info about the magazine. (And check out our gorgeous logo!)