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#Paris Review
llovelymoonn · 9 months
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on grief
kyra wilder john wick is so tired \\ jamie anderson \\ jandy nelson the sky is everywhere \\ okechukwu nzelu here again now \\ nadia mota grief poem #4, in traffic \\ victoria hannan marshmallow
kofi
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for-a-longlongtime · 5 months
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A whole ass mood.
Nerdy Pedro with glasses, whispy curls under his headphones, focussing intently while editing a text, and wearing a Paris Review shirt (of all things. I wish this one would reappear)...
I love this so much.
It's is a whole ass mood for this week, I've decided.
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garadinervi · 1 year
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Brice Marden, Notebook, February 1968 [from: Emmie Francis, Paint to End Painting. A look at Brice Marden’s Notebooks, The «Paris Review», November 13, 2015]
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agirlnamedbone · 1 year
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The writer in America has been professionalized to a perilous extent. I don’t think great art is likely to be made by professionals. I think it’s more likely to be impeded by the demands and values of professionalization. The ideal development of the artist is libidinal, I think, spurred not by the demands of the academy or the world of professional publishing, but by the imperatives of desire, by seeking out complicated pleasures.
Garth Greenwell, interviewed in The Paris Review
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When I think of the men I've been with, every one of them stood between me and my writing.
–Sigrid Nunez
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nusca · 10 months
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“If you are a good editor, your relationship with every writer is different. To some writers you say things you couldn’t say to others, either because they’d be angry or because it would be too devastating to them. You can’t have only one way of doing things; on some instinctual level you have to respond not just to the words of the writer but to the temperament of the writer.”
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speakerofnonsense · 3 months
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12/30/23 I Saturday
One of my New Year's resolutions is to be more conscious of the media I consume. I've never really been into social media, but since covid I've been stuck in TikTok brain rot. I fall too easily into the doom-scroll and I can tell that it's impacted my vocabulary and creativity. With quick-form social media, like TikTok and Instagram, I never have to spend a moment with boredom. But, I've realized that boredom is necessary for a healthy mind - as boredom breeds creativity. If you constantly have other peoples' lives, work, thoughts, ideas, etc. streaming in front of your face everyday, the need for original thought never arises.
I didn't realize how starved my brain was for more complex mental stimulation because I thought I did enough of that during the school day. However, having other creative and mentally stimulating outlets outside of work is crucial to combat burnout. Allowing the mind to juggle multiple things at once, instead of running the engines on one central task every day (law school), feels like a reprieve (like slowing from a jog to a walk) rather than the lights out, brain break that social media provides. An object in motion stays in motion, an object at rest stays at rest - it takes more energy to move an object at rest than it does to keep an object in motion.
To counteract this, I'm trying to start my mornings with more informational or creative long form content. I've mostly been reading the Atlantic, Poets & Writers, and The Paris Review. I'm staying away from political pieces and focusing on arts/culture. Looking for recommendations!
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"To echo is not to repeat, but to diminish. Winter turned to spring, and I watched everyone grow bigger in my absence." - Callie Siskel ECHO, Paris Review Winter 2023
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This week, the Review is publishing a series of short reflections on love songs, broadly defined.
The other night I streamed Hallelujah: Leonard Cohen, a Journey, a Song, a documentary by Daniel Geller and Dayna Goldfine. In most of the footage, we see a Leonard who’s reflective and doubting. As I watched his Jewish man’s face age and his dark hair turn gray, I wondered what I could learn from him about drawing no conclusions. That might be the motto of his life and music—draw no conclusions. It’s a sexy, freewheeling stance. I’d like it to be the motto of my life, except I draw conclusions all the time. They happen to be wrong, which saves me.
I always wondered what women wanted from Leonard. I think they wanted what they thought the songs were about. In the songs, a man is thinking about how to get the woman, and he thinks he can get her by figuring out what she wants. Leonard is imagining what it would be like to be a woman with a man coming on to her.
This is great. This is basically the opposite of every other song written by a man about a woman. For example, in his entire life, Bob Dylan has never imagined the effect of his lyrics on a woman, or else, you know, the words would not be so sneering, and he would give us a picture of the woman and not just her effect on him. Bob doesn’t address women. He writes to men about women. He can do what he likes. But not once in my life did I think Bob would be a good fuck. Every woman on the planet has thought Leonard would be a good fuck.
There’s a clip in the documentary of Leonard singing “I’m Your Man,” the title song of an album he released in 1988. The gravel in his voice has settled. In interviews, he said he felt he could sing at that point with the “authority and intensity” the song needed. He’s trying to win back the woman. He’s screwed up in some way. Gee, I wonder how? He’s grown aloof? He’s slept around? He stands there, holding the mic like it’s her hand, and he lays himself out. He doesn’t care if he looks vulnerable. Actually, he doesn’t. He’s in control of the show. The song is the blindfold. The song is going to lead you to the party.
The music has a jaunty, Kurt Weill bounce that builds without laying on too much of the old-world schmaltz Leonard likes to play with in other songs. He’s alone, with no chorus or backup singers. Just Leonard promising anything to turn her on. The file box of possibilities, itself, is the turn-on. He’ll wear a mask for you. He’ll let you strike him down in anger. He’ll go into the ring for you. He’ll explore every inch of you. He’ll have a baby with you. He’ll drive you like a car. He’ll let you drive him like a car. He’ll move off if you want to be alone.
Let’s get back to the “I’ll explore every inch of you.” He’s been with enough women to know this is the hook. He will make you feel he could drown in you. He’s drowning in something, and in sex it’s easy to think it’s you. Until the feeling wears off.
In 2008, when Leonard is seventy-three, he hits the road again to perform. He needs to reinvent his life and he’s broke. A woman who isn’t named in the documentary has stolen all his money while he’s spent five years in a Buddhist monastery. When he plans the tour, he’s afraid of the reception he’ll get, although it turns out tons of people love him. He doesn’t know how this has happened. He doesn’t believe he has anything to say except this is the way an artist makes a life, by staying in the game. And he hopes to give pleasure.
Onstage, he tells the audience he’s grateful to perform for them. He feels honored. You think it’s authentic. He’s so sweet and also severe in his restraint. In his whole life, Bob Dylan has taken very few breaks from performing. Onstage, Bob doesn’t look at the audience or tell them more than he needs to. You want to look at me, he’s saying; well, here I am. This is what you get. With Leonard, it’s all: Take me. What is it you want that I can give you?
Laurie Stone is the author of six books, most recently Streaming Now, Postcards from the Thing that is Happening (Dottir Press), which has been long listed for the PEN America Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award for the Art of the Essay. She writes the “Streaming Now” column for Liber a Feminist Review, and she writes the Everything is Personal substack.
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designfiend · 4 months
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Milton Glaser for Paris Review
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dzgrizzle · 4 months
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"The thing about the house, they told us, is that it was not haunted, because ghosts are not real, but also a copy of Player Piano, sitting face out on a bookshelf, kept falling on the head of one of their kids and as a result the family had this inside joke about it being Kurt’s ghost. Obviously, I wanted to see the haunted bookshelf so they showed me the haunted bookshelf. It looked pretty normal."
From The Paris Review:
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readingismyhustle · 3 months
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juliamargaretlu · 1 year
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The oral tradition is inestimably older than writing, but fragile--I thought I'd better write down whatever stories I could find or they'd be lost.
N. Scott Momaday. Paris Review, ‘The Art of Poetry No. 112′
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cowboykoi · 4 months
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garadinervi · 6 months
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Italo Calvino, The Art of Fiction No. 130, Interviewed by William Weaver & Damien Pettigrew, The «Paris Review», Issue 124, Fall 1992
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Images: Annie Boige, bookbinding, [Italo Calvino, (1972), Les villes invisibles, Engravings by Gérard Trignac, Translation by Jean Thibaudeau, Les Amis du Livre Contemporain, Versailles, 1993, Edition of 200] [Boekbanden van de Koninklijke Bibliotheek, Koninklijke Bibliotheek (KB), Den Haag]
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indizombie · 11 months
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Here is what I learned once I began studying whooping cranes: only a small part of studying them has anything to do with the birds. Instead we counted berries. Counted crabs. Measured water salinity. Stood in the mud. Measured the speed of the wind. It turns out, if you want to save a species, you don’t spend your time staring at the bird you want to save. You look at the things it relies on to live instead. You ask if there is enough to eat and drink. You ask if there is a safe place to sleep. Is there enough here to survive?
CJ Hauser, ‘The Crane Wife’, Paris Review
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"When I'm writing, I am trying to find out who I am, who we are, what we're capable of, how we feel, how we lose and stand up, and go on from darkness into darkness." —Maya Angelou
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