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#jonathan galassi
firstfullmoon · 8 days ago
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Jonathan Galassi, from “August,” in Left-handed [ID in alt text]
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bosguy · 2 months ago
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2022 Summer reading suggestions
Later this week the summer season begins w/ Memorial Day Weekend. Here are some novels to consider adding to your summer reading list. #gaylit #gayfiction
Memorial Day Weekend represents the start of the 2022 summer season. In honor of the start of my favorite season, I’ve included a few books for you to consider adding to your summer reading list. Two Nails, One Love by Alden Hayashi Two Nails, One Love by Alden Hayashi is a quick and thoroughly enjoyable read about a gay Japanese-American man, Ethan, and the conflicted relationship he has with…
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speakyetpause · 7 months ago
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The Infinite
— Giacomo Leopardi (tr. Jonathan Galassi)
This solitary hill has always been dear to me And this hedge, which prevents me from seeing most of The endless horizon. But when I sit and gaze, I imagine, in my thoughts Endless spaces beyond the hedge, An all encompassing silence and a deeply profound quiet, To the point that my heart is almost overwhelmed. And when I hear the wind rustling through the trees I compare its voice to the infinite silence. And eternity occurs to me, and all the ages past, And the present time, and its sound. Amidst this immensity my thought drowns: And to founder in this sea is sweet to me.
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yourdailyqueer · 7 months ago
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Jonathan Galassi
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Gay
DOB: Born 1949
Ethnicity: White - American
Occupation: Poet, publisher, translator
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silvertriangles · a year ago
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"May", from North Street and Other Poems, Jonathan Galassi
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dk-thrive · a year ago
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You can’t give it back. And time is short; you have to live it.
Once the train has left the station you can’t take it. Once the promise has been broke you can’t unbreak it. If the letter has been sent you can’t rewrite it. If the cigarette’s been smoked you can’t not light it. Now the candle’s snuffed you can’t see by it. Once the seat’s been sold no one can buy it. The phone is disconnected: don’t talk to it. The window’s painted black; you won’t see through it. The scotch tape end is lost, you can’t unwind it. The earring’s in the lake; you’ll never find it. And now the money’s squandered— you can’t give it back. And time is short; you have to live it.
—Jonathan Galassi, “Once” from Left-Handed. (Alfred A. Knopf, 2012) (via brooklynstatehospital & Wait - What?)
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fagjacktwist · 2 years ago
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Virgina Woolf, A writers diary / John Keats, To Autumn / Claude Monet, An Orchid in Spring / Jonathan Galassi, May
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iboughtplumblossoms · 2 years ago
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May
by Jonathan Galassi
The backyard apple tree gets sad so soon, takes on a used-up, feather-duster look within a week. The ivy’s spring reconnaissance campaign sends red feelers out and up and down to find the sun. Ivy from last summer clogs the pool, brewing a loamy, wormy, tea-leaf mulch soft to the touch and rank with interface of rut and rot. The month after the month they say is cruel is and is not.
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aaknopf · 2 years ago
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The Nobel Prize–winning poet Eugenio Montale entered the Italian poetry scene with trumpets blaring, “the golden horns of sunlight” pelting their songs. These “golden horns” are lemons, the subject of one of the first poems of Montale’s first book, in which he announces his intention to speak in a humble language of humble things (including the lemon trees of his native Liguria): “Listen to me, the poets laureate / move only among plants / with rare names: boxwood, privet and acanthus. / But I like roads that lead to grassy / ditches where boys / scoop up a few starved / eels out of half-dry puddles.” So begins the first section of Ossi di seppia (Cuttlefish Bones), published in 1925, here in a translation by Jonathan Galassi. In a later section, which shares the book’s title, Montale addresses yet another plant known for its vibrant yellowness.
from “Cuttlefish Bones”
Bring me the sunflower, let me plant it in my field parched by the salt sea wind, and let it show the blue reflecting sky the yearning of its yellow face all day. Dark things tend to brightness, bodies die out in a flood of colors, colors in music. So disappearing is the destiny of destinies. Bring me the plant that leads the way to where blond transparencies rise, and life as essence turns to haze; bring me the sunflower crazed with light.    translated by Jonathan Galassi
More on this book and author:
Learn more about Montale: Poems, selected, with translation and notes, by Jonathan Galassi, in the Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Series.
Learn more about Eugenio Montale and Jonathan Galassi.
Browse other titles in the Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets Series.
eruse other poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.
To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.
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vbjenkins · 2 years ago
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Our real poems are already in us and all we can do is dig.
Jonathan Galassi
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bosguy · 3 months ago
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Book review: School Days
Looking for a gay novel to read this summer? I just finished Jonathan Galassi's novel, School Days, and recommend it for those who enjoy gay fiction. The novel is newly published and now available for purchase.
School Days by Jonathan Galassi is a rivetting 200+ page novel told from the perspective of Sam Brandt, a former student of Leverett, an elite boarding school in New England, and current English teacher at the prep school. The story opens in the fall of 2007 when Sam is asked by the school’s head about a disgruntled former student who attended Leverett when he was a student there. The…
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missedstations · 3 years ago
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“May” - Jonathan Galassi
The backyard apple tree gets sad so soon, takes on a used-up, feather-duster look within a week. The ivy’s spring reconnaissance campaign sends red feelers out and up and down to find the sun. Ivy from last summer clogs the pool, brewing a loamy, wormy, tea-leaf mulch soft to the touch and rank with interface of rut and rot. The month after the month they say is cruel is and is not.
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elsewhereheld · 3 years ago
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Young, by Jonathan Galassi
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brooklynstatehospital · 3 years ago
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Jonathan Galassi . Once
Once the train has left the station you can't take it. Once the promise has been broke you can't unbreak it. If the letter has been sent you can't rewrite it. If the cigarette's been smoked you can't not light it. Now the candle's snuffed you can't see by it. Once the seat's been sold no one can buy it. The phone is disconnected: don't talk to it. The window's painted black; you won't see through it. The scotch tape end is lost, you can't unwind it. The earring's in the lake; you'll never find it. And now the money's squandered— you can't give it back. And time is short; you have to live it.
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forsoothsayer · 4 years ago
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May by Jonathan Galassi
The backyard apple tree gets sad so soon, takes on a used-up, feather-duster look within a week. The ivy’s spring reconnaissance campaign sends red feelers out and up and down to find the sun. Ivy from last summer clogs the pool, brewing a loamy, wormy, tea-leaf mulch soft to the touch and rank with interface of rut and rot. The month after the month they say is cruel is and is not.
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memoryslandscape · 5 years ago
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These little irises could be your eyes' if they were twice as large and twice as dark, but if I got inside them--can I find the vein that is the tunnel to your heart? I may be in there: I see signs of movement under the silky shadow/luminescence; is it feeling's fierce integument or a more troubled, more elusive essence? Your other eyes have locked me out sometimes (they have good reason to) but not ignored the guilty pleading boring our from mine there are no words for, as there are no words for what these lacquer seeds say. Irritation brought them on, but patience made them pearls, the same slow labor that piles years of pages up-- call it obsession, plodding, imitation, pigheadedness, simplicity, devotion: Out of the dented life burled nacre curls until the final jewel locks rays and rages up. Remember when you wear these little worlds.
Jonathan Galassi, “The Necklace,” The New Yorker (14 February 2000)
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