Rivalries Rivalries
Clouds of Sils Maria is prolonged debate about the passage of time and the ceaseless rivalry of generations.
Apr 22, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Stuart Klawans
Out of Habit Out of Habit
The soldier the patrol forgot in the garden, the patrol the border guards forgot at the checkpoint, the checkpoint the occupation forgot at the doorstep, the occupation the politician forgot in our lives, the politician who was a soldier of the occupation. The Merkava the army forgot at the school, the army the war forgot in the city, the war the general forgot in the room, the general whom peace forgot in our sleep, the peace that was driving the Merkava. They still open fire at our heads, without orders, just like that, out of habit. (translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah)
Apr 22, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Ghassan Zaqtan
Shelf Life Shelf Life
“There is no such thing as not voting” is the faith that Darryl Pinckney grew up in.
Apr 22, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Ari Berman
Liberalism as a Fighting Faith Liberalism as a Fighting Faith
Larry Sidentop re-imagines the origins of liberalism.
Apr 14, 2015 / Books & the Arts / James Miller
Words for Music Perhaps Words for Music Perhaps
Warm and unaffected, Philip Glass’s memoir is nothing like his music.
Apr 14, 2015 / Books & the Arts / David Hajdu
How to Die How to Die
Atul Gawande argues that physicians should focus care on the good life—including its very end.
Apr 14, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Sophia Rosenfeld
Pinwheel Pinwheel
In the back of my classroom stands Blake’s car Bearing Dante’s blest Beatrice; In martial middle, ranked desks, each Packing a lexicon in undercarriage; On one book’s pressed pages, surprise!—a raised Nazi swastika. Find the kid who did it, turn him in to turn Him out? Or claim “a teaching moment,” Redeem the inditer, if woe Like that might ever be removed, might ever Cease being banal? Maybe one should give Credit—extra—for burning Hate not on synagogue wall or lav stall, But on language itself, on thought, A ready reference, a wrought Consciousness, edginess? Perhaps one must Pass on the sinner instead, deal with just The sin, that is, in all Literalness—save at least time and trouble, Change what can be changed, blacken out The offense with more ink (no doubt A “cover-up,” but what the hell)? Would “Wite- Out” be better? Or the ultimate hit, Scissor snipping, eh, bubba? We mouth each day, “…with liberty and justice For all,” and study Douglass, Twain, Truth, Addams, Joseph, Peltier, Tan, Cisneros, King, and on, but to what end? The Indian benediction is bent Backwards, blessing made curse, Love made hate, again and again, a wheeling Known all too well. Wheel, whorl, Blake-Dante Vortex, spirit-world spinning on, Esti, asti, ist, is… This then: add four More arms, close the figure, window it. More Pinwheel, if you will. Still.
Apr 14, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Rod Kleber
Shelf Life Shelf Life
In Nell Zink’s The Wallcreeper, biology fails to determine anything at all.
Apr 14, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Hannah Gold
No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear No Place for Self-Pity, No Room for Fear
In times of dread, artists must never choose to remain silent.
Mar 23, 2015 / Feature / Toni Morrison
Present Present
December 28, 1964 The stranded gulch below Grand Central the gentle purr of cab tires in snow and hidden stars tears on the windshield torn inexorably away in whining motion and the dark thoughts which surround neon in Union Square I see you for a moment red green yellow searchlights cutting through falling flakes, head bent to the wind wet and frowning, melancholy, trying I know perfectly well where you walk to and that we’ll meet in even greater darkness later and will be warm so our cross of paths will not be just muddy footprints in the morning not like celestial bodies’ yearly passes, nothing pushes us away from each other even now I can lean forward across the square and see your surprised grey look become greener as I wipe the city’s moisture from your face and you shake the snow off onto my shoulder, light as a breath where the quarrels and vices of estranged companions weighed so bitterly and accidentally before, I saw you on the floor of my life walking slowly that time in summer rain stranger and nearer to become a way of feeling that is not painful casual or diffuse and seems to explore some peculiar insight of the heavens for its favorite bodies in the mixed-up air This article is part of The Nation’s 150th Anniversary Special Issue. Download a free PDF of the issue, with articles by James Baldwin, Barbara Ehrenreich, Toni Morrison, Howard Zinn and many more, here. This poem by Frank O’Hara (1926–1966) was published the same year his collection Lunch Poems brought him to fame.
Mar 23, 2015 / Books & the Arts / Frank O’Hara