Feeling>Fallacy

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

The absence of a response felt like an admission

Words, Ideas, Attitudes

Yesterday came and went quickly. I thought things might slow down for the testimonies (Cohen in the States, Wilson-Raybould in Canada) and their responses (Trump in Vietnam, Trudeau in Canada), but they didn't. Words dissolved into colours, gasses, atmospheres. Audacity trumped high-mindedness.

Laressa Dickey is a poet who was born in Tennessee and is now based in Berlin. Recently I came upon an interview she did with Dr. Caroline Edwards from the University of Surrey, UK.

Here is their beginning:

What is your understanding of American poetry in its broadest sense? How do you feel your writing takes part in that?

I’m not an expert on American poetry, but I’d say two aspects that come to mind are size of voice and sense of place. I grew up reading Emily Dickinson—thanks to my mother who gave me a book of her poems for my 10th birthday. In a broad sense, for me, the voice of American poetry ranges from Dickinson’s quiet, “nobody” voice to Whitman’s “let me take up all the space” voice. You realize this is a gross generalization. Somehow voice and place/space are related. But it’s possible this connection is also true in other countries. Turns out I’m not an expert on those either.