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Publishing Addendums

BrainMRI3planes

What a grave and fickle thing is memory. With little collaboration, it can betray or redeem. It can make of us the fool, the saint, the criminal, the victim. It can create itself anew, and be lost with...

spring2014promo

It’s the last day of my introductory poetry writing class, and my students are giving their recitations and presentations for a final project I call “Live with a Poem.” One...

By_the_Waters_of_Babylon_(1882-1883)

Revisiting “A Psalm” now, I would say that my poem was interested in language’s corporeality. That the body we inhabit—even when we're apart...

cherub.fw

This semester I am teaching a course called Poets of Color at Mills College in Oakland, California. ‘Tis that time of the semester again when I start compiling writing prompts based upon the work we have read and discussed for my...

My poetry often siphons science for inspiration. Scientific American, Nature, “Best of” series all provide me with gifts like “humans taste brown” and “the measures we use depend on what we are measuring.”For the past five years, I’ve taken a special interest in human descent with modification, which has turned into an interest regarding literary evolutionists and what they have to say about why we spend so much of our time in the land of narrative. According to...

Obsessed with the magic of words—their essence and their sound—I fell in love with the word de cid u ous when it fortuitously crossed my path. I embedded it like a seed. I imagined it as a poem. Its very sound parallels its meaning: a falling off, a shedding that also implies a continuing, a renewal - dying yet deathless.

I love the thought of deciduous parts of trees, of shrubs, of insects. I live in the Eastern United States where we have full seasons (or did before climate...

neruda image

Neruda

When the moon was just beginning to rise—
he could smell the sea from a considerable distance,

a scene from the Mediterranean. Neruda,

lighting a smoke, the men
rolling their nets like their fathers before them.

I don’t know what he...

It’s like when someone on TV interviews a one hundred-year-old woman. They always ask her the same thing: What’s your secret? We’re all worried about the future; we want to know what she’s done to live so long. And she never says, “Oh, I don’t know. Don’t ask me. Luck, probably. Luck or lucky genetics or something.” Instead, she describes, as though it has magical properties, her daily regimen. And this regimen usually involves something bizarre like eating two pounds of shredded wheat...

fallingwebsite deborah doolittle

First and foremost, I am a community college English instructor. That’s my day—and sometimes night—job. I look for teachable moments in everything...

A finished novel is like a full-grown tree in your backyard. As your readers walk past, they see—and hopefully appreciate—the solid trunk, a kaleidoscope of branches, and the succulent green leaves shimmering in the sunlight and glowing in the moonlight. But what a casual reader doesn’t see is the complexity of what’s below it, the tangle of roots they never know is there. Some Australian eucalyptus tree roots reach down 180 feet—almost as far as the height of the tree—and your novel/tree is...

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