The debates are all about drawing a line in the sand: a line of culture and merit and standards. This is all well and good until you realize that this line is constantly being redrawn, rubbed out, revisited.
The Nation's Ange Mlinko attempted recently to revise the reputation of the late poet Adrienne Rich in a wandering gesture at literary analysis. Readers of this review may find it difficult to tell if Mlinko wishes to gingerly embrace Rich -- or kill her off with a Big Thinky Gun.
Protest is a conversation. It's been a strange, often frustrating, sometimes easy to mock, but essential ethos of American protest movements like #OWS and the Tea Party. And if you think about it, true conversation is democracy.
Men should join in rejecting the attack on reproductive health and insisting on candidates who know the issues around access to contraceptives and abortion and promise to advocate and advance coverage, affordable care, and fairness.
Over the years, critics have justly celebrated her work, and those who dismissed her for her tendentiousness have found themselves on the wrong side of history. The more time you spend with the poems, the more precise and revelatory they seem.
It is the end of an era, and nobody will be able to replace Adrienne in the ongoing tasks of struggling for justice and love in the world, but she is alive because her inimitable words are, and because many of us trudge on in her wake.
The great American poet, Adrienne Rich, died this week at her home in Santa Cruz. She was a brave and ardent writer, a gifted teacher and a powerful voice of conscience. There is no one quite like her in American letters.
Not for the first time since I got involved with Cura Orphanage, I wonder whether critics like those who chastise and even mock IC's efforts would say similar things about my work, were it more bold, more public.
In line with end-of-the-world prophecies linked to Mayan calendars, there's sudden noise on the Internet that Betelgeuse will become a supernova in 2012. The segue is that this will first give us Tattooine-like sunsets, then singe earth and all upon it.