M. NourbeSe Philip

Covidian catastrophes: deep, dark places of light

Conditions of expanse

Algebraic equations of death

Two postcard images of 'Broken Obelisk' at the Rothko Chapel in honor of Martin Luther King.

… in an altered time  my breath catches yours  my question to myself  what poem would I have written  if what has happened   already   hadn’t already happened  what song  would my throat have sung  in between the notes  moving with the breath of breath … what dance have danced me …

… in an altered time  my breath catches yours  my question to myself  what poem would I have written  if what has happened   already   hadn’t already happened  what song  would my throat have sung  in between the notes  moving with the breath of breath … what dance have danced me …

 

when i began this blog i felt as if COVID-19 stalked us, lurking behind doors, entering through keyholes —

Fuck poems

In extremis

Poems are bullshit unless they are / Teeth or trees or lemons piled / on a step.

… Fuck poems / And they are useful, would they shoot / come at you, love what you are …— Amiri Baraka

Poems are bullshit unless they are / Teeth or trees or lemons piled / on a step.

… Fuck poems / And they are useful, would they shoot / come at you, love what you are …— Amiri Baraka

 handwritten portion of a note from M. NourbeSe Philip to Claire Harris, incl. the phrase "I cannot write"

Death's great black wing

'Mi say mi cyant believe it'

Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold,
Death’s great black wing scraped the air,
Misery gnaws to the bone.
Why then do we not despair?  
— Anna Akhmatova 

 

Going to meet the wave

I love the sea; I fear the sea. Growing up on a tiny island meant a close relationship with the sea, but my primal fear of it, nurtured by sayings like, Sea don’t have no back door, has meant that despite knowing how to swim, I never venture far from shore and never ever swim out.

Sometimes one must embrace death …