Christina Tudor-Sideri
@dreamsofbeing.bsky.social
writer, translator, and researcher whose work unfolds at the crossroads of literature, philosophy, and critical theory (currently writing about relics and time)
Pinned
In the candlelight of a Bachelardian dream, I offer these fragments to you as one might offer a confession: a letter to the Other—lover, double, sea, or time itself.
For the newest issue of Socrates on the Beach and forthcoming with Erratum Press.
socratesonthebeach.com/christina-an...
For the newest issue of Socrates on the Beach and forthcoming with Erratum Press.
socratesonthebeach.com/christina-an...
tea and oranges and the memory of what has not happened
November 24, 2025 at 8:00 PM
tea and oranges and the memory of what has not happened
“The night is the night.”
Paul Celan; tr. Michael Hamburger
Paul Celan; tr. Michael Hamburger
November 23, 2025 at 10:58 PM
“The night is the night.”
Paul Celan; tr. Michael Hamburger
Paul Celan; tr. Michael Hamburger
On Paul Celan’s birthday, a memory of my own—the red poppies of childhood years.
November 23, 2025 at 6:22 PM
On Paul Celan’s birthday, a memory of my own—the red poppies of childhood years.
“Paul, your birthday is near. I cannot make the post be exact to the day and the hour, but we can be. It is so quiet here. Half an hour has passed since the first sentence, and last autumn is forcing its way into this autumn.”
Ingeborg Bachmann to Paul Celan; tr. Wieland Hoban
Ingeborg Bachmann to Paul Celan; tr. Wieland Hoban
November 23, 2025 at 6:13 PM
“Paul, your birthday is near. I cannot make the post be exact to the day and the hour, but we can be. It is so quiet here. Half an hour has passed since the first sentence, and last autumn is forcing its way into this autumn.”
Ingeborg Bachmann to Paul Celan; tr. Wieland Hoban
Ingeborg Bachmann to Paul Celan; tr. Wieland Hoban
Heidegger’s What is Metaphysics as a poem in the private journals of Edvard Munch
November 22, 2025 at 7:32 PM
Heidegger’s What is Metaphysics as a poem in the private journals of Edvard Munch
In November, in the cold and in the evening, although I smell like figs and sea salt and the Island of Hydra, I read Rilke aloud and say, “I am dark; I am forest.” I read Rilke aloud and say, “Often when I imagine you, your wholeness cascades into many shapes.”
November 22, 2025 at 5:24 PM
In November, in the cold and in the evening, although I smell like figs and sea salt and the Island of Hydra, I read Rilke aloud and say, “I am dark; I am forest.” I read Rilke aloud and say, “Often when I imagine you, your wholeness cascades into many shapes.”
How magical to be a voice in a far away forest on the day ghosts walk the earth…
Clare’s project is very dear to me and I am honored to be a part of it.
Clare’s project is very dear to me and I am honored to be a part of it.
On 30th November audio of 141 women (inclusive) first heard in 2021 in Galloway Forest, Scotland will play in the Jardín Botánico, Trujillo, Perú, building dialogue and community beyond borders and language with new audio from those living in Perú as part of the Munanqui Festival de Mujeres Artistas
November 22, 2025 at 4:55 PM
How magical to be a voice in a far away forest on the day ghosts walk the earth…
Clare’s project is very dear to me and I am honored to be a part of it.
Clare’s project is very dear to me and I am honored to be a part of it.
As Time pours from the sky, I borrow words from Hélène Cixous and say “I return to writing around this missing instant, I play with the trace as Mahler’s Earth begins again to begin again.”
November 19, 2025 at 1:18 PM
As Time pours from the sky, I borrow words from Hélène Cixous and say “I return to writing around this missing instant, I play with the trace as Mahler’s Earth begins again to begin again.”
This November, I am spending most of my time with Jan Patočka. “We are not only who we are [when] engaged in this or that activity,” he writes, “but ephemeral humans living in the face of the universe, in relation to its eternity, and therefore sub specie aeterni alone.”
November 18, 2025 at 7:27 PM
This November, I am spending most of my time with Jan Patočka. “We are not only who we are [when] engaged in this or that activity,” he writes, “but ephemeral humans living in the face of the universe, in relation to its eternity, and therefore sub specie aeterni alone.”
As good a day as any for a brief return. Rain pours endlessly, night exhales blue smoke. We mourn Proust and trace how he has marked us. Commemorations and silent anniversaries, and all around, the world suspended in a melancholic dream of remembered time.
November 18, 2025 at 7:09 PM
As good a day as any for a brief return. Rain pours endlessly, night exhales blue smoke. We mourn Proust and trace how he has marked us. Commemorations and silent anniversaries, and all around, the world suspended in a melancholic dream of remembered time.
Some time away. To listen to the quieter parts of myself. To work on the book. To be (with) wind and water.
November 2, 2025 at 3:44 PM
Some time away. To listen to the quieter parts of myself. To work on the book. To be (with) wind and water.
Reposted by Christina Tudor-Sideri
EDVARD MUNCH (1974)
October 31, 2025 at 8:35 PM
EDVARD MUNCH (1974)
October goes, leaving the heaviness of the world in its place. You think you’ve known grief—until you have to pick up a shovel and mend your loved one’s sunken grave.
October 31, 2025 at 8:47 PM
October goes, leaving the heaviness of the world in its place. You think you’ve known grief—until you have to pick up a shovel and mend your loved one’s sunken grave.
“Midnight much worry
in a little room—
strike a match and time
is burning toward you.”
Vigil, Susan Stewart
in a little room—
strike a match and time
is burning toward you.”
Vigil, Susan Stewart
October 31, 2025 at 8:33 PM
“Midnight much worry
in a little room—
strike a match and time
is burning toward you.”
Vigil, Susan Stewart
in a little room—
strike a match and time
is burning toward you.”
Vigil, Susan Stewart
Reposted by Christina Tudor-Sideri
Hey, don’t forget about our new journal, draught. We’ve another couple of great pieces of writing coming in a few weeks, and something else to look forward to, too. Also. As well.
draught
Description
draughtjournal.com
October 30, 2025 at 11:37 PM
Hey, don’t forget about our new journal, draught. We’ve another couple of great pieces of writing coming in a few weeks, and something else to look forward to, too. Also. As well.
A Celanian night—when only the void stood between us.
October 31, 2025 at 5:15 PM
A Celanian night—when only the void stood between us.
Narcissus receiving the revelation of his identity.
“Then Narcissus no longer says: I love myself as I am; he says: I am the way I love myself.”
“Then Narcissus no longer says: I love myself as I am; he says: I am the way I love myself.”
October 31, 2025 at 11:25 AM
Narcissus receiving the revelation of his identity.
“Then Narcissus no longer says: I love myself as I am; he says: I am the way I love myself.”
“Then Narcissus no longer says: I love myself as I am; he says: I am the way I love myself.”
at night and in the fire, the blue that flees the fingers
October 30, 2025 at 5:08 PM
at night and in the fire, the blue that flees the fingers
“If it’s not me, it’s you, who are me, I say to myself. How you’re going to miss me! I mean: how I’m going to miss you. That is: how you miss me. That is: how we miss each other. I’m declining mourning and nostalgia.”
In October 1991, Stigmata, Hélène Cixous; tr. Keith Cohen
In October 1991, Stigmata, Hélène Cixous; tr. Keith Cohen
October 30, 2025 at 7:05 AM
“If it’s not me, it’s you, who are me, I say to myself. How you’re going to miss me! I mean: how I’m going to miss you. That is: how you miss me. That is: how we miss each other. I’m declining mourning and nostalgia.”
In October 1991, Stigmata, Hélène Cixous; tr. Keith Cohen
In October 1991, Stigmata, Hélène Cixous; tr. Keith Cohen
“All the time, a new past to recall.”
Of Darkness, Josefine Klougart; tr. Martin Aitken
Of Darkness, Josefine Klougart; tr. Martin Aitken
October 29, 2025 at 3:04 PM
“All the time, a new past to recall.”
Of Darkness, Josefine Klougart; tr. Martin Aitken
Of Darkness, Josefine Klougart; tr. Martin Aitken
Hélène Cixous (tr. Peggy Kamuf)
October 29, 2025 at 11:23 AM
Hélène Cixous (tr. Peggy Kamuf)
Not quite four in the morning, not quite the end of December—Cohen’s Famous Blue Raincoat warms me nonetheless.
October 28, 2025 at 11:40 PM
Not quite four in the morning, not quite the end of December—Cohen’s Famous Blue Raincoat warms me nonetheless.
At midnight, beneath the thin veil of an endless cold, I think of the death of the letter.
October 28, 2025 at 10:55 PM
At midnight, beneath the thin veil of an endless cold, I think of the death of the letter.