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geschwartz58.bsky.social
G. E. Schwartz
@geschwartz58.bsky.social
430 followers 180 following 34 posts
words, etc.
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Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
charleskeener.bsky.social
www.counterpunch.org/2025/12/03/p...
Phillis Wheatley: Genius, Poet, and Pioneer in the Face of Slavery
Kidnapped from West Africa as a child and brought to Boston, Wheatley became the first African-American woman published in English, using her poetry to
www.counterpunch.org
December 5, 2025 at 2:49 AM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
robmclennan.bsky.social
Touch the Donkey supplement #289 : seven questions for Susan Gevirtz / @pamenarpress.bsky.social ;
touchthedonkey.blogspot.com/2025/12/ttd-...
TtD supplement #289 : seven questions for Susan Gevirtz
Susan Gevirtz’s most recent books include Burns (Pamenar), Hotel abc (Nightboat) and Aerodrome Orion & Starry Messenger (Kelsey Street). ...
touchthedonkey.blogspot.com
December 4, 2025 at 3:13 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
davidatkinsonpoet.bsky.social
I love the intersection between poetry and science.

Here we have the physics of the heart balancing between knowing and unknowing, love and loss, presence and disappearance.

Every line hums with quiet wonder and the ache of trying to hold what won’t stay still.

#poetry
#poemoftheday
December 3, 2025 at 6:36 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
thebasementtan.bsky.social
Happy Deanna Durbin's birthday! Here she is with Charles Laughton in the utterly charming IT STARTED WITH EVE:
December 4, 2025 at 4:33 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
janephuong.bsky.social
Under the sun
Red and white flowers in the sun.
December 4, 2025 at 7:11 AM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
dorianlynskey.bsky.social
One of my very petty beefs is applying the label rock star to people who definitely aren't rock stars. There are no "rock star philosophers" or "rock star economists". Stop it
December 4, 2025 at 10:58 AM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
For today
December 4, 2025 at 11:41 AM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
seventydys.bsky.social
to feel all but book

Laura Riding, ‘The Troubles of a Book’
December 4, 2025 at 11:38 AM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
#sunriseessay
December 4, 2025 at 11:40 AM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
jordandavis.bsky.social
Nobody else is doing what a/g does
December 3, 2025 at 8:56 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
annelouiseavery.bsky.social
One of the lives Stoppard saved was mine.
December 2, 2025 at 8:59 PM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
For today
December 3, 2025 at 1:30 PM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
#SunriseEssay
December 3, 2025 at 11:47 AM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
#RedOnOrange #MarkRothko #meditation #VisioDivina
December 3, 2025 at 11:46 AM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
carolinebirduk.bsky.social
Tomorrow! I’ll be performing at Soho Poly alongside the poetry-forces-of-nature that are Joelle Taylor and Will Harris. Tickets here: sohopoly.co.uk/events/soho-po…. Hosted and curated by the brilliant Hannah Copley @hannahcopley.bsky.social
December 3, 2025 at 8:58 AM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
hookland.bsky.social
Never forget: Art matters.
joeltaylorhack.bsky.social JoelTaylorhack @joeltaylorhack.bsky.social · 3d
‘Stoppard never learnt how many lives he saved by writing Arcadia’
December 2, 2025 at 4:15 PM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
Here's a new collaboration made with Christopher Gordon Forbes and myself, a fusion of music, poetry and quantum physics ... have a listen... youtube.com/watch?v=DmjB...
1 No Things Endure Video
YouTube video by Chris Forbes
youtube.com
December 2, 2025 at 6:22 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
roisinnineachtain.com
This is a great time of year to do some volunteering. I used to do street fundraising for the Dublin Simon Community every Christmas. Great cheer! Great if you have little you are able to donate.

Also good to start giving toys and games now rather than wait after Christmas.
December 2, 2025 at 12:25 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
billymills.bsky.social
www.onlypoemsdaily.com/p/the-wheel-...
The Wheel Revolves by Kenneth Rexroth
The manifold voices of falling water Talk all night.
www.onlypoemsdaily.com
December 2, 2025 at 12:22 PM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
For today...
December 2, 2025 at 11:43 AM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
#sunriseessay
December 2, 2025 at 11:42 AM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
gr8flbluejay.bsky.social
Artemisia Gentileschi, Italian (1593-1653), Portrait of a Seated Lady (Señora Caterina Savelli?), c. 1625, oil on canvas, 128.3 x 95.9 cm, private collection
December 1, 2025 at 3:44 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
henkaipantomime.bsky.social
we lost a poet I loved yesterday. DeLana Dameron, too soon. here are excerpts from a long poem of hers I was lucky to get to publish 13 years ago. I'm so sad.
[page 1] DéLana R. A. Dameron from THE YEARS THE LOCUSTS HAVE EATEN The unswept floor, the bed unmade & empty. Olive heats up breakfast For the boys; crushed & limping cans Lining the kitchen window sill smell of bread, Souring. Something's burning. Wafting In from the living room. Olive opens the door & Annie is splayed on the floor With arms folded over the open Bible, Nose resting on the bridge of her Good Book. Four candles steady burn down their wicks. Annie stayed the night On her prayer rug & the night before, Abandoned all responsibilities of keeping house. Signs set before her to read: in June, Fireflies drop out of the static sky By the thousands before thunder breaks; August with its humid-thick air Tasting like metal, & the train tracks whine Before the sky sends down its rain. Last September, She watched as water pulled back like bed linen From the shore & the day was silent, opening up For the Mack-truck roar & wall of Atlantic water Barreling through, flattening houses & washing away cars & telephone lines. When she wakes up to find Thomas & his machete absent, There is only wait. & prayer. There is Only eyes upon God in the morning. In the evening. There is Nothing else. There is Nothing. [page 2] DELANA R. A. DAMERON FROM THE YEARS THE LOCUSTS HAVE EATEN There is a burning house & clouds--cotton bladders--above. Annie drops To her knees, wet the ground where gravel Dug into her flesh. God Send down a wall of rain. Annie spoke A cursive language where words ran together Without end--& the house burned In the damp day beside the marsh. The house burns: Annie wailed like sirens. Rains & winds barrel down. Ash danced Its delicate dance between the porch balustrades-- The blood-painted thresholds still stand-- The Blood of Jesus etched on the doors-- The only things standing. Who could imagine This? Gryphon's small talon hands blackened With burns & soot, last to leave With Toby & Tutu. His wings weighted With water from rains that came Long after Annie's call To save them-- [page 3, I don't have time to lineate this right, imagine words scattering more horizontally not vertically as the page goes down] EPIPHANY Spring 2012 i wait under the pomegranate sky i wait at midnight when stars have fallen in pre-dawn black whisper words mama taught me i rebuke thee i rebuke daddy lives in our house he destroys he fights when lamps are dampened mama screams he fights leaves his body is a blade of grass he sways whiskey in the wind he throws his fists we tremble at the sound apocalypse i wait under the pomegranate sky this must be noon our ending daddy is a tornado i scream he fights i cannot defend mama or olive their hands cannot rebuke him in corners i lie wait papa calls me monster his arm is a saw come to cut me down his body is jagged sways he calls out gryphon apocalypse you monster i wait in the pomegranate sky i wait for noon i wait for midnight daddy is in the house he inhales the whiskey gryphon you bastard bird with broken wings calls out gryphon stand up fight but we wait at noon we wait at midnight til' daddy is an apparition we wait [page 4] DELANA R. A. DAMERON FROM THE YEARS THE LOCUSTS HAVE EATEN White dappled sky. White lights. There is No window to let in sun, there is no sun. White walls. Again, white dappled sky & curtains to partition her portion. White Cords snake from the walls to her bed. White Beeps. On her chest, white sand-dollar stickers. White cords attach like limbs. On her legs, White sheets. Where her toes stick up: white Mountains at the end of the bed. There is A white bracelet on her wrist with her name. There is A wrasse white syringe on the back of her hand, Feeding. If she turns her head, another white Curtain. Behind it, a white landscape With hills that expand & shrink. A body. She lifts Her hand & drops it. A lightning bolt pain Across her chest. Her lungs heavy like wet sponges When she breathes, so she tries not to. The machine beeps. A woman in white walks in & wipes her brow. What world Gryphon travels to so often. In the nurses' hand, a white cup with white straw Bending at the neck. It hurts to lift her head; she doesn't. The nurse makes an O with her lips, moves closer. The white rushes cold to her fiery throat.
December 1, 2025 at 4:31 PM
geschwartz58.bsky.social
listening... Conlon Nancroow... youtube.com/watch?v=JF5x...
Conlon Nancarrow - "Transcendental" Study for Player Piano 40a [Audio + Score]
YouTube video by The Piano Experience
youtube.com
December 1, 2025 at 7:20 PM
Reposted by G. E. Schwartz
yoonkim.bsky.social
Proust on Chateaubriand:

“I like reading Chateaubriand because by giving us to hear every two or three pages (just as after an interval of silence on summer nights one hears the two notes, always the same, that make up the song of the owl) his own particular call, (1/2)
December 1, 2025 at 6:48 PM