David Hayden
@seventydys.bsky.social
3.5K followers 3K following 1.5K posts
the sea is completely written for me https://www.transitbooks.org/books/darker
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seventydys.bsky.social
And Clare telling you to fear the owners and that trespass is good.
seventydys.bsky.social
That's really excellent. As is the Veronese and Peter Burke's new book 'The Connossieur'. Thanks!
seventydys.bsky.social
Books on Auden, Mao, Qaddafi, Edwin Morgan's concrete poetry, Stooges' Raw Power, fascism & the global far right, 'The Museum of Imaginary Musical Instruments', Katherine Harvey's superb 'Medieval Guide to Healthy Living' & more coming @reaktionbooks.bsky.social reaktionbooks.co.uk/wp-content/u...
reaktionbooks.co.uk
seventydys.bsky.social
something precious

Henry Dumas, from ‘Ark of Bones’
Bones. I saw bones. They were stacked all
the way to the top of the ship. I look around. The underside of the whole ark was nothing bur a great bonehouse. I looked and saw crews of black men handlin in them bones. There was a crew of no or three under every cabin around that ark. Why, there must have been a million cabins. They were doin it very carefully, like they were holdin onto babies or something precious.
Reposted by David Hayden
seventydys.bsky.social
Vivian Gornick‘s 2016 Boston Review essay ‘Feeling Paranoid:
Phyllis Schlafly, Trump, and the Terror of Difference’. www.bostonreview.net/articles/viv...
Feeling Paranoid - Boston Review
Phyllis Schlafly, Trump, and the Terror of Difference
www.bostonreview.net
seventydys.bsky.social
Vivian Gornick‘s 2016 Boston Review essay ‘Feeling Paranoid:
Phyllis Schlafly, Trump, and the Terror of Difference’. www.bostonreview.net/articles/viv...
Feeling Paranoid - Boston Review
Phyllis Schlafly, Trump, and the Terror of Difference
www.bostonreview.net
seventydys.bsky.social
The Asthenic Syndrome and The Long Farewell by Muratova are favourites. As are Killer of Sheep and When It Rains by Burnett.
seventydys.bsky.social
Nothing ever absolutely has to happen

Matt Rasmussen, ‘Chekhov’s Gun’
CHEKHOV'S GUN
Nothing ever absolutely has to happen. The gun doesn't have to be fired. When our hero sits
on the edge of his bed contemplating the pistol on his nightstand, you have to believe he might
not use it. Then the theatre is sunk in blackness.
The audience is a log waiting to be split open. The faint
scuff of feet. Objects are picked up, shuffled away.
Other things are put down. Based on the hushed sounds
you guess: a bed, some walls, a dresser. You feel everything shift. You sense yourself being picked up,
set down. A cone of light cracks overhead. The audience's eyes flicker toward you like droplets of water.
Reposted by David Hayden
jntod.bsky.social
On National Poetry Day, the greatest poem I have ever read
A printed poem which reads:

I hav for breakfast Weetabix

I hav for lunch some meat

I have for tea 2 sosajis and thats enuf to eat

Peter Hazel, 5
seventydys.bsky.social
If you’ve got access to @criterion.bsky.social channel, they’re running unmissable retrospectives of two of the greatest filmmakers: Charles Burnett and Kira Muratova.
Directed by
CHARLES BURNETT
Featuring KILLER OF SHEEP, TO SLEEP WITH ANGER, THE ANNIHILATION OF FISH, MY BROTHER'S WEDDING, and more Directed by
Kira Muratova
Featuring The Asthenic Syndrome, The Long Farewell;
Brief Encounters, The Tuner, and more:
Reposted by David Hayden
seventydys.bsky.social
the catbird storm

Paul Metcalf, from ‘Genoa’

I am lifted from my chair, headlong. I stand, leaning over the desk, my head whirling, consonant with the gusts of blackberry winter, of the catbird storm. Decision crowds upon me, and, like one of the sperm whales crowding for the Straits of Sunda, pursued by a Nantucket madman who is in turn pursued by Malays, I push for a gateway, an entrance upon and beginning of things.
seventydys.bsky.social
A.J. Krailsheimer. B&P heavily raided by Paul Auster for his ‘The Music of Chance’, I recall.
seventydys.bsky.social
the catbird storm

Paul Metcalf, from ‘Genoa’

I am lifted from my chair, headlong. I stand, leaning over the desk, my head whirling, consonant with the gusts of blackberry winter, of the catbird storm. Decision crowds upon me, and, like one of the sperm whales crowding for the Straits of Sunda, pursued by a Nantucket madman who is in turn pursued by Malays, I push for a gateway, an entrance upon and beginning of things.
Reposted by David Hayden