Bruce Silverman responds to the shooting at Tree of Life in Pittsburgh: “my prayer is that our tired / eyes can see and our broken / hearts can hear.”
Non-Violent Communication (NVC)
Tolerance
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The next time I saw those bullies,
I was at a party and I asked them to battle me…
but this time it wasn’t a fake boxing match
It was a fight in song, a fight in word, a fight in dance, a fight about
peace, and a fight about real history…
art
Review of Preludes and Fugues by Emmanuel Moses, Transl. Marilyn Hacker
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The “impassable threshold” is the theme that Moses examines in different voices and metaphors throughout the collection: what is before birth and after death?
art
“Fighting in the Captain’s Tower”: In Defense of Bob Dylan's Nobel Prize
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The people who want to place Dylan outside the gates of literature because he is merely a songwriter seem to have things backwards. Song is not outside of poetry; poetry is the daughter of song.
art
The Box: Solitary Confinement Takes Center Stage
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One of six characters in The Box, a new play that debuted at Z Space theater in San Francisco on July 6, Jake Juchau (played by Clive Worsley) presents one image of life in long-term solitary confinement. The play was written by Sarah Shourd, an American journalist who spent 410 days in solitary in Iran after being accused of espionage, and then returned to the U.S. and began conducting research about the domestic uses of solitary confinement.
General News
Poem on the Murders
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Phliando Castile was an African-American Nutrition Services Department supervisor at a Montessori School in suburban Minnesota. He was shot dead by police on July 6 after being stopped for a broken tail light. His girlfriend, Diamond Lavish Reynolds, immediately began narrating his murder on her phone (sent out via Facebook) as she sat beside him while he was dying in the car. Her four year old daughter, also in the car, witnessed everything.
Earth-based Religions
Lift It
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If God is all-Powerful
Can he make a rock so large he himself
Cannot lift it
Cannot move it
Made up of the stone shavings of
The names
Carved out of the rock
Huddled in a pile
On the ground
The names so large
He himself cannot lift them
From the hearts
Of the bereaved