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Callista Buchen

@callistabuchen.bsky.social

poet, author of Look Look Look: blacklawrencepress.com/books/look-look-look, "Taking Care": https://poems.com/poem/taking-care/

33 Posts1032 Follower222 Folgt
Todd Dillard@toddedillard.bsky.social · 2y ago

my book came out when the lockdowns started. I barely promoted it. Then when the protests began I continued to stay silent. I felt small and insignificant and unworthy. I’ve since heard several people say they needed my poems. Please. Don’t keep your art from those who need it. Especially not now.

Maureen Langloss@maureenlangloss.bsky.social · 2y ago

If you're wondering whether you should promote your book or your latest publication now with all the chaos, the answer is yes. We need your words. We need to flood the channels with art and literature. So go for it, friends.

Ashley C. Ford@smashfizzle.bsky.social · 2y ago

I’m going to keep it real and hope I don’t get accused of overstating the issue; children’s liberation is the key to the future you want. The active, and often dismissed, oppression of children is near the root of what ails us as a nation.

W. Todd Kaneko@toddkaneko.bsky.social · 2y ago

In the classroom for the first time since the election. “Dead Stars” by Ada Limón seemed like a good way to start today’s discussion of The Carrying. I’m grateful for this poem, for so many poems.

DEAD STARS by Ada Limón Out here, there’s a bowing even the trees are doing. Winter’s icy hand at the back of all of us. Black bark, slick yellow leaves, a kind of stillness that feels so mute it’s almost in another year. I am a hearth of spiders these days: a nest of trying. We point out the stars that make Orion as we take out the trash, the rolling containers a song of suburban thunder. It’s almost romantic as we adjust the waxy blue recycling bin until you say, Man, we should really learn some new constellations. And it’s true. We keep forgetting about Antlia, Centaurus, Draco, Lacerta, Hydra, Lyra, Lynx. But mostly we’re forgetting we’re dead stars too, my mouth is full of dust and I wish to reclaim the rising— to lean in the spotlight of streetlight with you, toward what’s larger within us, toward how we were born. Look, we are not unspectacular things. We’ve come this far, survived this much. What would happen if we decided to survive more? To love harder? What if we stood up with our synapses and flesh and said, No. No, to the rising tides. Stood for the many mute mouths of the sea, of the land? What would happen if we used our bodies to bargain for the safety of others, for earth, if we declared a clean night, if we stopped being terrified, if we launched our demands into the sky, made ourselves so big people could point to us with the arrows they make in their minds, rolling their trash bins out, after all of this is over?