Sarah White Merce Cunningham’s Late Creations When he could flex no more his knees or toes, and his limbs no longer engaged in on-stage expression, he performed another daily exercise, not at the barre as before, but with paper and pencil, doing God’s job, forming his own creatures, one a day— rhino, titmouse, bonobo— birds […]
Read MoreSarah White Let Your Work Be a Surprise to You It’s as if the game were to fish words from a brook with a seine or a slotted spoon— bug, scum, weed, leaf, and as if, from upstream, came a fly, trout fly, a “Royal Coachman” my brother tied toward the end of his life, […]
Read MoreSarah White The Vanishing Weep for the tiny nematodes, diatoms, corals, and crustaceans lost though we don’t know most of their names yet, let alone how we’ll get along without them now that they’ve passed into extinction leaving homo sapiens, the knowing man, alone with his brain finding light waves from fourteen billion years ago […]
Read MoreSarah White If You Need An Idiom To Describe Events Of 2016 Try I SWALLOWED A RAT while I was making shepherd’s pie, or HE SWALLOWED A RAT while he was working out with weights, or SHE SWALLOWED A RAT while she hung undies on the line, or, while he studied Torah and she, Portuguese […]
Read MoreSarah White Morning News, November 9, 2016 It is, it is, it is very dumb to be happy sang the bees in a poem of hers as if verse could buzz away a world catastrophe, as if History were anything but a tsunami, as if Time, which doesn’t flinch in its awful march, would bend […]
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