A Poem By Ted Hughes



Crow's First Lesson


God tried to teach Crow how to talk.
'Love,' said God. 'Say, Love.'
Crow gaped, and the white shark crashed into the sea
And went rolling downwards, discovering its own depth.

'No, no,' said God. 'Say Love. Now try it. LOVE.'
Crow gaped, and a bluefly, a tsetse, a mosquito
Zoomed out and down
To their sundry flesh-pots.

'A final try,' said God. 'Now, LOVE.'
Crow convulsed, gaped, retched and
Man's bodiless prodigious head
Bulbed out onto the earth, with swivelling eyes,
Jabbering protest--

And Crow retched again, before God could stop him.
And woman's vulva dropped over man's neck and tightened.
The two struggled together on the grass.
God struggled to part them, cursed, wept--

Crow flew guiltily off.

Never did like Ted's poetry
before I read Crow. I don't
know if it was because I was
so taken with Sylvia's poetry
or if I blamed him for her death.

Poetry is a dangerous business.

Gil Scott-Heron

Gil Scott-Heron, the poet and recording
artist whose syncopated spoken style and
mordant critiques of politics, racism
and mass media in pieces like
“The Revolution Will Not Be Televised”
made him a notable voice of black
protest culture in the 1970s and an
important early influence on hip-hop,
died on Friday at a hospital in Manhattan.
He was 62 and had been a longtime resident
of Harlem.

The History Of Science Fiction

(found at Eolake's blog)

Interview with Dagoberto Gilb

Gilb’s first publication was a small
press chapbook out of El Paso, Winners
on the Pass Line (1985), which came
after he won his first literary prize,
the James D. Phelan Award from the
San Francisco Foundation. The book’s
first notice was heard on National
Public Radio’s “All Things Considered”
in a review by Alan Cheuse. Gilb went
on to earn more recognition, including
a National Endowment for the Arts
Fellowship and the Texas Institute
of Letters’ Dobie Paisano Fellowship.