You’ve been away, your hair blond from sun—
not seeing you servesthe opposite effect,distance gives over to intimacy.
The wake from a boat. The city anchoredacross the river, a series of shadows.I crumple the paper from an ice cream cone.Your hand rests on the iron arm of the bench.
Is this what the endaffords—no further use for worry?
It’s getting dark earlier again;there won’t be many more days as mild as this.Let’s sit here a little while more.
—David Semanki, from “East River.” Art: Charles H. Davis.

You’ve been away, your hair blond from sun—

not seeing you serves
the opposite effect,
distance gives over to intimacy.

The wake from a boat. The city anchored
across the river, a series of shadows.
I crumple the paper from an ice cream cone.
Your hand rests on the iron arm of the bench.

Is this what the end
affords—no further use for worry?

It’s getting dark earlier again;
there won’t be many more days as mild as this.
Let’s sit here a little while more.

David Semanki, from “East River.” Art: Charles H. Davis.

“The act of giving milk itself is pleasant and soothing; it’s not that I am eager for it to end. And it’s not that it is uninteresting, between the strange palpable effects of the oxytocin and the mesmerizing face of the latched baby. It just doesn’t fit into the matrix of productivity or purpose or attention I’m accustomed to. It is simply being, mammal-animal being, layered with a human consciousness as thin and light as linen.”
Sarah Menkedick on breastfeeding and boredom.

“The act of giving milk itself is pleasant and soothing; it’s not that I am eager for it to end. And it’s not that it is uninteresting, between the strange palpable effects of the oxytocin and the mesmerizing face of the latched baby. It just doesn’t fit into the matrix of productivity or purpose or attention I’m accustomed to. It is simply being, mammal-animal being, layered with a human consciousness as thin and light as linen.”

Sarah Menkedick on breastfeeding and boredom.

The art collector George Costakis devoted his life “to unearthing masterworks of the Russian avant-garde … but his enthusiasm met with obstacles: the difficulty of tracking down the works, the neglect they had suffered, the disbelief of widows (‘What do you see in them?’). In a dacha outside Moscow he found a Constructivist masterpiece being used to close up a window; the owner wouldn’t part with it. He dashed to the city to fetch a piece of plywood the same size, ferried it back to the dacha, and swapped it for the painting.”
For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.

The art collector George Costakis devoted his life “to unearthing masterworks of the Russian avant-garde … but his enthusiasm met with obstacles: the difficulty of tracking down the works, the neglect they had suffered, the disbelief of widows (‘What do you see in them?’). In a dacha outside Moscow he found a Constructivist masterpiece being used to close up a window; the owner wouldn’t part with it. He dashed to the city to fetch a piece of plywood the same size, ferried it back to the dacha, and swapped it for the painting.”

For more of this morning’s roundup, click here.

“A man sits in a room writing novels. Nothing happens. The books don’t sell—four hundred apiece, the last one a few more. There are scattered reviews. Then thirty years later, suddenly, the books are brought out, again and again, acclaimed. A small-sized mystery.”
A lost interview with novelist and screenwriter Daniel Fuchs.

“A man sits in a room writing novels. Nothing happens. The books don’t sell—four hundred apiece, the last one a few more. There are scattered reviews. Then thirty years later, suddenly, the books are brought out, again and again, acclaimed. A small-sized mystery.”

A lost interview with novelist and screenwriter Daniel Fuchs.