A postscript on Utopia
Coincidentally – a word that tricks chance into being fate – I was reading this week…
Poem: Losing my direction
This morning I have posted an old post that was caught in the wordpress software, and…
Renovating the Burning Archive
I have spent the morning renovating the Burning Archive. A new theme changes the look and…
Craft, voice and the fire
“We all know poetry isn’t a craft that you can just turn on and off. It…
Poem: Snow falls on the suburban plain
Here is a poem that I will before too long include in a collection titled Dr…
On the history and meaning of the eight hour day
The story I told in this article still has resonance for me. It was a story about how, even in the apparently material conditions that defined work and industrial conflict, the meaning of events were inseparable from the striving for recognition and the webs of significance that we, culture-making beings, weave through the time of our lives.
Cantos from a cage
What thou lovest well remains, the rest is dross What thou…
Axel’s Castle, a mirror and an encyclopaedia
When I was about fifteen, I found Edmund Wilson’s Axel’s Castle in a library. It was…
A thousand thanks
Some time in the last couple of weeks the counter on my wordpress visitor stats clocked…
Fragments on tradition
Today’s cultures are both disintegrating and proliferating. Any writer has to hand the near infinite profusion…