“I Try” (M. Gray, J. Ruzumna, J. Lim, D. Wilder)
J Dilla (1974-2006), remix, 2006
Macy Gray, 1999
by Rachel Hadas (1948-, Questions in the Vestibule)
The in-between is queasy,
but all is in between.
Midsummer green? Monotonous
when everything is green.
The sea? A glittering question
if everything is sea.
This vestibule? Unsettling.
I teeter first one way
and then the other. In
or out? I am a fool
to be so caught off balance.
All is vestibule.
sounds of Melbourne (by way of Chicago and New York)
Honey Dijon (DJ), live, Melbourne, 2018
Honey Dijon grew up on the south side of Chicago, in a family that she describes as very musical. She began clubbing during her mid-teens with her parents’ acceptance as long as her academics did not suffer.
last night, Oak Park, Ill.
Willie Mitchell, record producer, March 1, 1928–January 5, 2010
O. V. Wright (1939-1980), “A Nickel and a Nail,” 1971
Syl Johnson (1936-), “Take Me to the River,” 1975
Otis Clay (1942-2016), “Trying to Live My Life Without You,” 1972
Ann Peebles (1947-), “I Can’t Stand the Rain,” 1973
Al Green (1946-), “Let’s Stay Together,” 1971
other day, Kankakee, Ill.
I can’t listen to this just once: the moment it ends I want to hear it again.
Womack & Womack, “Teardrops” (C. Womack, L. Womack), 1988
Robert Frank, photographer, November 9, 1924–September 9, 2019
Today, remembering him, we revisit some of our favorite images.
Cafe—Beaufort, South Carolina, 1955
Funeral—St. Helena, South Carolina, 1955/56
View from Hotel Window—Butte, Montana, 1955/56
Rooming house—Bunker Hill, Los Angeles, 1955/56
US 285, New Mexico, 1955
The Escorts, “Ooh Baby Baby” (S. Robinson, P. Moore), 1973
by Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)
Land lies in water; it is shadowed green.
Shadows, or are they shallows, at its edges
showing the line of long sea-weeded ledges
where weeds hang to the simple blue from green.
Or does the land lean down to lift the sea from under,
drawing it unperturbed around itself?
Along the fine tan sandy shelf
is the land tugging at the sea from under?
The shadow of Newfoundland lies flat and still.
Labrador’s yellow, where the moony Eskimo
has oiled it. We can stroke these lovely bays,
under a glass as if they were expected to blossom,
or as if to provide a clean cage for invisible fish.
The names of seashore towns run out to sea,
the names of cities cross the neighboring mountains
—the printer here experiencing the same excitement
as when emotion too far exceeds its cause.
These peninsulas take the water between thumb and finger
like women feeling for the smoothness of yard-goods.
Mapped waters are more quiet than the land is,
lending the land their waves’ own conformation:
and Norway’s hare runs south in agitation,
profiles investigate the sea, where land is.
Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors?
—What suits the character or the native waters best.
Topography displays no favorites; North’s as near as West.
More delicate than the historians’ are the map-makers’ colors.
Billy Stewart (1937-1970), “Sitting in the Park” (B. Stewart), 1965
Understanding makes the mind lazy.
—Penelope Fitzgerald (1916-2000), The Bookshop