Just devoured bell hooks’s memoir Wounds of Passion. Every once in a while, I need a jolt of poet energy to remind me why I’ve never been able to give up stanza breaks. The relationship between work and the rest of writers’ lives in difficult to embody, and more difficult to elucidate. hooks presents these relationships in all their complexity, and her–often unacknowledged–sacrifices in pursuit of finding an equilibrium are familiar to anyone without a trust fund or a MacArthur grant.
There is a wild sun shower happening outside, complete with a glorious rainbow arcing over the college. Weather is a mystery.
Everyone go read.