A. Anupama
My daughter and I were talking about the difference between “overwhelmed” and “whelmed” in the car while I merged onto a parkway. I think those words are close to each other but not freely interchangeable. Creative work thrives on “whelmed,” as a kind of outflow of real compassion. “Overwhelmed” seems like the crowded on-ramp, where…
Midsummer nights are meant for dreams that serve to lengthen summer days. No matter how slowly the moon wanes, I don’t complain, and instead stretch to “awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth.” A jigsaw puzzle fit into our weekend do-nothing plans. I chose this fun, literary one from the New York Review of…
A tiny fawn has made a bed for itself next to the stone foundation adjacent to my porch. A week old now, and, tonight, it didn’t spring up when I came outside to water the flower boxes on the railing with my collection of begonias, verbena, dianthus, violet galaxy-streaked petunias, coleus, and mint. We have…
At least it’s beautiful when the feminine divine is completely enraged. Does someone point out the real beauty to us? Will it help us shift into what is good? My cousin sent me this viral video today— a bharatanatyam and hip-hop fusion dance. Laughing and smiling is a good break from roaring. https://youtu.be/Saj65ySCOSo This morning’s…
It’s the season of white wildflowers here: honeysuckle and briar roses and horse chestnut trees in bloom. It’s infuriating, trying to paint them in watercolor. The process requires restraint, a yielding to the blank white of the paper, which is in a way quite the opposite of a writer’s training. But I like the challenge…
I like to think of literature and the creative writing process itself as a type of habitat for emotions. We can reserve a space of quiet, practice the discipline of gardeners, and protect our observational vantage points from those who might disturb the sanctuary. But does anyone know where an emotion comes from or where…
A little bit of poetry is often much better than a lot of it. I think this is because of the space it leaves for your own silence and inner eye to work. We exchange with one another one long and secret gaze of grief, neither idle nor reckless.From the poem titled “Shahrazad” in Saffron…
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