On the Epic of Gesar of Ling
I have a Tibetan friend who trained as a monk in his home country before escaping over the Himalayas as a political prisoner. He walked for days over... Read more →
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On Zizek
In the transit lounge of an unnameable airport, I see the fake leaves blowing in the air-conditioned breeze. I am happy to be traveling but right... Read more →
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On Yu Hsuan-Chi
In an old colonial building, wracked with moss and mould, there is an installation in between two rooms that are galleries for the duration of the... Read more →
On Malcolm X
It is axiomatic, if clichéd, that to be an adolescent is to be rebellious, is to ‘fight the powers that be’. We felt ourselves, deep in the... Read more →
On the Popul Vuh
On my uncle’s desk in his apartment in Berlin there is a rusty rail nail from a sleeper collected from the desert near Cook on the Nullarbor in... Read more →
On Sappho
I first encountered the Greeks like everyone else. This was not as a text that was written, a book that I sat down and read without any idea of what... Read more →
On Rumi
It was dark. It always was dark, in the Americas, in Oceania, in Africa, in Asia, even in Europe with its darkest of dark ages. How might we know... Read more →
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On Raymond Queneau
A poet needs to have some sort of constraint – many constrain their voice aiming for consistency; others constrain their themes, grouping... Read more →
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On Poe
I was a historian before I was a poet. Or to put it better, I was trained as a historian even as I was a waiter, a teaching assistant, a union... Read more →
On the Classics
The first book I ever wrote I put in a drawer and forgot about it. I did the same with the second, third and fourth. I self-published the fifth... Read more →
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