I spent my Sunday afternoon reading online. (I stopped measuring how much I read by the number of books I finish a long time ago.)
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/244324 A poem by Richard Hoffman shared by a professor. ‘Love’s language is hyperbole; but whispered.’
http://www.granta.com/New-Writing/Beginning-End This was passed on by my writing teacher and made me realise that not enough stories are written they way they exist in our minds.
On another note, September’s been good to me so far.
I have 4 poems in the current issue of Muse India.
How to Write, When to Write and The Reading were written more than a year ago, and they sound like nothing I’d written before and nothing I’ve written after. I once read somewhere that we tend to think of ourselves as occupying different selves at different points of our lives. If that’s true, this was a moment of implosion.
Manivannan was inspired by the first time I heard a reading by Sharanya Manivannan.
And one, Terrace Rain, in the lovely Four Quarters Magazine. Page 27.