The poetry of music, Copland intimates, is composed both by the musician, in the creation of music and its interpretation in performance, and by the listener, in the act of listening that is itself the work of reflective interpretation. This makes listening as much a creative act as composition and performance — not a passive receptivity to the object that is music, but an active practice that confers upon the object its meaning: an art to be mastered, a talent to be honed.
Her poems, [Kay Ryan] says, don't begin with a simple image or sound, but instead start "the way an oyster does, with an aggravation." An old saw may nudge her repeatedly, such as "It's always darkest before the dawn" or "Why did the chicken cross the road?"
"I think, 'What about those chickens?' " she says, "and I start an investigation of what that means. Poets rehabilitate clichés."
If We Were Allowed To Visit is an anthology of poems by Gemma Mahadeo rendered by Ian MacLarty.
As you move through the game's environment, the poems are rearranged into the shapes of the objects they're about, each frame becoming a new generative poem.
I found an old note that contained a project to write a haiku every day. My project started in December 2018 and ended promptly in January 2019. The themes included work, baking, and difficulty finding nice fabric.
Imagine a circle that contains all of human knowledge.
By the time you finish elementary school, you know a little.
By the time you finish high school, you know a bit more.
With a bachelor's degree, you gain a specialty.
A master's degree deepens that specialty:
Reading research papers takes you to the edge of human knowledge.
Once you're at the boundary, you focus.
You push at the boundary for a few years.
Until one day, the boundary gives way.
And, that dent you've made is called a Ph.D..
Of course, the world looks different to you now.
So, don't forget the bigger picture.
Keep pushing.