Imperfect Cinemas Imperfect Cinemas
Post-independence cinema in Nigeria has been swept aside by Nollywood, a video CD industry with a cable-access aesthetic and a penchant for stories about violence and corruption.
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Emily Witt
Garbage and Gravitas Garbage and Gravitas
Ayn Rand was a melodramatist of the moral life: the battle is between the producer and the moochers, and it must end in life or death.
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Corey Robin
from ‘Lone Coast Anacrusis’ from ‘Lone Coast Anacrusis’
—"mu" fifty-third part— Some new Atlantis known as Lower Ninth we took leave of next, half the turtle's back away. Whole bodies we saw floating, not only heads... Endless letting go, endless looking else- where, endless turning out to be otherwise... Woods all around where we came to next. We'd been eating wind, we'd been drinking wind, rumoring someone looked at God eye to eye... In what seemed a dream but we saw wasn't we saw dirt sliding. We were back and all the buildings were gone. What were cliffs to us we wondered, blown dust of Bandiagara, what the eroding precipice we saw... Ground acorns ground our teeth now. All but all gums, we were where the Alone lived, came to a clearing lit by light so bright we staggered, Nub it was we knew we were still in... The mountain of the night a mound of nothing, Toulali's burr what balm there was. Toulali's burr what balm, remote though it was, lifetimes behind us now... Voice laryngitic, lost and lost again, blown grit rubbed itaway... Someone had said something came to mind. Someone had sung something, what its words were no one could say. Sang it bittersweet, more brusque than bitter, song's cloth endowment stripped... Choric strain, repeatedly slipped entablature. Given... Given endlessly again... No telling when but intent on telling, no telling what. Wished we were home again • Refugees was a word we'd heard, raw talk of soul insistent, adamant, the nonsong we sang or the song we nonsang, a word we'd heard we heard was us... Wept in our sleep, again one with what would never again be there, raw talk rummaged our book,the backs of our hands written on with cornmeal, the awaited ones reluctant again... The city of sad children's outskirts we were in, woods notwithstanding, woods nonetheless, bright light the light we saw as we were jolted, raw talk spiraling away... We were there and somewhere else no matter where we were, everywhere more than where we were... Where the Alone lived we donned abalone-shell ornaments, light's clarity conceded, night yet to relent, Toulali smoldered on, semisang, semispoke, wrestled with his tongue it seemed... We trudged in place, barely lifted our feet, backbeat hallowing every step we took, moved us albeit we stayed put. We were where we were, somewhere else no matter where, evacuees a word we'd heard... Stutter step, stuck shuffle, dancelike, Toulali's croon enticed us, toyed with us, ground gone under where we stood
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Nathaniel Mackey
Stories and Legends Stories and Legends
How Barack Obama has fashioned a personal and political identity by treating the history of the civil rights movement as a usable past.
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Thomas J. Sugrue
Scoured Light Scoured Light
Nothing is simple in the poems of James Schuyler, not even the formal austerity of looking out a window.
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Ange Mlinko
Talking On Against Time Talking On Against Time
Though a new four-volume compilation of Paris Review interviews is filled with riches, it is tailored to the tastes of a polite literary culture.
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Scott Sherman
Talking On Against Time Talking On Against Time
Though a new four-volume compilation of Paris Review interviews is filled with riches, it is tailored to the tastes of a polite literary culture.
May 20, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Scott Sherman
Hesitation Blues Hesitation Blues
On Elizabeth Cook, Jorma Kaukonen and David Bromberg.
May 13, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Eric Alterman
The Sad Tale of Gordon Brown, Starting With the First Debate The Sad Tale of Gordon Brown, Starting With the First Debate
The man doesn't smile.
May 13, 2010 / Column / Calvin Trillin
Aug. 5 Aug. 5
Aug. 5 When a man is asked to sing of his anger the risk is that without remorse virtue dies War then is in the face, in this homelessness, the despair which couldn't wait couldn't ask for We don't talk to each other anymore we email global reach managed minutes morning to noon in the hospitals we are all old forbidden to talk of lost sons, asked to smile Enough, they'll hear the news, men in photographs die and nothing will seem simple, their faces especially where sorrow stretched everything Maps point to? and defeat looms where? out there where? Here the naked body is where terror lies Guilt builds monuments, the way we spend our time
May 12, 2010 / Books & the Arts / Eléna Rivera