HeyJaredholes of beauty in the grit: poetry aloud
history is in your mouth. poetry & prose aloud and/or in translation.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 11
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- Sep 20, 2026
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- Jul 17, 2026
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he considers his two bodies (opens the original)
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he considers his two bodiesKosmin cites a formula of Ernst Kantorowicz, that ‘the king has two bodies.’ There is the body of the king, he writes, and the body of the kingdom. The state of the nation is that its head may die while the nation lives on. The state of death for the king’s body mere punctuation in the epic of the immortal kingdom. There will be other kings. There will be no other kingdoms.He roils in his skin. He writes the word unholy. He thinks of the Emperor’s arms. His mind rests
To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall - Kim Addonizio (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1080" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!VbMh!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe2e1c5df-0476-4c58-82ac-31999d066589_1080x1080.p
27 June 1906, 2 p.m. // C.P. Cavafy (opens the original)
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27 June 1906, 2 p.m.As the Christians took him to be hangedthe seventeen-year-old innocent child,his mother who close by the gallows therecrawled upon the earth and beat herself beneath the midday, the savage sun,sometimes she howled, and cried out like a wolf, like a beastand sometimes exhausted the witness-woman keened“Seventeen years only you lived, my child.”And when they took him up the gallows stepsand over him passed the rope and choked himthe seventeen-year-old innocent child,and pitiabl
Dearest M— The First Day of Her Death (As Recorded by Her Father) // Hayden Carruth (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1600" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!xhuH!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe65b92cc-912f-4138-879f-801169a6db71_1200x1600.
Meteors // Eva H.D. (opens the original)
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MeteorsIt’s summer, the streets smell like mulberries and piss andtwo-month love. What does two-month love smell like?Mulberries and piss, probably, and chlorine from thelatenight public pools, new clothing from Sears, too,that new car smell of fresh sundresses on the teeteringtwentysomethings negotiating the wine cooler sidewalkin high-heeled sandals. There’s nothing smelly aboutforgetting, but if there was I suppose that would be a summersmell, too: the tall men ducking from bar to bar,forgett
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