This month I’ve been reading Geoffrey G. O’Brien’s new poems, especially “People on Sunday (1930),” re-reading giovanni singleton’s Ascension from Counterpath, and David Graeber – a printout of a piece on nonviolent direct action. I’m also trying again with Swann’s Way. In the past, his hyper-slow meditations on bourgeois life made me grumpy when I was working so hard to earn a living and write. My women’s reading group decided to read Proust (we chose the Moncrieff/Kilmartin/Enright version), I was nervous, having been a shameful Proust drop-out Now I have fallen in love with Proust: delicious sentences you can wrap around yourself, each a whole universe. I can’t wait to get into bed at night and read Swann’s Way. Eric Karpeles’ excellent Paintings in Proust helps track the paintings and is gorgeous. As Proust’s perceptions unfold, each has intensity, grammatical fascination and surprise. His sentences have been even helpful for thinking about the future of Occupy, paving the way for a new kind of time, indeterminate and flexible.
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