Brighton Beach does not look, smell, or sound like Russia. It's a parody of Russia at best, something as different from the real thing as a picture of the Eiffel Tower. Yes, they sell Russian food on Brighton Beach, and Russian books and videos, and Russian clothes, and there are Russian restaurants and Russian nightclubs, and everybody speaks Russian, but the Russianness of the place is so concentrated that it feels ridiculously exaggerated. Everything Russian on Brighton Beach is too Russian, far more Russian than in real Russia. This is what happens all over Brooklyn. From the Scandinavians of Bay Ridge to the Chinese of Sunset Park, Brooklyn's immigrants go to ridiculous extremes to re-create their homelands only to end up with a vulgar pastiche.
Lara VapnyarTags: memoirs brooklyn essays brooklyn-was-mine
So, Mr. Nick,' murmured the valet, applying shaving soap to his employer's face with an ivory-handled brush, 'are you writing a book?'
Damn him, thought Lerner. He knows I detest conversation with a razor at my throat.
'My memoirs,' he muttered. 'A few jottings only. Waiting to die is such a bore, I write to pass the time.' ("The Overseer")
blue-gold sky, fresh cloud,
emerald-black mountain, trees
on rocky ledges,
on the summit, the tiny pin
of a telephone tower-all
brilliantly clear,
in shadow and out.
and on and through
everything
everywhere
the sun shines
without reservation (p. 97)
Tags: love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying mother grief conflict healing dying poems daughters verse memoirs cancer son death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother alchoholism death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son grievindeath-and-daughters new-york-quarterly verses
...gripping the
rim of the sink
you claw your
way to stand
and cling there,
quaking with
will, on
heron legs,
and still the hot
muck pours
out of you. (p. 27)
Tags: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
I could simply
kill you now,
get it over with,
who would
know the difference?
I could easily
kick you in, stove you
under, for all those times,
mean on gin,
you rammed words
into my belly. (p. 52)
Tags: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict soul-searching mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters letting-go verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness love-and-hate grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
oh.
she heard it
too-no waters
coursing, canyon
empty, sun
soundless-
and the beast
your life
nowhere
hiding (p. 103)
Tags: life love poetry hate death poem death-and-dying memoir mother grief conflict soul-searching mountains healing new-york dying poems daughters letting-go verse memoirs alcoholism cancer son grieving death-of-a-loved-one death-and-sickness love-and-hate grieving-the-loss-of-a-mother death-and-love colon-cancer barbara-blatner death-and-son new-york-quarterly verses death-and-daughters dying-at-home verse-memoir
I knew even then that she was right. An en is a karmic bond lasting a lifetime. Nowadays many people seem to believe their lives are entirely a matter of choice; but in my day we viewed ourselves as pieces of clay that forever show the fingerprints of everyone who has touched them. Nobu's touch had made a deeper impression on me than most. No one could tell me whether he would be my ultimate destiny, but I had always sensed the en between us. Somewhere in the landscape of my life Nobu would always be present. But could it really be that of all the lessons I'd learned, the hardest one lay just ahead of me? Would I really have to take each of my hopes and put them away where no one would ever see them again, where not even I would ever see them?
Arthur GoldenTags: choice destiny impression geisha memoirs clay hopes memoirs-of-a-geisha
Not for nothing, but if you do that again, I'm gonna have to punch ya fuckin' heart out!
Cyndi LauperTags: memoirs
You can’t just come out and say what you have to say. That’s what people do on airplanes, when a man plops down next to you in the aisle seat of your flight to New York, spills peanuts all over the place (back when the cheapskate airlines at least gave you peanuts), and tells you about what his boss did to him the day before. You know how your eyes glaze over when you hear a story like that? That’s because of the way he’s telling his story. You need a good way to tell your story.
Adair LaraTags: writing-craft writing-advice memoirs
Here it is. You assume that I am rich; I am not. I shall have nothing once I have emptied my purse. You perhaps suppose that I am a man of high birth, and I am of a rank either lower than your own or equal to it. I have no talent which can earn money, no employment, no reason to be sure that I shall have anything to eat a few months hence. I have neither relatives nor friends nor rightful claims nor any settled plan. In short, all that I have is youth, health, courage, a modicum of intelligence, a sense of honor and of decency, with a little reading and the bare beginnings of a career in literature. My great treasure is that I am my own master, that I am not dependent upon anyone, and that I am not afraid of misfortunes. My nature tends toward extravagance. Such is the man I am. Now answer me, my beautiful Teresa.
Giacomo CasanovaTags: memoirs
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