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New Poem: 7th Proof

New poem up @ Off Course Literary Journal: 7th Proof https://www.albany.edu/offcourse/issue90/swihart_rex.html

From Flaubert's Parrot

The one thing that is very good in life today is death. Thereā€™s still room for improvement, itā€™s true. But I think of all those nineteenth-century deaths. The deaths of writers arenā€™t special deaths; they just happen to be described deaths. I think of Flaubert lying on his sofa, struck down ā€“ who can tell at this distance? ā€“ by epilepsy, apoplexy or syphilis, or perhaps some malign axis of the three. Yet Zola called it une belle mort ā€“ to be crushed like an insect beneath a giant finger. I think of Bouilhet in his final delirium, feverishly composing a new play in his head and declaring that it must be read to Gustave. I think of the slow decline of Jules de Goncourt: first stumbling over his consonants, the cā€™s turning to tā€™s in his mouth; then being unable to remember the titles of his own books; then the haggard mask of imbecility (his brotherā€™s phrase) slipping over his face; then the deathbed visions and panics, and all night long the rasping breaths that sounded (his brotherā€™s wo...

Sandhill Cranes in Michigan

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Julian Barnes: Flaubert's Parrot

We no longer believe that language and reality ā€˜match upā€™ so congruently ā€“ indeed, we probably think that words give birth to things as much as things give birth to words.