The World Makes Liars Of Us All.

It's Not Just: You Get Off The Plane, You're Back Home, Everything's Fine. Maybe The Physical Danger Ends, But Soldiers Are Still Deeply At Risk Of Being Injured In A Different Way.

I Wanted Something That I Could Look Back On And Say, Yes, You Were Fighting Too, You Burned To Be Alive, And Whatever Failure Or Accident Of Nature Caused You To Be Killed Could Be Explained By Something Other Than The Fact That I'd Missed Your Giving Up.

Michael Koryta's Those Who Wish Me Dead Is An Absolutely Thrilling Read. I Read Most Of It With My Breath Held, Occasionally Exhaling To Ask Myself, 'what Will Happen Next?' I Highly Recommend It.

There's Something Immediate About The Experience Of Reading A Poem - Whether It's The Music Or Some Other Element Of It - That Just Seems To Access Another Part Of The Brain. You Know, Charles Olson Talks About This Transfer Of Energy That Happens Between The Writer And The Reader Of The Poem. I Guess There's Something Essential To Me About Acknowledging Upfront The Immensity Of It - The Difficulty Of It - And Even Allowing That To Be The Subject.

It Reminded Me Of Talking, How What Is Said Is Never Quite What Was Thought, And What Is Heard Is Never Quite What Was Said. It Wasn’t Much In The Way Of Comfort, But Everything Has A Little Failure In It, And We Still Make Do Somehow.