Welcome to the first edition of The Bangalore Review Roundtable, where we discuss Indie Publishing & Bookselling in India. This session is moderated by Sucharita Dutta-Asane, Fiction Editor at The Bangalore Review.
Proximity to—and from—Bodies: The Civil War Poetry of Whitman & Dickinson
The author studies the seemingly dichotomous take on war in Walt Whitman's and Emily Dickinson's poetry; and argues for the congruency it attains underlining sufferings and deaths. Further, she notes the heavy usage of punctuations in Dickinson's war poetry and theorizes what it represents.
I imagined her soul, slipping into muted sleep,
slowing its swirl, dimming its spectrum of colors -
until like a photo, darkening to monochrome,
she would become the very depth
and quiet of her own shadow.
Fire slowly dims,
coal blackens, into night.
Prisoners could enroll in college courses and some even taught. The people of Alabama often formed remarkable friendships with the prisoners and gave them many gifts, as well as invitations to their homes for a meal. After the war, many Germans brought their families to vacation in the South and to introduce them to their southern friends. These friendships lasted for decades.
The thing about a lake is the crazy
men who fish there, in the copper-
hearted flow where cold springs
and greasy seaweed gather.
Shimmer. Buckle. Fish bodies
writhe beneath, more life
always where one can’t reach.
More life always where watching
is not allowed.
Mule carcasses give up ash. Thick and dark. It swirls and swells in the violet sky like a great murmuration. The screams of the mules have subsided, the air thick with the smell of their roasting meat. It is unbearable to these starving people.
They were not deer, such as the men had known in Virginia or
Vermont, but antelope whose haunches flashed when the heave
of portage brought the men too near. The men believed
they were something they needed to kill, not just for food
or for the pleasure of pursuit, but from a need to supplement,
In some ways, I hate what I do, though my feelings have never been distinct. It is more of an unease that creeps into my mind when I see my planet so far beneath me, and, surrounded by the boxes and boxes of products and resources that fill the storage space of my cable car...
And so, it seems it only takes one summer
without rain, a drift of weeks, the world
gone mean, to make a start then, offer age
assent. To give surprised consent, or to
at least – time bossy, brooking no dissent –
begin to know there is a change now
on its way. Not today. Not right away.
I watched with a sullen expression as she struggled to lift her right leg, gingerly rubbing the area of swollen flesh where I’d kicked her thigh. She placed delicate fingers along her bottom lip, still red and swollen from my punch of a few days ago.
I dream each night our house is burning,
and I watch and watch. It consumes,
I am consumed, by the pit in my gut, burning rubble. Spiders watch from the corners,
with their wide shining eyes, but do not spin a line to save me-
And so, the astronomer and the inquisitor pulled and tilled and spread and sowed until Emile’s backyard was one colossal labyrinth of garlic and radishes and roses and towering sunflowers that shaded the humble beds of lettuce and trumpeted the arrival of the spring winds.