Radical publisher Verso Books celebrates its fifty-year anniversary this year, and it could scarcely be more timely.
Well, we made it through winter, Pacific NW friends. It isn't the Spring we were expecting, but nevertheless, May is here! Hopefully everyone has been able to enjoy the changing weather as much as possible. If you’ve been stuck indoors more than you prefer to be this Spring, here are some unrelated books with flowers on the cover to bring the Spring inside.
There was a time when I would, fairly frequently, go to see concerts alone. I lived more than an hour from Seattle then, but I would duck out of work early on a Friday and drive to see whoever was in town. I had just gone through the breakup of a long-term relationship, and was experiencing the very specific mix of scrutiny and isolation that comes, in the wake of such a thing, in a town still small enough somehow for people to know you.
I have dabbled in reading the Tarot for the last 8 years or so. I was attracted to the images long before someone first gave me a reading, but I was afraid that my very practical community would ridicule me for believing in the unseen. It took a couple bad relationships for me to get to know myself and accept my witchy tendencies. It took a growing emptiness inside of me to realize that I needed to go deeper than "face value" with the cards.
As I process these internet orders for you, I miss the interactions that might have been. I miss my coworkers, all of them. I understand how privileged I am to be working from home at this juncture. And it's hard to grapple with the guilt of being one of the lucky ones, when we are on different sides of the same coin and nothing is perfect.
April is National Poetry Month, and it fell this year on a historic moment both for having time to read and a need for the consolation and guidance of politically engaged verse. We live in interesting times: with a pandemic threatening and taking the lives of people all across the world, when our leaders and institutions have never seemed less adequate or less legitimate, the future of society itself seems to be in doubt. Now is not the time for light, or gentle, or confessional poetry of individual feelings, but for witnesses to history.