What I’m Reading:

Summer dilates time. It has a way of taking foreeeever to get here, and once it arrives it seems like there’s months and months ahead of you, and enough time to do all the things you dreamed of. Then you blink… and it’s almost August.

I don’t think I’ll never get the hang of it.

— Paul Theriault / Brookline Booksmith Newsletter

Memorable Stuff I Read This Week

Like thunder, I’m a foreign-borne cloud that’s
drifted here, I’m lightning, and the balm of rain.
Como tú, our blood rains for the dirty thirst of this land. Like thirst, like hunger, we ache with the need to save ourselves, and our country from itself.

— Richard Blanco / “Como Tú / Like You / Like Me” / How To Love A Country

In part because their stories deemed their God the one “true” God, Christians believed that they were given the right to spread the word of God wherever they found nonbelievers. But there was more than spirituality at play: there was land, and the wealth it could bring. Christian nations acted based on a belief in their right to “discover” and claim any land, as long as they converted — read “saved” — those living on it.

— Tanya Talaga / The Knowing: How the Oppression of Indigenous Peoples Continues to Echo Today — A Native American History and Canadian Memoir of Intergenerational Trauma

The dead eyes of the iguanas, keeping vigil… will never / see the asteroid of their extinction…

— Martin Espada / “The Iguanas Skitter Through The Cemetery By The Sea” / Jailbreak of Sparrows

Climate scientists say the extreme weather ravaging the world is in line with what models have long predicted, though some disasters appear to be striking earlier and with more strength than expected. The underlying relationship between fossil fuel pollution and global temperatures was well known even to oil companies, who were at the forefront of corporate efforts to stymie action to cut pollution, as far back as the 1970s . . . “What people are not getting is that we can’t turn this back – the CO2 to a large part remains in the air for thousands of years,” said Rahmstorf. “Some people think we can wait and, when it gets too bad, then we reduce emissions and things will get better again. People don’t realise that we can’t make it get better again. We can only prevent it from getting much worse.”

— Ajit Niranjan / “‘We can’t make it better again’: what Europe’s wildfires tell us about the climate crisis” / The Guardian

Even the caged, tame goat can dream
of a distant mountain, inclines mauve
from the blossom of heather smelling
sweeter than any bagged feed; memories
of a mountain he has never been near,
moving from gene to gene like the yellow
of an eye or the kink in course white hair.

— Patrick Cotter / “Goat Dreaming”

Air conditioners are one option to keep people cool during increasingly frequent and intense heatwaves, but the technology has too many drawbacks to be the sole solution, say scientists. Instead, materials that are designed to passively cool buildings could be the way forward, they suggest. Materials that are layered, contain bubbles and air pockets or combine radiative cooling with evaporation could achieve the same effect as air conditioning without using energy, says architecture researcher Matthaios Santamouris. But many of these materials are still in prototype stages, and would require policies to encourage their use.

— Jacob Smith / “The alternatives to air conditioning” / Nature Briefing

He hates his neighbors’ flowers, claims his
are redder, bluer, whiter than theirs, believes
his bees work harder, his soil richer, blacker.
He hears birds sing sweeter in his trees, taller
and fuller, too, but not enough to screen out
the nameless faces next door that he calls
liars, thieves who’d steal his juicier fruit, kill
for his wetter rain and brighter sun.

— Richard Blanco / “Dreaming A Wall” / How To Love A Country

What I’m Listening To:

God, Zeus, Allah, Buddha
Bob Dylan on a motor scooter

Allah, Buddha, God, Zeus
Gotta get me a red caboose

— Butthole Surfers / “Mexico”

swash papaya (redux)

a swash papaya rolls gently onto my toes—
desolate place this—
oil sheens in eddies on sand once white
just what is that color now?
the swash papaya inedible
soft and blackened on its equator—
equality evanesces much like a savage republic
replaces what it once paid lip service
this swash papaya will never touch my lips
as otiose as an indian summer
when everyday is hotter than the next
this island is thee heatdome
swash papaya rots—
oiled and poisoned—
i eat air
no sustenance here

What I’m Reading:

Death alone
takes what is left
without protest, criticism
or a demand for more
than one can give
who can give
no more than was given:
doesn’t even ask,
but accepts it as it is,
without examination,
valuation,
or comparison.

— Alfred Kreymborg / “Dirge”

Jailbreak of Sorrows (“I Had Me A Wife, I Had Me Some Daughters”)

Massive heat dome come
Down on me — I’ve run myself
Ragged — nobody knows
What I’ve done to my family.

As the Fata Morganas shimmered away —
I dug a hole as big as could be
Dropped them in, one by one,
In the dark maw of atavistic iniquity.

Released to the night crawlers —
Oh, Lord, please, let them take root
By the leprous shagbark hickory —
I did unto them as they unto me.

In the dead of the morning
When the tree glowers over me
I’m gonna hang myself
On that gnarled branch

Of the family tree.

What I’m Reading:

Firefighters in Oregon and now France are battling wildfires big enough to generate spectacular, dangerous pyrocumulonimbus clouds (pyroCbs) — huge storm clouds that form in the hot updraft of big fires, generate wind and lightning, and exacerbate dangerous conditions. These fire storms also loft smoke into the stratosphere, where it can spread more readily around the globe, eat away at Earth’s protective ozone layer and influence weather and climate. That’s why scientists have just launched an airborne mission to observe these rare storms like never before, using a specially modified jet and a high-altitude NASA plane.

— Flora Graham / “Fire-chasers take to the sky” / Nature Briefing

the kludge

• the sun is a dayglo disc . . .

take a cudgel to the kludge
frou frou in the bijou •

What I’m Reading:

In little-noticed court documents, federal officials acknowledged this month that they had terminated the funding “based solely” on political criteria, targeting projects in states that were represented by Democrats and had voted for Kamala Harris, the party’s presidential nominee, in the 2024 election.

The admission showed how President Trump has weaponized the provision of federal education, energy, health, housing and infrastructure aid in his second term. Far from rooting out the sort of misspending that Mr. Trump sees as rife in Washington, the White House has instead sought to leverage the budget as a tool to assist its allies — or as a cudgel to hurt the president’s foes.

— Tony Rumm & Brad Plummer / “Trump Administration Admits Canceling Grants to States That Did Not Vote for Him” / The New York Times

/ + (soy yo autoretrato) – / [redux]

I am the day’s encryption /
I am nylon whir on fetid skronk /
I am must + disequilibrium /
I am growth opportunity /
I am terror in the grass /
I am green bastion in silence /
I am the shock of slice before
sanguinary /
I am bloodlust /
I am carnivore.
I am chaos +
confusion.
I am /
eye.

What I’m Reading:

As they slept-the bikers and the cops, Uncle Sam and the Statue of Liberty,
the millionaire on his magic pillow-adolescents from Guatemala scalded
the killing floors at the slaughterhouse in Grand Island, Nebraska, their hoses
like snakes spewing rivers that bubbled in the steam. Around them, the blades
of skull splitters and bone saws waited for their fingers to slip, fangs lurking
in the murk of early morning, in the daze behind the goggles on the faces
of adolescents from Guatemala, sleeping the next day at Walnut Middle School,
shaken awake by teachers who spotted the acid burns on their hands.

— Martin Espada / “The Snake” / Jailbreak of Sparrows

the sensitive use of

stelae and sediments
rough as chip seal
rolled flat and torn up
what are you going to gain

why is she crying

not bad saving alkali balls
from demolition — devotion
and diminution — that’s depraved
pontificate in your jodhpurs

wail in your pith helmet

there’s something trapped
and spasmodic in the smoke tree
now taut — now frozen in time
unnatural — gone dark

throat tight — send help

What I’m Reading:

Clouds of dust settle on the coughing
neighboring houses—
their noses swollen by the heat
of the scorched air.
A girl passes by, sees the bleeding door, opens it.
A corpse lies beneath.
The earth weeps.

— Mosab Abu Toha / “Door on the Road”