"Exile is strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and a native place, between the self and its true home: its essential sadness can never be surmounted. And while it is true that literature and history contain heroic, romantic, glorious, even triumphant episodes in an exile’s life, these are no more than efforts meant to overcome the crippling sorrow of estrangement. The achievements of exile are permanently undermined by the loss of something left behind for ever."
"I loved that book because I felt alone. I loved that book because, in the work of reading it, I felt a sense of purpose that helped me cope with feeling alone. I loved it because I thought the title was about me, and I loved it — as I read it — because the story, one of strangeness and tragedy, made my own sense of strangeness and tragedy feel like things in communion with the strangeness and tragedy of other lives. There has always been and — I hope — will always be a haunting feeling I get at the heart of me, like someone turning a knob into the windowless door of my soul, when I read a book that feels not just spoken to me, but spoken out of me. A book that makes me feel like the way that the light shines in my world is the same as the way it shines in yours."
Feeling strangely hopeful today after reading your post. Thank you.
Nov 6, 2023·edited Nov 6, 2023Liked by Devin Kelly
I second your take on the Poetry Foundation's craven self-censorship. (In fact, I cancelled my subscription to Poetry in 2020, when Michael Dickman's "Scholls Ferry Rd." was removed from the website and Don Share was forced out as editor.) And I appreciate the craft and subtle turns of mind that grace all your meditations. In this one--beautifully written, as always--I do not accept your framing of recent and historical events. But let us agree on what we can, which certainly includes the lamentable fact of suffering in Gaza.
"Exile is strangely compelling to think about but terrible to experience. It is the unhealable rift forced between a human being and a native place, between the self and its true home: its essential sadness can never be surmounted. And while it is true that literature and history contain heroic, romantic, glorious, even triumphant episodes in an exile’s life, these are no more than efforts meant to overcome the crippling sorrow of estrangement. The achievements of exile are permanently undermined by the loss of something left behind for ever."
"I loved that book because I felt alone. I loved that book because, in the work of reading it, I felt a sense of purpose that helped me cope with feeling alone. I loved it because I thought the title was about me, and I loved it — as I read it — because the story, one of strangeness and tragedy, made my own sense of strangeness and tragedy feel like things in communion with the strangeness and tragedy of other lives. There has always been and — I hope — will always be a haunting feeling I get at the heart of me, like someone turning a knob into the windowless door of my soul, when I read a book that feels not just spoken to me, but spoken out of me. A book that makes me feel like the way that the light shines in my world is the same as the way it shines in yours."
Feeling strangely hopeful today after reading your post. Thank you.
Devin, Your students are lucky to have you as a teacher. D
I second your take on the Poetry Foundation's craven self-censorship. (In fact, I cancelled my subscription to Poetry in 2020, when Michael Dickman's "Scholls Ferry Rd." was removed from the website and Don Share was forced out as editor.) And I appreciate the craft and subtle turns of mind that grace all your meditations. In this one--beautifully written, as always--I do not accept your framing of recent and historical events. But let us agree on what we can, which certainly includes the lamentable fact of suffering in Gaza.
Appreciate you reading, and appreciate your hope. Thank you!