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Search results for tag #literature

[?]BookShelves eBook Reader » 🌐
@getbookshelves@mastodon.social

📅 This Day in Literature — June 5

Published on this day: Frankenstein concept (1816)

Mary Shelley, 18 years old, dreamed the story during a stormy night at Lake Geneva.

lk0.eu/bks713m

    [?]North Sea Armed Forces Lodge » 🌐
    @North_Sea_829@norden.social

    Opposition to Freemasonry in the United States became strong enough by 1830 that 124 of the 983 registered newspapers in the country were recorded as being anti-freemason. Of those 46 were in New York and 53 in Pennsylvania.

      [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
      @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

      Metropolitan Stories by Christine Coulson

      For Philippe de Montebello, Director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art from 1977-2008 And for all the extraordinary people who have devoted their lives to our beloved museum You are my heroes.

      Alt...For Philippe de Montebello, Director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art from 1977-2008 And for all the extraordinary people who have devoted their lives to our beloved museum You are my heroes.

        [?]Isaac Asimov » 🤖 🌐
        @CuratedAsimov@mastodon.social

        "In the world of today can there be peace anywhere until there is peace everywhere?"

          [?]Aethelflaed » 🌐
          @Aethelflaed@mstdn.social


          A news columnist has declared that hardback books should be scrapped. He argues that they are a waste of money and that patience will allow the purchase of a paperback version which will be released at a later date. A 2nd hand book dealer tends to agree stating that it is only hardback 1st editions that people want to buy. It is argued that hardbacks are heavy, especially for older readers. Though some like them as a coffee table book. bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c9weyr

            [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
            @scotlit@mastodon.scot

            I keep the heid. I’m cool.
            If asked – but you never ask –
            I’d answer in tongues
            hinting of linns, of Leven,
            Nethan, Kelvin, Cart –
            but neutral, balancing
            both banks equally as I flow…

            —Kathleen Jamie, “What the Clyde said, after COP26”

            Today, 5 June, is World Environment Day

            What the Clyde said, after COP26 Kathleen Jamie I keep the heid. I’m cool. If asked – but you never ask – I’d answer in tongues hinting of linns, of Leven, Nethan, Kelvin, Cart – but neutral, balancing both banks equally as I flow . . . Do I judge? I mind the hammer-swing, the welders’ flash, the heavy steel-built hulls I bore downstream from my city, and maybe I was a blether-skite then, a wee bit full of myself, when we seemed gey near unstoppable . . . But how can I stomach any more of these storm rains? How can I slip quietly away to meet my lover, the wide-armed Ocean, knowing I’m a poisoned chalice she must drain, drinking everything you chuck away . . . So these days, I’m a listener, aye. Think of me as a long level liquid ear gliding slowly by. I heard the world’s words, the pleas of peoples born where my ships once sailed, I heard the beautiful promises . . . and, sure, I’m a river, but I can take a side. From this day, I’d rather keep afloat, like wee folded paper boats, the hopes of the young folk chanting at my bank, fear in their spring-bright eyes so hear this: fail them, and I will rise.

            Alt...What the Clyde said, after COP26 Kathleen Jamie I keep the heid. I’m cool. If asked – but you never ask – I’d answer in tongues hinting of linns, of Leven, Nethan, Kelvin, Cart – but neutral, balancing both banks equally as I flow . . . Do I judge? I mind the hammer-swing, the welders’ flash, the heavy steel-built hulls I bore downstream from my city, and maybe I was a blether-skite then, a wee bit full of myself, when we seemed gey near unstoppable . . . But how can I stomach any more of these storm rains? How can I slip quietly away to meet my lover, the wide-armed Ocean, knowing I’m a poisoned chalice she must drain, drinking everything you chuck away . . . So these days, I’m a listener, aye. Think of me as a long level liquid ear gliding slowly by. I heard the world’s words, the pleas of peoples born where my ships once sailed, I heard the beautiful promises . . . and, sure, I’m a river, but I can take a side. From this day, I’d rather keep afloat, like wee folded paper boats, the hopes of the young folk chanting at my bank, fear in their spring-bright eyes so hear this: fail them, and I will rise.

              [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
              @scotlit@mastodon.scot

              It’s not the crack you expect.
              It’s more a soft whump,
              then an elegant leaving, like
              a grand piano dropped
              from a silent-movie window…

              —Karen Ashe, “The Sound of an Iceberg Calving”
              published in SOUND OF AN ICEBERG: New Writing Scotland 37 (2019)

              asls.org.uk/publications/books

              Karen Ashe The Sound of an Iceberg Calving It’s not the crack you expect. It’s more a soft whump, then an elegant leaving, like a grand piano dropped from a silent-movie window, a slow-motion school bus over a soap-opera cliff, Falling Man falling forever on prime-time news then the kettle clicks to a rapid boil as a small finger presses a button, the screen flickers and blurs, and the iceberg is replaced by slimming ads and payday loans, super-fast fibre-optic wifi, high-speed trains, and the tea bleeds into the water and milk delivered unseen in early hours from cows in distant misty pastures stays fresh for nine days in fat plastic bottles that go in the recycling and the baby shudders inside half a month from completion and the buy-now-pay-later sofa is wobbly in the leg already and the interest-free 42-inch telly is frozen on an ad for wonga.com and the dunked biscuit dissolves in the tea in the time it takes to change channels and in some faraway dark cold country of slavering bears and wandering herdsmen the iceberg is still calving.

              Alt...Karen Ashe The Sound of an Iceberg Calving It’s not the crack you expect. It’s more a soft whump, then an elegant leaving, like a grand piano dropped from a silent-movie window, a slow-motion school bus over a soap-opera cliff, Falling Man falling forever on prime-time news then the kettle clicks to a rapid boil as a small finger presses a button, the screen flickers and blurs, and the iceberg is replaced by slimming ads and payday loans, super-fast fibre-optic wifi, high-speed trains, and the tea bleeds into the water and milk delivered unseen in early hours from cows in distant misty pastures stays fresh for nine days in fat plastic bottles that go in the recycling and the baby shudders inside half a month from completion and the buy-now-pay-later sofa is wobbly in the leg already and the interest-free 42-inch telly is frozen on an ad for wonga.com and the dunked biscuit dissolves in the tea in the time it takes to change channels and in some faraway dark cold country of slavering bears and wandering herdsmen the iceberg is still calving.

                [?]Assoc for Scottish Literature » 🌐
                @scotlit@mastodon.scot

                dear small daughter for a long time I did not write
                what had already become past-tense was past-tense
                and I am sorry I was not able to hold it as one might
                in a dream hold a stream of water and sing it to sleep…

                —Sheila Black, “Climate (7) (Past Tense)”
                published in BREAK IN CASE OF SILENCE: New Writing Scotland 39 (2021)

                asls.org.uk/publications/books

                Sheila Black Climate (7) (Past Tense) dear small daughter for a long time I did not write what had already become past-tense was past-tense and I am sorry I was not able to hold it as one might in a dream hold a stream of water and sing it to sleep and I am sorry that I told you this image as if it were in truth perdurable plangent and constant moon over our seas when it is the shifting that matters. dear small the birds the mockingbirds they sang in the middle of the night and for this we cursed them but then we came upon their nests in the black of day noon when the sun is a diamond burning through however much blue and the two of them circled so tirelessly with their wings fanning the turquoise eggs inside the nest of dead grass and we understood we were not the only ones but even this could not stop us from doing as we had done all our lives long and the cars we pulled out of driveways and the highways that took us into the buzzing electric of buildings poured in dense concrete and the cooling chemicals seeping and cycling as though through calm artificial hearts and outside unnoticed the ghost-blue of juniper needle and berry and the ghost-rising of smoke from the fires we claimed we had not set. dear daughter now that we must use the past-tense for what we thought was ours now as we move into the possible distance I open my hand to give you this picture of two wings.

                Alt...Sheila Black Climate (7) (Past Tense) dear small daughter for a long time I did not write what had already become past-tense was past-tense and I am sorry I was not able to hold it as one might in a dream hold a stream of water and sing it to sleep and I am sorry that I told you this image as if it were in truth perdurable plangent and constant moon over our seas when it is the shifting that matters. dear small the birds the mockingbirds they sang in the middle of the night and for this we cursed them but then we came upon their nests in the black of day noon when the sun is a diamond burning through however much blue and the two of them circled so tirelessly with their wings fanning the turquoise eggs inside the nest of dead grass and we understood we were not the only ones but even this could not stop us from doing as we had done all our lives long and the cars we pulled out of driveways and the highways that took us into the buzzing electric of buildings poured in dense concrete and the cooling chemicals seeping and cycling as though through calm artificial hearts and outside unnoticed the ghost-blue of juniper needle and berry and the ghost-rising of smoke from the fires we claimed we had not set. dear daughter now that we must use the past-tense for what we thought was ours now as we move into the possible distance I open my hand to give you this picture of two wings.

                  [?]The Vulgar Tongue » 🤖 🌐
                  @TheVulgarTongue@zirk.us

                  NUMBSCULL. A stupid fellow.

                  A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                  --
                  @histodons

                  Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot): NUMBSCULL. A stupid fellow. A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                  Alt...Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot): NUMBSCULL. A stupid fellow. A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                    [?]Project Gutenberg » 🌐
                    @gutenberg_org@mastodon.social

                    Adding Wimsey to My Life

                    How I fell in love with a fictional detective

                    theamericanscholar.org/adding-

                    Books by Dorothy L. Sayers at PG:

                    gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/45

                    Photograph of a person sitting in the grass and leaning against a tree trunk. Their back is to the camera. There are wearing a black shirt with white stripes, and there is a straw hat with a black band and a colorful blanket on their lap. In their hands is an open book which they appear to be reading.

                    Alt...Photograph of a person sitting in the grass and leaning against a tree trunk. Their back is to the camera. There are wearing a black shirt with white stripes, and there is a straw hat with a black band and a colorful blanket on their lap. In their hands is an open book which they appear to be reading.

                      [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
                      @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

                      Happiness: A Memoir: The Crooked Little Road to Semi-Ever After by Heather Harpham

                      For my mother, Jessica Flynn, artist of loving kindness

                      Alt...For my mother, Jessica Flynn, artist of loving kindness

                        [?]Revista Almiar » 🌐
                        @margencero@pixelfed.social

                        👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻 «Juana», relato por Paula Villanueva Rabotnikof
                        👉 https://margencero.es/margencero/juana-relato-paula-villanueva-rabotnikof/
                        🕰️ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 12 min
                        📌 #relato #cuento #cuentos #literatura #literaturaactual #narrativas #ficciones #revistaalmiar #revistasdeliteratura #margencero #lector #lectores #ytúquélees #almiar #cultura #lecturas #lecturasrecomendadas #books #writing #literature #humanities

                        ✍️ Un sonido de infancia vuelve a mí: no sé si lo sueño o es real... 👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻 «Juana», relato por Paula Villanueva Rabotnikof 👉 https://margencero.es/margencero/juana-relato-paula-villanueva-rabotnikof/

                        Alt...✍️ Un sonido de infancia vuelve a mí: no sé si lo sueño o es real... 👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻 «Juana», relato por Paula Villanueva Rabotnikof 👉 https://margencero.es/margencero/juana-relato-paula-villanueva-rabotnikof/

                        [?]Revista Almiar » 🌐
                        @margencero@pixelfed.social

                        ✍️ En el noir, la ciudad rara vez es un decorado. No está ahí solo para que un cadáver aparezca en un callejón. La ciudad, en el noir, participa...
                        🏮 «La ciudad que encubre: el noir como memoria moral de la violencia», ensayo por Roberto R. Díaz Blanco
                        👀 https://margencero.es/margencero/el-noir-como-memoria-roberto-diaz-blanco/
                        ⌚ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 8 min
                        🔖 #literatura #literaturaactual #narrativas #ficciones #revistaalmiar #revistasdeliteratura #margencero #lector #lectores #ytúquélees #almiar #cultura #lecturas #lecturasrecomendadas #writing #literature #humanities #noir

                        ✍️ En el noir, la ciudad rara vez es un decorado. No está ahí solo para que un cadáver aparezca en un callejón. La ciudad, en el noir, participa... 🏮 «La ciudad que encubre: el noir como memoria moral de la violencia», ensayo por Roberto R. Díaz Blanco 👀 https://margencero.es/margencero/el-noir-como-memoria-roberto-diaz-blanco/

                        Alt...✍️ En el noir, la ciudad rara vez es un decorado. No está ahí solo para que un cadáver aparezca en un callejón. La ciudad, en el noir, participa... 🏮 «La ciudad que encubre: el noir como memoria moral de la violencia», ensayo por Roberto R. Díaz Blanco 👀 https://margencero.es/margencero/el-noir-como-memoria-roberto-diaz-blanco/

                        [?]Revista Almiar » 🌐
                        @margencero@mastodon.social

                        👀 En el noir, la ciudad rara vez es un decorado. No está ahí solo para que un cadáver aparezca en un callejón. La ciudad, en el noir, participa...
                        🏮 «La ciudad que encubre: el noir como memoria moral de la violencia», ensayo por Roberto R. Díaz Blanco
                        👀 margencero.es/margencero/el-no
                        ⌚ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 8 min
                        🔖

                        En el noir, la ciudad rara vez es un decorado. No está ahí solo para que un cadáver aparezca en un callejón. La ciudad, en el noir, participa... 🏮 «La ciudad que encubre: el noir como memoria moral de la violencia», ensayo por Roberto R. Díaz Blanco 👀 https://margencero.es/margencero/el-noir-como-memoria-roberto-diaz-blanco/ ⌚ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 8 min

                        Alt... En el noir, la ciudad rara vez es un decorado. No está ahí solo para que un cadáver aparezca en un callejón. La ciudad, en el noir, participa... 🏮 «La ciudad que encubre: el noir como memoria moral de la violencia», ensayo por Roberto R. Díaz Blanco 👀 https://margencero.es/margencero/el-noir-como-memoria-roberto-diaz-blanco/ ⌚ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 8 min

                        [?]Revista Almiar » 🌐
                        @margencero@mastodon.social

                        ✍️ Un sonido de infancia vuelve a mí: no sé si lo sueño o es real...
                        👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻 «Juana», relato por Paula Villanueva Rabotnikof
                        👉 margencero.es/margencero/juana
                        🕰️ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 12 min
                        📌

                        Un sonido de infancia vuelve a mí: no sé si lo sueño o es real... 👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻 «Juana», relato por Paula Villanueva Rabotnikof 👉 https://margencero.es/margencero/juana-relato-paula-villanueva-rabotnikof/ 🕰️ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 12 min

                        Alt... Un sonido de infancia vuelve a mí: no sé si lo sueño o es real... 👩🏻‍❤️‍👨🏻 «Juana», relato por Paula Villanueva Rabotnikof 👉 https://margencero.es/margencero/juana-relato-paula-villanueva-rabotnikof/ 🕰️ Tiempo aprox. de lectura: 12 min

                        [?]Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga » 🌐
                        @siradramelekallighieri@mastodon.social

                        Invasión de plenilunios. Poema de Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga. Sus poemas en su voz.

                        [?]Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga » 🌐
                        @siradramelekallighieri@mastodon.social

                        Nocturnal Eros. Poem by Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga. His poems in his own voice.

                        [?]Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga » 🌐
                        @siradramelekallighieri@mastodon.social

                        Erostática nocturna. Poema de Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga. Sus poemas en su voz.

                        [?]Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga » 🌐
                        @siradramelekallighieri@mastodon.social

                        When The Requiem Drowns Us. Poem by Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga. His poems in his own voice.

                        [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
                        @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

                        Sweet and Deadly: How Coca-Cola Spreads Disinformation and Makes Us Sick by Murray Carpenter

                        This book is dedicated to the scientists, doctors, and nurses working to understand chronic disease and protect human health. And to all Americans, who deserve to get the facts to support their health, unfettered by corporate disinformation.

                        Alt...This book is dedicated to the scientists, doctors, and nurses working to understand chronic disease and protect human health. And to all Americans, who deserve to get the facts to support their health, unfettered by corporate disinformation.

                          [?]Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga » 🌐
                          @siradramelekallighieri@mastodon.social

                          Cuando el réquiem nos anegue. Poema de Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga. Sus poemas en su voz.

                          [?]Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga » 🌐
                          @siradramelekallighieri@mastodon.social

                          Invasion Of Full Moons. Poem by Rolando Enrique Rosales Murga. His poems in his own voice.

                          [?]Isaac Asimov » 🤖 🌐
                          @CuratedAsimov@mastodon.social

                          "Generals are usually a conservative force who can be relied on to oppose social change."

                            [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                            @fictograma@mastodon.social

                            Mientras Shin y su contraparte intentan salir de la atmósfera, el universo les demuestra que la guerra está lejos de terminar. El espacio tiembla y una apertura en el cielo...
                            fictograma.com/d/3113-los-viaj

                              [?]Project Gutenberg » 🌐
                              @gutenberg_org@mastodon.social

                              5 literary classics that grapple with the void of nihilism

                              From mysterious villages to absurdism at the gallows, these books explore the origins, consequences, and possible responses to nihilism.

                              by Scotty Hendricks

                              bigthink.com/books/literary-cl

                              Some of these classics are available at PG:
                              gutenberg.org/ebooks/1998
                              gutenberg.org/ebooks/600
                              gutenberg.org/ebooks/75011

                              "All Quiet on the Western Front" — early edition cover of Erich Maria Remarque's 1929 anti-war novel. Plain olive-green cloth binding with simple Gothic lettering — austere design matching the book's unflinching portrayal of WWI trench warfare. https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/75011/pg75011-images.html

                              Alt..."All Quiet on the Western Front" — early edition cover of Erich Maria Remarque's 1929 anti-war novel. Plain olive-green cloth binding with simple Gothic lettering — austere design matching the book's unflinching portrayal of WWI trench warfare. https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/75011/pg75011-images.html

                                [?]Isaac Asimov » 🤖 🌐
                                @CuratedAsimov@mastodon.social

                                "Often, writers on historical events tend to consider ... a loss of willingness to fight as a sign of "decadence," as though there were something despicable about not being a bully and not being willing to engage in mass murder. Perhaps we ought to feel instead that to cease to be warlike means to begin to be civilized and decent."

                                  [?]Book dedications bot » 🤖 🌐
                                  @dedication_bot@stefanbohacek.online

                                  100 Rules for Living to 100: An Optimist's Guide to a Happy Life by Dick Van Dyke

                                  To my beautiful wife, Arlene, who edited this book and made my life paradise.

                                  Alt...To my beautiful wife, Arlene, who edited this book and made my life paradise.

                                    [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                    @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                    Cuando la ficción cobra vida y el terror se vuelve tangible. Alejandro descubre que el asesino más despiadado que ha creado no solo vive en sus páginas... ahora está en su habitación. 📖✍️
                                    fictograma.com/d/3109-punto-y-

                                      [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                      @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                      Tres generaciones, 300 años de longevidad y un secreto: Cleo, la matriarca humana de la dinastía que gobierna a los alienígenas nim, decide abandonar su nuevo planeta y regresar a la Tierra. ¿Su misión?
                                      fictograma.com/d/3110-la-presi

                                        [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                        @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                        Naciones Unidas discute sobre guerras planetarias mientras los barrios periféricos se hunden en la mierda y la falta de luz. Teo acaba de gastar su último billete... y el grupo terrorista Pueblo Defensor llama a su puerta.
                                        fictograma.com/d/3111-la-presi

                                          [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                          @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                          Detente. El agotamiento es un lente sucio que te hace creer que el camino no vale la pena solo porque hoy te duelen las piernas. No confundas una pausa obligatoria con un punto final.
                                          fictograma.com/d/3112-codigo-d

                                            [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                            @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                            Nada explota y todo sigue igual. Mi letra se empequeñece ante tu mirada, colapsando como aquello que inevitablemente colapsa.
                                            fictograma.com/d/3103-los-send

                                              [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                              @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                              Ruge el otoño con garras doradas, arrastrando el fulgor de un ayer consumido. Pero en cada ceniza descansa la promesa...
                                              fictograma.com/d/3105-ha-pleni
                                              fictograma.com/d/3106-ha-plenitud-de-las-garras-del-ocre-ii-versos-apocrifos

                                                [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                                @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                                "Lo que el tiempo no se llevó" es una historia sobre los sueños, las despedidas y esa extraña nostalgia de volver a encontrarse con uno mismo años después.
                                                fictograma.com/d/3107-lo-que-e

                                                  [?]Fictograma.com » 🌐
                                                  @fictograma@mastodon.social

                                                  Todo comenzó con un árbol sagrado en una isla oculta por la niebla y un barco mítico, El Navegante, condenado por su propia madera. Un secreto familiar que despierta con el sonido de una guitarra única
                                                  fictograma.com/d/3108-el-templ

                                                    [?]The Vulgar Tongue » 🤖 🌐
                                                    @TheVulgarTongue@zirk.us

                                                    FIDDLERS MONEY. All sixpences: sixpence being the usual sum paid by each couple, for music at country wakes and hops. Fiddler's fare; meat, drink, and money. Fiddler's pay; thanks and wine.

                                                    A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                                                    --
                                                    @histodons

                                                    Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot): FIDDLERS MONEY. All sixpences: sixpence being the usual sum paid by each couple, for music at country wakes and hops. Fiddler's fare; meat, drink, and money. Fiddler's pay; thanks and wine. A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

                                                    Alt...Image imitating a page from an old document, text (as in main toot): FIDDLERS MONEY. All sixpences: sixpence being the usual sum paid by each couple, for music at country wakes and hops. Fiddler's fare; meat, drink, and money. Fiddler's pay; thanks and wine. A selection from Francis Grose’s “Dictionary Of The Vulgar Tongue” (1785)

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