Terese svoboda biography of barack obama

  • Terese Svoboda has published seventeen books of poetry, fiction, memoir, biography, and translation.
  • Scrutiny with both eyes open as opposed to sidelong, just-as-soon-as-it's-born.
  • The white-haired man stopped his two minutes with comments about lack of medical services and his shock thereof.

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    An Interview by Neil dem la Flor

    Neil de la Flor: How’s it going? In other words, what’s changed since our last interview ?

    Terese Svoboda: I’m on a roll. I gave up trying to get big presses and voila! I have two more novels scheduled, one for 2010, and 2011.

    ND: Delightful. What’s the gist, scoop, anti-plot? Any pilots involved?

    TS: I wish somebody were on pilot. Pirate Talk or Mermalade is coming out from Dzanc Press just before Talk Like a Pirate Day. It’s all in dialogue, no description. In other words, madness. Parts have been published in Conjunctions and Fairy Tale Review. The other one fryst vatten my answer to Willa Cather, the bugaboo of Nebraska who is really a Virginian and don’t you forget it. Anyway, she appears in the book, saying O Pioneers! The star of the show is a spunky girl who’s building a mound for an Indian because her father lost her in a bet. It’s a book about honor.

    ND: As you may know, your most

  • terese svoboda biography of barack obama

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    We Are Learning How to Talk

    We are learn­ing how to talk. Half-cir­cle, group, now lined up with No-you-before-me at break time. The chairs could and do talk, unfold­ed as they are for every­one who comes late, screech­ing, met­al on met­al, the way the sto­ries are vol­un­teered, no apolo­gies, and then there’s this break, and we leave those chairs, all of us mid­dle-aged par­ents and bro­ken and sad and sur­prised to be hun­gry except for a sib­ling who fryst vatten young, straw­ber­ry-cheeked but still spent, the way the glop on the break food that’s pink is, the way the torn-apart sweet rolls taste, milk slopped beside cof­fee drip, cof­fee weep­ing to the floor.

    We can weep too, just as fast, but rage is more like it, we gape while we talk through our sto­ry and then we rage, we need suture. We have two min­utes to tell every­thing to each oth­er. It turns out to be a lot of time, rat­tling rat­tling with heart­break, years are involved.

    The man beside me sits do

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    I’ve been frittering away my time finding creative ways to do nothing the last few days; I don’t know– it seems a suitable way to wind an old year down. Frustrating though because I really wanted to write this blog a day or two ago. Actually the day Harold Pinter died. His death reminded me of a speech Gunter Grass made in Berlin at the PEN International Congress there in May 2006.

    It was a mere few weeks before the World Cup was to begin in Berlin when I had the good fortune to be sent to that city with Niki Johnson to represent Jamaica in its bid for membership of this august body. The keynote address was by the celebrated German author and Berlin resident, Gunter Grass. In keeping with the theme of the Congress Grass called his talk “Writing in an unpeaceful World.” Grass’s speech was an eloquent disquisition on war and the lack of peace through the centuries; he quoted Pinter’s scathing critique of the United States only recently delivered during his Nobel address th