Posts Tagged ‘Jean Morris’


May 29, 2012 3 comments
Categories: Imitation Tags:


February 28, 2012 3 comments
Categories: Imitation Tags:


February 13, 2012 7 comments
Categories: Imitation Tags:


December 4, 2007 3 comments
Categories: Insecta Tags:


June 5, 2007 2 comments

From this too, May 14, 2006


The Capoeiristas were in Trafalgar Square when we came out of the National Gallery on the first day of wrinkled teeshirts and bare arms blinking in the sunshine and temptation to idleness. Young and multi-ethnic, enviably limber and energetic, they stood round in a circle drumming while two and two and two came forward to perform their teasing acrobatic duets. We watched them for a long time, lulled by warmth and flesh and rhythm, drawn into the shapes and patterns of their strength and playfulness.









by Jean Morris

Categories: Greatest Blog Hits Tags:

Ekphrasis 1: Jean + Teju Cole

March 13, 2007 4 comments

Man in Tunnel

by Jean Morris of this too


Traveling Mercies

Let the sieving-out

of what is possible

from what has been

given, the work of

naming the touchable,

the not-knowing,

the staying imperfectly

still, the question

that comes at 2am

and won’t stop ringing

the doorbell to the brain,

the being journeyed

through, the trembling

in the spinal-cord,

the walking with a limp,

the understanding that

passes all peace,

the half-light after too

long a light, the end

of unceasing renovation,

the shadow life, continue.

by Teju Cole

Categories: Ekphrasis Tags: ,

Tube Exit

January 22, 2007 3 comments
Categories: Come Outside Tags:

Early Learning

December 11, 2006 7 comments

I was Primus,

your first shock,
first intellectual,
first seduction by
the power of mind.

Your first big mistake,
first adultery,
first hand-to-hand combat,

I brought us to
your first door slammed
leaving more than
half yourself behind.

by Jean Morris of this too

Categories: First Time Tags:


July 4, 2006 8 comments

One hot night he fled, crashing the front door behind him. It opened at once and the mad, spiky silhouette of his mother, ashamed to come out in her curlers, yelled: “I hope the bogey man gets you!” He ran the length of their road, maybe a mile. He was nine, small and skinny and no athlete. At the corner he stopped, gasping, and sat for a while on the curb-stone wondering where he could go. Nowhere. So he got up and his body walked back, but his mind never went home. He’s been trying ever since to reunite them.

by Jean Morris of This Too

Categories: Short Shorts Tags:
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