Listen to Peter Balakian read this poem. Everything was tangled up in blue. Seeping glaze on the Delft jug,
liquefaction of the Virgin's silk
as it spread in Titian's cobalt
to a fleshy embrace and the green meadows
in the distance fade to hammered light.
Light we pulled into a string of glass
that seeped out of the long vibration
of Miles' Blue in Green
like slow time in the empty lot
after soot and rain and rush,
the Ferry out of sight,
my bones electric with the hum
of the cable of the Bridge at 3 a.m.
and the dying lights of the Bowery.
Bill Evans making the rain thin
to a beam of haze before the
horn comes back from underwater.
TODAY IN SLATE
Meet the New Bosses
How the Republicans would run the Senate.
The Government Is Giving Millions of Dollars in Electric-Car Subsidies to the Wrong Drivers
Scotland Is Just the Beginning. Expect More Political Earthquakes in Europe.
Cheez-Its. Ritz. Triscuits.
Why all cracker names sound alike.
Friends Was the Last Purely Pleasurable Sitcom
This Whimsical Driverless Car Imagines Transportation in 2059
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- Knife-Carrying White House Jumper is Vet who Feared “Atmosphere Was Collapsing”
- North Korea: American Sentenced to Hard Labor Wanted to Become “Second Snowden”
- Almost One in Four Americans Support Idea of Splitting From the Union
Did America Get Fat by Drinking Diet Soda?
A high-profile study points the finger at artificial sweeteners.