Follow Harriet on Twitter

About Harriet


Author Archive

Russell Monk: His Camera, His Neighbors and My Words September 30, 2013: Someone who knows something. Someone who has neighbors. No one knows who lives next door. No one knows who the other is. The more we know, the less we know of ourselves. The philosophical exploration [...] by

Zurita’s 7 Night Boatmen September 27, 2013: Third Movement (The Survivor) for Raúl Zurita * * * 1. I wrote the poem “Third Movement (The Survivor)” in my apartment in Brooklyn, on Franklin St. Zurita was living in Boston then where he [...] by

Zurita and Cormac: The Story of Our American, Sentimental Education September 24, 2013: Now as I’ve started writing there is a persistent light rain falling, known as the chipi-chipi, under the stone arches and on the black slab and large avocado from a Mexican garden, sitting on the [...] by

Once Is Enough: Zurita Paints the Entire Sea from a Drop of Dye September 19, 2013: Like a tree with hundreds of branches and thousands of leaves that comes from a tiny seed and through overuse becomes The Example, we can’t avoid amazement when we find something that is numerous [...] by

A Leopard Never Changes Its Spots: On Zurita and Memory September 16, 2013: The expression “genio y figura hasta la sepultura,” in Spanish (here translated as “a leopard never changes its spots,” and equivalent to the expression “genius and character from cradle to [...] by

What Is Urgent Poetry? 5 Poets Respond September 12, 2013: Again and again you come across terms that define the poetry of this or that poet. For my own work, they often say, “hers is an urgent poetry.” I’m trying to find out if there exists a [...] by

From a ‘Corrido’ to Pink Floyd: Zurita’s ‘Kurosawa 356’ September 9, 2013: Zurita came back from a trip to Vienna, where he read and visited Erick Hackel (the marvelous Viennese novelist who has depicted the violence of Latin American dictatorships like few Latinos have) [...] by

Zurita and the Snowman September 3, 2013: Late last night, on the phone, a dear friend told me “a poem is something produced through the poet.” Each of us hung up, in our distant cities, with this idea in mind. She said she called to [...] by