newsweek:

This is a photo taken by Olympic gold medalist Usain Bolt after a photographer gave the runner his camera. That, my friends, is what it looks like to have just won your race in front of an audience of thousands.
[Photo credit: Usain Bolt (how cool is that!?)]

newsweek:

This is a photo taken by Olympic gold medalist Usain Bolt after a photographer gave the runner his camera. That, my friends, is what it looks like to have just won your race in front of an audience of thousands.

[Photo credit: Usain Bolt (how cool is that!?)]


Aug 09
Women’s football Olympic final (Taken with Instagram)

Women’s football Olympic final (Taken with Instagram)


theparisreview:

Throughout the 2012 London Olympic Games, Kwame Dawes is writing verses for the Wall Street Journal that reflect on the previous day’s events. It’s an interesting way to interact with the Games.
The Gymnast
For Gabby, Kyla, Jordyn, McKayla, Aly
Years from now,
having lost the shape
of a hard-tutored body,
you will explain to those
who ask why your feet
bear the scars of the wounded,
you will say, “See these feet
are dancer’s feet—they are
the brutality of grace,
the ugliness of flight;
they remind us of the earth,
how it holds us to itself,
punishing us for leaping
like we do.” And at
every twinge in the knee
at each stair taken,
you will remember
the clamor of cheers
filling the arena,
with you at the center,
nimble, feet planted,
muscles pulsing
waiting for you to leap
again, and fly, fly, fly.

theparisreview:

Throughout the 2012 London Olympic Games, Kwame Dawes is writing verses for the Wall Street Journal that reflect on the previous day’s events. It’s an interesting way to interact with the Games.

The Gymnast

For Gabby, Kyla, Jordyn, McKayla, Aly

Years from now,

having lost the shape

of a hard-tutored body,

you will explain to those

who ask why your feet

bear the scars of the wounded,

you will say, “See these feet

are dancer’s feet—they are

the brutality of grace,

the ugliness of flight;

they remind us of the earth,

how it holds us to itself,

punishing us for leaping

like we do.” And at

every twinge in the knee

at each stair taken,

you will remember

the clamor of cheers

filling the arena,

with you at the center,

nimble, feet planted,

muscles pulsing

waiting for you to leap

again, and fly, fly, fly.


279
Aug 01
theparisreview:

“The most interesting thing about writing is the way that it obliterates time. Three hours seem like three minutes. Then there is the business of surprise. I never know what is coming next. The phrase that sounds in the head changes when it appears on the page. Then I start probing it with a pen, finding new meanings. Sometimes I burst out laughing at what is happening as I twist and turn sentences. Strange business, all in all. One never gets to the end of it. That’s why I go on, I suppose. To see what the next sentences I write will be.”
—R.I.P. Gore Vidal. You will be missed.

theparisreview:

“The most interesting thing about writing is the way that it obliterates time. Three hours seem like three minutes. Then there is the business of surprise. I never know what is coming next. The phrase that sounds in the head changes when it appears on the page. Then I start probing it with a pen, finding new meanings. Sometimes I burst out laughing at what is happening as I twist and turn sentences. Strange business, all in all. One never gets to the end of it. That’s why I go on, I suppose. To see what the next sentences I write will be.”

—R.I.P. Gore Vidal. You will be missed.


Jul 25
Yummy lunch at East Street (Taken with Instagram)

Yummy lunch at East Street (Taken with Instagram)


theparisreview:


Dear Frances: I’ve read the story carefully and, Frances, I’m afraid the price for doing professional work is a good deal higher than you are prepared to pay at present. You’ve got to sell your heart, your strongest reactions, not the little minor things that only touch you lightly, the little experiences that you might tell at dinner. This is especially true when you begin to write, when you have not yet developed the tricks of interesting people on paper, when you have none of the technique which it takes time to learn. When, in short, you have only your emotions to sell. This is the experience of all writers. It was necessary for Dickens to put into Oliver Twist the child’s passionate resentment at being abused and starved that had haunted his whole childhood. Ernest Hemingway’s first stories “In Our Time” went right down to the bottom of all that he had ever felt and known. In “This Side of Paradise” I wrote about a love affair that was still bleeding as fresh as the skin wound on a haemophile. The amateur, seeing how the professional having learned all that he’ll ever learn about writing can take a trivial thing such as the most superficial reactions of three uncharacterized girls and make it witty and charming—the amateur thinks he or she can do the same. But the amateur can only realize his ability to transfer his emotions to another person by some such desperate and radical expedient as tearing your first tragic love story out of your heart and putting it on pages for people to see. That, anyhow, is the price of admission. Whether you are prepared to pay it or, whether it coincides or conflicts with your attitude on what is “nice” is something for you to decide. But literature, even light literature, will accept nothing less from the neophyte. It is one of those professions that wants the “works.” You wouldn’t be interested in a soldier who was only a little brave. In the light of this, it doesn’t seem worth while to analyze why this story isn’t saleable but I am too fond of you to kid you along about it, as one tends to do at my age. If you ever decide to tell your stories, no one would be more interested than, Your old friend, F. Scott Fitzgerald P.S. I might say that the writing is smooth and agreeable and some of the pages very apt and charming. You have talent—which is the equivalent of a soldier having the right physical qualifications for entering West Point.

A letter from F. Scott Fitzgerald to aspiring young author Frances Turnbull.

To the point and earnest but never a hint of bluntness or meanness. What a writer, even when rejecting a writer’s work.

theparisreview:

Dear Frances:

I’ve read the story carefully and, Frances, I’m afraid the price for doing professional work is a good deal higher than you are prepared to pay at present. You’ve got to sell your heart, your strongest reactions, not the little minor things that only touch you lightly, the little experiences that you might tell at dinner. This is especially true when you begin to write, when you have not yet developed the tricks of interesting people on paper, when you have none of the technique which it takes time to learn. When, in short, you have only your emotions to sell.

This is the experience of all writers. It was necessary for Dickens to put into Oliver Twist the child’s passionate resentment at being abused and starved that had haunted his whole childhood. Ernest Hemingway’s first stories “In Our Time” went right down to the bottom of all that he had ever felt and known. In “This Side of Paradise” I wrote about a love affair that was still bleeding as fresh as the skin wound on a haemophile.

The amateur, seeing how the professional having learned all that he’ll ever learn about writing can take a trivial thing such as the most superficial reactions of three uncharacterized girls and make it witty and charming—the amateur thinks he or she can do the same. But the amateur can only realize his ability to transfer his emotions to another person by some such desperate and radical expedient as tearing your first tragic love story out of your heart and putting it on pages for people to see.

That, anyhow, is the price of admission. Whether you are prepared to pay it or, whether it coincides or conflicts with your attitude on what is “nice” is something for you to decide. But literature, even light literature, will accept nothing less from the neophyte. It is one of those professions that wants the “works.” You wouldn’t be interested in a soldier who was only a little brave.

In the light of this, it doesn’t seem worth while to analyze why this story isn’t saleable but I am too fond of you to kid you along about it, as one tends to do at my age. If you ever decide to tell your stories, no one would be more interested than,

Your old friend,

F. Scott Fitzgerald

P.S. I might say that the writing is smooth and agreeable and some of the pages very apt and charming. You have talent—which is the equivalent of a soldier having the right physical qualifications for entering West Point.

A letter from F. Scott Fitzgerald to aspiring young author Frances Turnbull.

To the point and earnest but never a hint of bluntness or meanness. What a writer, even when rejecting a writer’s work.


theatlantic:

Every photo in this collection is incredible.

137
Jul 14
theatlantic:

Happy 100th Birthday, Woody Guthrie!

Forty-five years after his death, Guthrie’s principal lament about America is still obvious and irrefutable: The nation is divided into haves and have-nots—and the have-nots are always the ones in pain. Born of the Great Depression, hardened by war, Kerouac before there was Kerouac, Guthrie’s music was sung by war protestors in the 1960s and by “Occupy” protestors in 2012. “This Land is Your Land“—haunting, teasing, eternally illusive—is as relevant today as it was when Guthrie first wrote it nearly three quarters of a century ago. No wonder Bruce Springsteen called it “about the greatest song ever written about America.”
Read more. [Image: Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images]


A far more complicated person than I had ever guessed.

theatlantic:

Happy 100th Birthday, Woody Guthrie!

Forty-five years after his death, Guthrie’s principal lament about America is still obvious and irrefutable: The nation is divided into haves and have-nots—and the have-nots are always the ones in pain. Born of the Great Depression, hardened by war, Kerouac before there was Kerouac, Guthrie’s music was sung by war protestors in the 1960s and by “Occupy” protestors in 2012. “This Land is Your Land“—haunting, teasing, eternally illusive—is as relevant today as it was when Guthrie first wrote it nearly three quarters of a century ago. No wonder Bruce Springsteen called it “about the greatest song ever written about America.”

Read more. [Image: Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images]

A far more complicated person than I had ever guessed.


365
Jun 30

discoverynews:

Yay! Tumblr does good. Pin this!

detroitsomething:

My name is Ray Stoeser and I teach 10th and 11th grade English at Crockett Technical High School in Detroit, MI.  A few months ago I reached out to the internet for help.  Because of some mismanaged funds, my school, already high poverty, was unable to pay for my AP class’ AP Language tests.  My students had been told all year that the school/district would be able to pay for the exams.  The students had no way of coming up with the already reduced fee in time.  

Thanks to the generosity of strangers, mainly the Tumblr community, my class was able to raise more than the required amount to pay for all of the exams.  I asked my students how they wanted to thank you and they decided to make you a music video showcasing some of the material they learned in the class.  Here is that video.

As I said before, thank you all for your help.  Even if you couldn’t donate, your reblogs helped our request reach a massive audience.  Please share this video with anyone you know contributed in even the smallest way.  This video may not be much, but just know that your help brought us one step closer to closing the achievement gap.  

Thank you,

Ray

P.S. Scores aren’t in yet, but I will be sure to let you know how they all did!

[Video posted with written parental permission.]

Well done tumblr folk!


Jazz Junctions - Riding New York's A Train


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