The New Yorker: Poetry cover image

Christian Wiman Reads Patrizia Cavalli

The New Yorker: Poetry

CHAPTER

Outside, in Fact, There Wasn't Any Change

i think there's here that distance, it feels enormous, you know. But you feel liket's someone within that kingdom, far from it, if that makes sense. So let's hear christian wymen reading, outside, in fact, there wasn't any change. By batrizia cavali, translated by judith balmell. The ripened disease is what removes me from the street. It has grown inside me and corrupted my eyes and all my other senses. And the world arrives like a quotationeverything has happened by now, but me. Where was i? When did the great diversion come where did the stream become untied?Where did the fissure

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