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Kevin Young

๐Ÿ‘ค Speaker
635 total appearances

Appearances Over Time

Podcast Appearances

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

Yeah, yeah, I love that.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

Well, I love, too, and I firmly believe that, you know, of course, Karamor is a place, and it's invested with the kind of landscape you're discussing, but it also is a place she invents in the sense that she invests it with her own ideas all about Karamor.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

the lambs were blotched blue belonging.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

I mean, this is such an opening, you know, and all about implies that in a way that Caramore is, if not everywhere, then it's sort of internal as well as external.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

And there's something musical and magical about that.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

And all those B sounds, lambs, blotched blue belonging.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

Oh my God, yes.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

And we're sort of moving through these sounds.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

And then we get, you know, I've actually been

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

to Ireland.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

This is in Ireland.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

I haven't been to Caramore, but I've been throughout Ireland, which they do do this instead of say, you know, you might brand something.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

These blue marks of ownership or, you know, and they come out when they shear the wool.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

But, you know, there's a kind of amazing thing where you see all these sheep and lambs all around and then you have this marking.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

That's just, there's something kind of

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

Beautiful and eerie.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

And as she says, they're ignoring you.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

They don't care about you.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

But there's something about that I think that is not a memento mori or maybe that is a memento mori.

The New Yorker: Poetry
Monica Ferrell Reads Lucie Brock-Broido

Like they aren't concerned with death.