JULY 7, 2014: Princeton, NJ: Wild River Books announced that it will publish award-winning author and director of the Philadelphia Storytelling Project, Mark Lyons` Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines, on October 7.
Harvey Finkle is a documentary still photographer whose interests are social, political, economic and cultural. His career has centered on photographing marginalized and disenfranchised communities and their movements, including low income and homeless families, refugees and immigrants, the disabled and the Deaf, as well as groups working for economic equality, peace, justice, human rights and civil rights.
“MoTown can stay here as long as we like. They were very kind about it when I told them the whole story, why we’re here and all. I thought the manager was going to cry,” Victoria said, then started to herself. “Mr. Garcia said Mo’s like our seeing-eye dog, and companion dogs can go anywhere in California. So we don’t have to hide him anymore.”
Eyes bulbous and rolling, he was toad-like on his haunches drawing twisted, disjointed figures on
the sidewalk, his long, yellowed nails scratching the concrete as he sketched, mumbling in rhymes.
I’d asked him if he’d seen this young woman recently, this brilliantly beautiful young law school
graduate in the picture—“Have you seen her? Please, sir, have you? She’s my daughter.
All those wars didn’t move me from this patio, from that view of the valley. I stayed here in 82 and I stayed here in 96 and I stayed when they came to our home and searched all our closets. I am not afraid of them.
My colleagues at the Fulbright Foundation in Greece and the University of Athens were skeptical. After they had seen my syllabus, both encouraged me to consider that teaching at a Greek university was quite different than teaching at an American university. I heard their concerns but did not heed them.
True cycling, bicycle legends and aficionados will tell you, is about suffering. Not for us the one-gear “fixie” bike with the large latticed basket and kickstand. If we don’t come back from our long weekend ride with chain grease stenciled on our calves, and aches and pains in our trapezium muscles, we don’t deserve dinner.
One of the rarest and environmentally sensitive land and sea eco-systems in the western Pacific is again under threat of mega-development.Punta Arena (Sand Point) on the edge of Cabo Pulmo Marine Park–a UNESCO World Heritage site protecting the only hard finger coral reef on the North American Continent and just 60 miles north of the resort corridor of Cabo San Lucas on the East Cape of Baja Sur, Mexico–has successfully fought two previous mega-resorts. It now faces a third, this time called Cabo Dorado.
Our twenty-fifth anniversary conference takes its theme from Stuart Kauffman's new book, At Home in the Universe.[i] In the conclusion to this work, Stuart speaks of re-inventing the sacred for an emerging global civilization, and this has certainly been the mission of Lindisfarne since I founded the Association in New York a quarter-century ago to serve as a vehicle for the exploration and realization of what I then called "a new planetary culture."
It’s a notable, if not magical experience, when a work of literature touches us so profoundly it changes how we live our lives. For New Yorker Staff Writer Rebecca Mead, this something was George Eliot’s "Middlemarch: A Study of Provincial Life"...
One rainy evening in April as I headed through Philadelphia on the West Trenton local, a very large man bent over me and asked in a very small voice if he could sit next to me. “It’s only three stops,” he said.
Red ochre, the red of fire, strength, courage, invulnerability. The color of birth and life, of the butcher and the battlefield, of hope and despair. Brown ochre, lighter than umber, darker than sienna: the color of the earth, of all things natural, of adobe and deserts, the brown skin of our tribes. Tlaxcala red: the perfect mix of ochres, red and brown. Of passion and vengeance and rage and love, glory and loss, succor and treachery. Of hope and possibility.
When I was a child growing up in the Bahamas, my grandmother came to visit from Germany. One day, while we were building sandcastles on the beach, she paused to tell me about East Prussia – a place of great beauty where Trakehner horses pranced across dandelion meadows and elk herds swam in green rivers.
“Ost Preussen,” she said, with a soulful sigh.
Hearing the sadness in her voice, I glanced up sharply.