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closeup of ox in a field, looking up its nostrils

What Rude Magic Is This (A Poem)

With the background of how I wrote it. I didn’t know what to do with three poems I lost and half-forgot. Now I hear Jacob’s epiphany as a kind of rude magic. The poems come back to me.

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A person stands at a train window, holding their face in their hands

The ‘undecidability’ of life

Freedom and despair in Will Eaves’ ‘Murmur’, about Alan Turing. The novelist directs our moral scrutiny not at the innocent man but at the state that victimizes him. The state destroys him, politically and existentially.

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