Harriet: News & Community

We live in a communal experiment called the world. We were born into architectures of thought and art and culture that have been being built for millennia, shaped by all...

Non enim erat tunc. There was no then. —St. Augustine (epigraph to M. NourbeSe Philip's “Sal,” from Zong!)   In my earlier post (here), I began where I was, trying to ground—physically, epistemologically—some experimental work. I read...

Tell me about disappearance, and I will tell you about palimpsests. Everything we try to erase still manages to leave something behind.

Though the use of the N-word will largely remain a project of ambivalence (the pains/haunts of history in contrast to the flights/fights for freedom), it is still a cultural priority...

In his introduction to the anthology The Unwritten Song, Willard R. Trask cites what he calls "one of the very few detailed accounts of composition that … describes a process in...

(Content Warning: Mention of suicide and sexual violence)

I’m writing from Berkeley, California, a city deeply imprinted by histories of experiment: in literature as in politics, the personal, the social.

It is not an easy path to monetize your art. It’s not easy in the logistical sense, but it’s also not easy emotionally. I want to be pragmatic about the...

The weight of this moment is undeniably heavy, and there is no other recorded time in human history I yearn for.

A poem is a gift. Ephemeral when spoken or recited aloud. Impossible to fully grasp, hold, or hoard.