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A Reading by Noy Holland
Monday, February 29, 2016
2:30 pm – 3:45 pm EDT/GMT-4
Campus Center, Weis Cinema
 [A Reading by Noy Holland] The National Book Award nominee and author of BirdSpectacle of the BodyWhat Begins with Bird, and Swim for the Little One First reads from her work at 2:30 p.m. in Weis Cinema, Bertelsmann Campus Center. Introduced by Bradford Morrow and followed by a Q&A, the reading is free and open to the public; no tickets or reservations required.

"Ms. Holland habitually challenges the usual limits of language, but the effects of her exuberance are never precious, and often turn suddenly into beauty; her characters portray themselves in a discourse that is startling but genuine, the secret syntax of real lives." —New York Times Book Review

"Noy Holland animates what we struggle to keep unknown, the suppressed, the barely to be borne, in a prismatic, restless language that illuminates a heaven and hell of visions and want." —Joy Williams

"Strange, glittering, incantatory language marks Holland's provocative, nearly hypnotic stories." —Publishers Weekly

"The syncopated rhythms of Noy Holland’s rapturous prose jolt the heart and spark the senses." —Melanie Rae Thon

 

Contact: Micaela Morrissette, mmorriss@bard.edu, 845-758-7054

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In Print

Vol. 75
Dispatches from Solitude
Fall 2020
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

April 14, 2021
When you think of white do you think of Rembrandt
in darkness          pockmarked     a sieve or a monkfish
Ahead now     ahead then:       ash        scrub pine        shade
and Penny –– then twelve        then my brother’s sole friend 
April 7, 2021
To sing’s to field thought’s
failed arrow, then drop it,

as sadness surprises,
as always, then doesn’t,

its record all rumors, bits
of lithic in its meat,
March 31, 2021
Underneath the electric microscope frass gathered like a word no one could pronounce, or something children left in a cage. Sugar ants were gorging on the corpse of a cicada next to the front door. Soon four golden mounds were theirs, to carry back in their lemony bellies to the queen. I have a box of nine suns set on spikes, a pair of gray bags concealing speakers. I am your teacher, said the teacher, alone in a room. If there is a predicate to this.
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