Tom Bair

Word for Word– Beckett as Beckett

The object of my analysis is not a reinterpretation or any revelation about Beckett’s body of work, although as writer I am tempted to travel in that direction; rather, my focus is on the nature of reputation, the public nature or publicity-factor of a writer, and how this can be contended-with, examined, thought-about, and whether […]

A Whiff of Beckett

by Tom Bair This week Tom is working on a multi-part article, beginning with an examination of Samuel Beckett and his reputation as a bleak post-existentialist. Buttressed by Alain Badiou’s comments on the Irish writer and a fun Venn diagram, Tom will begin by loosely sketching the context of these readings articles, their readings of […]

On The Subway

My favorite border of the year is stalling, the snake has swallowed and digested its tail as it were, and I am in a city without leaves. I guessed that the weather would be tepid, dressed accordingly, and so now (as far as a day goes) I am prematurely fatigued and my eyebrows are waterlogged, […]

Slap Happy Endings

by Tom Bair Much has been made of ABC’s latest high-gloss ensemble situation comedy, Happy Endings. The network debuted their suggestive title on Wednesday past, and boldly followed this premier by engaging the viewer with their crusty tip, or, in suit-speak, aired another episode. The jokey-thing just made could refer to the layer of cum […]

Witness to What: Exploring the Genre of Witness Part 2

Witness Literature as a poetic movement has taken on the task of accumulating, compiling, and arranging documentation of the human race’s catastrophic failures. Keeping with our example, Carolyn Forche’s Against Forgetting is an expansive anthology of world literature, organized by event (ie “World War I”, or “the Spanish Civil War”), beginning with “the Armenian Genocide” […]

Witness to What: Exploring the Genre of Witness

by Tom Bair I will concede that I am, have been, and will continue to be wary of Witness Literature. I am also aware that a part of me shrugs my shoulders to any act of poetry which attempts to disown its own witness. Well, let me be clear: I have not known a poet […]