Anthony Shadid has died. A brilliant, insightful reporter, whose work illuminated so much of the complexity of the Middle East — and who, at times, was subject to it, as during his capture and imprisonment with three other journalists during the Libyan revolution — he will be much missed, and our understanding will be poorer for his passing.

For those interested in the politics of the region, Shadid gave a moving lecture at the American University of Beirut several years ago, a talk entitled “Loss and Nostalgia in the Middle East.” It’s available for view on the AUB website. Well worth watching.

The news came, coincidentally, as I was in the middle of Jared Stanley’s excellent Book Made of Forest, winner of the prize three years ago. I’m humbled to learn that I’ve just been shortlisted for the Crashaw Prize at Salt Publishing — having been reading Salt poets and writers for years, it’s an incredible honor, most of all for the time spent alongside poets whose work I admire so much, such as Luke Heeley and Caleb Klaces. I’m excited to get to know these new voices, too– even from just this first look, the list runs deep with talent, and the pleasure of discovery, no matter how the process ultimately turns out, will be ripe.

My thanks to Salt.

Pelican Bomb have just published a new essay, about Roy Staab’s latest work here in New Orleans.

Looking forward to seeing everyone in the area tonight at the Artfully Aware event at NOMA — the lineup has just been confirmed. I’ll be reading with Helen Krieger, John Biguenet, M’Bilia Meekers, Randy Fertel, and Moira Crone. The event starts around 5; the readings, about 7.30pm.

It’s good to see the New Orleans calendar so full. Having just returned from traveling in the Middle East, the chance to attend a book launch and commemoration of the Tahrir Square revolution this past week was an inspiration: Andy Young’s new book, The People is Singular, published by Press Street, is a beautiful collection of work inspired by the uprisings, with Young’s poems accompanied by Salwa Rashad’s photographs. The launch event was at Cafe Istanbul, a space hosted by New Orleans poet Chuck Perkins; an interview with Young about the book is online at Room 220.

Parades aside, much to look forward to this Carnival season. Next Friday night, February 3rd, I’ll be reading at the New Orleans Museum of Art, at an event hosted by NOMA and good friends Artfully Aware. More details are available here and here; the evening looks to be truly spectacular, with nearly every form of art represented. A brief description of the event notes that

Visitors can interact with professional writers and artists from A Studio in the Woods, catch a literary reading organized by the Pirate’s Alley Faulkner Society, listen to original poetry and prose read by students from the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts, view photography that reflects the Sierra Club’s local environmental efforts, hear speakers from the Young Leadership Council and watch short films selected by FosterBear Films that explore the vital role of the arts in society. One Million Bones, a hands-on art initiative that raises genocide awareness, will exhibit an installation that contains thousands of handmade bones.

Though Twelfth Night has come and gone, to my mind the start of Mardi Gras actually takes place with the annual Krewe du Vieux parade, rolling next Saturday night, the 4th. Earlier that afternoon, the Latter Library Poetry Buffet series continues as well, with Beverly Rainbolt, Kelly Harris, and Hannah Baker Saltmarsh reading, and the week following, on February 9th, the 17 Poets reading series launches its spring season at the Gold Mine Saloon, with a reading by Bill Lavender of his new book, Memory Wing.

Les bon temps roulent.

All cultures have names for moments in time and space we could have never imagined coming together until they do: some call them coincidences, others call them convergences, others, simply, fate. When they do strike us, however, we have no choice but to sit up and take note, and — to my mind — be grateful to witness some aspect of the inner working of the world briefly revealed, for however long we are afforded the chance.

It is with great sadness, but with greater appreciation, that I note the passing of George Whitman earlier this month, the founder of Shakespeare and Company Books in Paris. George lived to be 98, passing just two days after his birthday. More extensive obituaries are available in other outlets, but for those who never knew him, George was, in the truest sense of the word, a saint: single-minded in his dedication to a happier, more joyful world; radical in his approach, seeing a bookshop as a beacon of cultural and political activism; and most famously, unquestioning in his hospitality, taking in tens of thousands of guests (affectionately called ‘tumbleweeds’) under the roof of the bookshop, where one could stay as long as one needed, but the only requirement in return was to read a book a day. And try to show equal hospitality to the bedbugs, which anyone who stays there more than a night will meet.

We met him once, several years ago, on the second of the two Golden Hour tours as Forest Publications. Paris was the third of our five performances that month; having performed there a year earlier on another memorable night, we knew well in advance that it would be the highlight of the tour. It was, absolutely — everyone, from musicians to poets to raconteurs — performed beautifully to a standing-room only crowd, we shared wine and company on the quai late into the night, and George, who rarely came downstairs from his apartment during events, even made a brief appearance. Though we only spoke briefly, we knew it was a great honor to be able to meet him; afterwards, we saw him sitting in the upstairs window, listening to the music that our guitarists, Jed Milroy, Hailey Beavis, and Billy Liar, played until the bookstore closed.

Which is why, several years later, I’m given so much pause for thought upon his passing, and about a further debt of gratitude I owe George. While I still would have written The Bella anyway, its writing was hastened by the incentive provided just over a year ago with the Paris Literary Prize organized by Shakespeare and Company, an occasion that served to get the book going much sooner than it might otherwise have done. Working on it over the course of this past year, I hoped for it to be published on the anniversary of the day on which the book was set — December 15, 2009 — but had no idea that, as the book was in its final stages, George was in his, too.

George passed on Wednesday, December 14. The Bella appeared on Thursday, December 15. I’m still struggling to understand how this could happen, but realize also that understanding may in some sense be futile. Merely to be grateful for George’s work over the course of his lifetime, and the ongoing work of Shakespeare and Company, is, for now, enough.

This paragraph comes from the acknowledgments page: it feels appropriate to reprint it here.

This book, originally conceived in response to encouragement provided by Shakespeare and Company Books in Paris, was published in its first edition the day following George Whitman’s passing – and so it is dedicated in part to him, his inspiration to countless writers and travelers, and his vision which endures to this day. May his admonition hang over each of our doors: ‘Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise.’