Richard  Kramer

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Richard Kramer

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born
April 21

gender
male

member since
March 2012

About this author


Richard Kramer hasn't written any blog posts yet.

Average rating: 3.64 · 450 ratings · 135 reviews · 1 distinct work · Similar authors
These Things Happen
3.64 of 5 stars 3.64 avg rating — 450 ratings — published 2012 — 4 editions
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At Large and at S...
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Richard Kramer Richard Kramer said: " I'm two essays in, in truth, but I think this is the book I've been looking for. I met Anne Fadiman a couple of weeks ago, remembered I had her A LIBRIS at home and had never read it, and picked this up in a bookstore (a real one, or it seemed real) ...more"

 
The Complete Works
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The Gershwins and...
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Richard's Recent Updates

Richard Kramer is now friends with John
I Left It on the Mountain by Kevin Sessums
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In CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF, by Tennessee Williams, the character of Maggie, immortalized by a white-slipped Liz Taylor, wonders what victory the titular creature could ever hope for. “Just — stayin’ on, I guess,” she decides, after a moment, and almost ...more
Bettyville by George Hodgman
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It goes like this, again and again, in endless towns. There’s a boy, somewhere, a somewhere that’s never New York. He doesn’t know he is not unusual, because there’s no one to tell him; he won’t find that out, and may never come to fully believe it, ...more
Richard Kramer is now following Derek Milman's reviews
29267899
Swish by Joel Derfner
" Ulysses ...

Thanks for this, as for all the others.

I hope this finds you well.

Best

Richard
"
Half a Life by Darin Strauss
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I’ve just read Half a Life, Darin Strauss’ book about an event in his life when he was still a boy, but driving, that would shape forever the man he would and could become. He begins like this. “Half my life ago,” he writes, “I killed a girl.” I don ...more
These Things Happen by Richard  Kramer
"These Things Happen is a big little book. A big little funny book. Two days, a handful of characters, a school, a restaurant, a cramped Manhattan apartment and a roof. We take a peek and Kramer opens up the world.
The skinny: Wesley, a sixteen-yea..." Read more of this review »
The Escape of Malcolm Poe by Allison Burnett
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Meet Malcolm Poe. He has decided, at a turning point in his life, to keep a journal in which he intends to confront his present, his past, his choices, and -- most of all -- his ghosts, which have all come back to haunt him, in a way that anyone who' ...more
These Things Happen by Richard  Kramer
“They each look down now, although not yet at each other. Cabs, whistles, bullets; buses, screams, small sobs; people singing, sighing, pleading with dogs to shit; from the long streets the clang of textures bumping into lampposts; the soft fall onto the ground, like leaves, of seven thousand flyers bearing news of who was out for tonight's performance; the audible thoughts of select citizens, taxpayers, permanent residents. Today I worked; I loved; I tried.”
Richard Kramer
These Things Happen by Richard  Kramer
“If anyone were ever to ask George why he doesn't fear the things most people do, he would see, perhaps, that yes; it has to have been the road; it was where he formed his just-the-next-place philosophy, on buses smelling of French fries, old gum, sleeping people who know they will never rise higher than this; buses bearing him to two nights here, three there; the next places much the same as the places before; the same scrappy museum, rich lady's garden, the same depressed downtown.”
Richard Kramer
More of Richard's books…
“I'm always working, like everyone I know, to seem more amazing and well-rounded and interesting than I actually am, or could ever be. The weird part is: no one's every actually said that to any of us. It's more like it's on all our devices, stuffed forever into all of our Clouds; like prune paste in hamentaschen…”
Richard Kramer, These Things Happen

“This is us, then, at night. Two men, slowly crumbling, minding our business in the bed we flip four times a year to extend its life. I've got my side, Kenny's got his, and from time to time we meet in the middle to do what Men Like That (like us) do in a bed; it's not always hot, not after all this time, but it's reassuring. Mostly, though, we sleep. We like to. We work hard. We need it.”
Richard Kramer, These Things Happen

“A lot can happen in a day, sometimes. Not every day, of course. Most have one event, and that's if you're lucky.”
Richard Kramer, These Things Happen

“The past is never where you think you left it.”
Katherine Anne Porter

“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
Margaret Atwood, Bluebeard's Egg

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”
G.K. Chesterton, Alarms and Discursions

“Whenever I start thinking of my love for a person, I am in the habit of immediately drawing radii from my love - from my heart, from the tender nucleus of a personal matter- to monstrously remote points of the universe. Something impels me to measure the consciousness of my love against such unimaginable and incalculable things as the behaviour of nebulae (whose very remoteness seems a form of insanity), the dreadful pitfalls of eternity, the unknowledgeable beyond the unknown, the helplessness, the cold, the sickening involutions and interpenetrations of space and time.”
Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory

“SEPTEMBER 1, 1939

I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
'I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,'
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the dead,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.”
W.H. Auden, Another Time

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