
Lisa Marie Basile
poet, author, journalist | preorder my poetry collection, SAINT OF | @lunalunamag | my work: @nytimes @incastellated @bax_series | #fosteryouth #chronicillness
Articles
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3 weeks ago |
yourtango.com | Lisa Marie Basile
I'm turning 30 this year, which is scary but also exhilarating and freeing. That's because I've basically grown out of my insecurities ... or I'm just simply tired of dealing with them. Turning 30 doesn't magically come with confidence, though. Research on maturation helps us understand the complex processes of human growth and development across the lifespan. Maturation is a process, so over the past few years, I was very proactive in trying to make myself a better person.
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Mar 19, 2025 |
lisamariebasile.substack.com | May Swenson |Lisa Marie Basile
Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedBody my housemy horse my houndwhat will I dowhen you are fallen— "Question" by May SwensonI’ve been breaking for years, but I finally came apart last summer—my summer of rupture. It all started with inflammatory arthritis—axial spondyloarthritis—which I’ve had for over a decade. I was diagnosed by experts at NYU and the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York City after years of eye inflammation, fatigue, and spinal pain.
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Feb 18, 2025 |
lisamariebasile.substack.com | Lisa Marie Basile
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Feb 17, 2025 |
lisamariebasile.substack.com | Lisa Marie Basile
Discover more from I Remember EternityThis is I Remember Eternity (the name comes from a Marosa di Giorgio poem), a container for thoughts on a life of poetics & updates on me, Lisa Marie Basile. By subscribing, I agree to Substack's Terms of Use, and acknowledge its Information Collection Notice and Privacy Policy. I am suffused within the honeyed light of the Mediterranean; I’m woozy with it.
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Feb 17, 2025 |
lisamariebasile.substack.com | Lisa Marie Basile
I am suffused within the honeyed light of the Mediterranean; I’m woozy with it. I’m on a Palermo balcony at dusk overlooking a silent, empty back alley that, by night, becomes a living, breathing womb of bodies. As if out of nowhere, there will soon be folding chairs and tables. And then the music. And then the voices will bounce between moss-covered buildings, which loom over the alleys and cobbled streets like crooked, darkened teeth. Over the night markets of pleasure.
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