Posts Tagged ‘ poetry ’

3quarksdaily: Embracing Dürer

 

Source: 3quarksdaily: Embracing Dürer

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Gary Snyder – An Evening With at Miami Book Fair 2016 – Counterpoint Press

thanks to A Longhouse Birdhouse

Galina Rymbu; Poems – palmermethode

the moving space of the revolution
you think you’re Nekrasov or something, bitch?
war machines all along the roadside
the functionary of the whip
took a taste
little dialogues going on in a black bar
conspirators sleep
in butovo, golianovo, khimki
halted by knowledge
bought on sale
but my beloved isn’t sleeping
what will you do
but my lover isn’t sleeping
what should I tell him
a boy in a freshly bought che guevara t-shirt
thrashing about incoherently in a jail cell
in his face you can see a beast, a bear,
pieces of a wolf, a machine gun report
the hallways of our houses are covered with slime
livelihood leaves no space for life
and no strength to choose death
so they choose struggle
washing the bodies of the dead with the red nightmare
buying your son a toy out of inertia
hinting at war
but my beloved isn’t sleeping
she’s crossed over the barrier
but my lover isn’t sleeping
he’s already setting everyone free
though he says: the liberation narrative is dead
and this autumn the sacrificial smoke of animals will rise into the air
this autumn a pale fire
we gave ghosts the keys to our apartment
people with no savings come out to meet us
this autumn rips your heart out
it screams, “where is your heart?”
and everything inside burns
the body is a travelling puppet show of criticism, fury, horror
and there’s no impulse anymore
to tear off one’s shirt, to tear away and stomp down the wet highway
these are the words of someone who’s never known age
for someone who
never loved and died

Source: Galina Rymbu; Poems – palmermethode

DUSIE 17 ECOPOETHOS ISSUE

Bluebuck

its blue hue

beckoned
which side

of blue
it had to drink daily which made it easy

eating the best

red grass, spear grass, love grass
blue from dark skin showing thru

If you travel to Uppsalla, Capetown or London you might glimpse one of the three remaining pairs of horns
A skull in Glasgow, one in Amsterdam
The four mounted specimens (Vienna, Stockholm, Paris, Leiden) show no sheen of blue

 

 

Aldabra Brush Warbler (confirmed extinct 1986)

“discovered” in 1967 described in 19682 lost in 1969
found in 19753

gone in 19834

 

 

Japanese River Otter (declared ex. 2012)

it ate
eels
beetles
crab, shrimp, fish, watermelon and

sweet potatoes

 

Eleni Sikelianos
from How to Construct the Animal Globe

Source: DUSIE 17

Tracing Szilárd Borbély’s Poetry in The Dispossessed | Asymptote

Dispossessed

 

Because language is like night-time. Moist,
an indecipherable series of grunts. Pure dread, and
inchoate visceral shrieking. It is inhuman.

from “On the wings of freedom”

Tracing Szilárd Borbély’s Poetry in The Dispossessed | Asymptote

Judy Grahn – Acts of Omission

acts of omission

A Mock Interrogation

Have you ever held hands with a woman?

Yes, many times—women about to deliver, women about to have breasts removed, wombs removed, miscarriages, women having epileptic fits, having asthma, cancer, women having breast bone marrow sucked out of them by nervous or indifferent interns, women with heart condition, who were vomiting, overdosed, depressed, drunk, lonely to the point of extinction: women who had been run over, beaten up. deserted. starved. women who had been bitten by rats; and women who were happy, who were celebrating, who were dancing with me in large circles or alone, women who were climbing mountains or up and down walls, or trucks and roofs and needed a boost up, or I did; women who simply wanted to hold my hand because they liked me, some women who wanted to hold my hand because they liked me better than anyone.
These were many women?
Yes. many.
What about kissing? Have you kissed any women?
I have kissed many women.
When was the first woman you kissed with serious feeling?
The first woman ever I kissed was Josie, who I had loved at such a distance for months. Josie was not only beautiful, she was tough and handsome too. Josie had black hair and white teeth and strong brown muscles. Then she dropped out of school unexplained. When she came back she came back for one day only, to finish the term, and there was a child in her. She was all shame, pain, and defiance. Her eyes were dark as the water under a bridge and no one would talk to her, they laughed and threw things at her. In the afternoon I walked across the front of the class and looked deep into Josie’s eyes and I picked up her chin with my hand, because I loved her, because nothing like her trouble would ever happen to me, because I hated it that she was pregnant and unhappy, and an outcast. We were thirteen.
You didn’t kiss her?
How does it feel to be thirteen and having a baby?
You didn’t actually kiss her?
Not in fact.
You have kissed other women?
Yes, many, some of the finest women I know, I have kissed. women who were lonely, women I didn’t know and didn’t want to, but kissed because that was a way to say yes we are still alive and loveable, though separate, women who recognized a loneliness in me, women who were hurt, I confess to kissing the top of a 55 year old woman’s head in the snow in boston, who was hurt more deeply than I have ever been hurt, and I wanted her as a very few people have wanted me—I wanted her and me to own and control and run the city we lived in, to staff the hospital I knew would mistreat her, to drive the transportation system that had betrayed her, to patrol the streets controlling the men who would murder or disfigure or disrupt us, not accidently with machines, but on purpose, because we are not allowed on the street alone—

Have you ever committed any indecent acts with women?

Yes, many. I am guilty of allowing suicidal women to die before my eyes or in my ears or under my hands because I thought I could do nothing, I am guilty of leaving a prostitute who held a knife to my friend’s throat because we would not sleep with her, we thought she was old and fat and ugly; I am guilty of not loving her who needed me; I regret all the women I have not slept with or comforted, who pulled themselves away from me for lack of something I had not the courage to fight for, for us, our life, our planet, our city, our meat and potatoes, our love. These are indecent acts, lacking courage, lacking a certain fire behind the eyes, which is the symbol, the raised fist, the sharing of resources, the resistance that tells death he will starve for lack of the fat of us, our extra. Yes I have committed acts of indecency with women and most of them were acts of omission. I regret them bitterly.

Judy Grahn

NIOKA WORKMAN 12-20-08 Brecht Forum, NYC – with Michael Wimberly