Posts Tagged ‘ poetry ’

Alex Dimitrov – BOMB Magazine

The two writers stroll the streets of Manhattan to talk about Dimitrov’s new poetry collection, Love and Other Poems, which traces his affection for the city.

At the end of the day, when I’m writing something, I just care about it being aesthetically pleasing to me, and then I’m hoping that it’s aesthetically pleasing to someone else. I want art to give people pleasure. To return people to themselves, the inner self. Something that is well made is important. It can get you up in the morning. – Alex Dimitrov

Source: Alex Dimitrov – BOMB Magazine

Poems in the Language of Death

Paul Celan’s truest homeland, paradoxically, was the German language — the language of the Nazis who imprisoned him in a forced labor camp and murdered his parents.

Source: Poems in the Language of Death

Poetry With Heart – ideopunk

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro was a Japanese waka (tanka) poet who lived during the late 7th century. Wikipedia says he was known for his elegies for imperial princes but his poems within 100 Poems from t…

Source: Poetry With Heart – ideopunk

Christien Gholson – Mudlark No. 63 (2017)

Bryn Mill Pipe, Swansea Bay, Photograph by Christien Gholson

 And it is a dream at sea such as we never dreamt, and it is the Sea
in us that will dream it:
The Sea, woven in us, to the last weaving of its tangled night, the Sea
weaving its great trails of darkness —

                                                            Seamarks, St. John-Perse

Mudlark, An Electronic Journal of Poetry & Poetics, Never in and never out of print, William Slaughter, Editor, ISSN 1081-3500

Source: Christien Gholson – Mudlark No. 63 (2017)

Suné Woods | Fred Moten | James Gordon Williams: “You are mine. I see now, I’m a have to let you go.” on Vimeo

Blo͞o Outlier Journal

persimmon that
would not ripen . . .
winter sun

Donna Fleischer

The Blo͞o Outlier Journal Winter Issue 2020 (Issue #1), page 44

Editor: Alan Summers

Source: Blo͞o Outlier Journal

Louise Gluck, Academy Class of 2012, Full Interview – YouTube

Georg Trakl and Theodor Adorno — Caesura



There is a light, that the wind has extinguished.
There is a pub on the heath, that a drunk departs in the afternoon.
There is a vineyard, charred and black with holes full of spiders.
There is a room, which they have whitewashed with milk.
The madman has perished. There is an island of the South Sea,
Receiving the Sun-God. The drums roar.
The men perform warlike dances.
The women hipsway in creeping vines and fire-flowers,
Whenever the ocean sings. O our lost Paradise.

The nymphs have departed the golden woods.
The stranger is buried. Then arises a flickering rain.
The son of Pan appears as an earthworker,
Who sleeps through noon at the edge of the glowing asphalt.
There are little girls in a courtyard, in little dresses full of heart-rending poverty!
There are rooms filled with Accords and Sonatas.
There are shadows which embrace each other before a blinded mirror.
At the windows of the hospital, convalescents warm themselves.
Up the canal a white steamer carries the bloody epidemic

The strange sister appears again in someone’s evil dreams.
Resting in the hazelbush, she plays with his stars.
The student, perhaps a doppelganger, stares long after her from the window.
Behind him stands his dead brother, or he comes down the old spiral stairs.
In darkness, brown chestnut trees fade the figure of the young novice.
The garden is in evening. Bats flutter about the cloister
The caretaker’s children cease their playing and seek the gold of heaven.
Final chord of a quartet. The little blind girl runs trembling down the avenue.
And later her shadow touches along cold walls, surrounded by fairy tales and holy legends.

There is an empty boat, which drifts down the black canal at evening.
In the bleakness of the old asylum, human ruins decay.
The dead orphans lie at the garden wall.
From gray rooms tread angels with shit-spattered wings.
Worms drip from their yellowed eyelids.
The square before the church is dark and silent, as in the days of childhood.
On silver soles earlier lives glide by
And the shadows of the damned decline towards the sighing waters.
In his grave the white magician plays with his snakes.

Silently above the place of skulls God’s golden eyes open.


Henri Michaux, Mescaline Drawing, 1960. MoMA.


Trakl is a main character in Adorno’s important concept of the enigmatical.

Source: Georg Trakl and Theodor Adorno — Caesura

RAW NerVZ HAIKU V:1 3 | antantantantant


Post by @ariariariariari.

Source: RAW NerVZ HAIKU V:1 3 | antantantantant

The Paris Review – Blog Archive What We Know of Sappho – The Paris Review

He seems to me equal to the gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
….to your sweet speaking

and lovely laughing—oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
….is left in me

no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
….fills ears

and cold sweat holds me and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass
I am and dead—or almost
….I seem to me.

But all is to be dared, because even a person of poverty …


Source: The Paris Review – Blog Archive What We Know of Sappho – The Paris Review