Uncanny Earth, A Funny Thing to Feel
by Joshua Green But not funny like comix or a dog kvetching, neither funny like funambulism nor the town carnival where for three dollars you can sledgehammer a car, not Beckett’s ashcan through which heads come up, Keaton with the barrelgrinder’s monkey funny, that funny silence called an ex, a sex pot, sextodecimo pages torn from a book, not the...
by Brigit Pegeen Kelly God sends his tasks and one does them or not, but the sky delivers its gifts at the appointed times: With spit and sigh, with that improbable burst of flame, the balloon comes over the cornfield, bringing another country with it, bringing from a long way off those colors that are at first the low sound of a horn, but soon are many horns, and clocks, and bells, and clappers...
The Definition of Love
by Andrew Marvell My Love is of a birth as rare As ‘tis for object strange and high: It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility. Magnanimous Despair alone Could show me so divine a thing, Where feeble Hope could ne’er have flown But vainly flapped its Tinsel wing. And yet I quickly might arrive Where my extended soul is fixt, But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds...
by Ryan Scott Nance Clear day. Today she went to see her daddy’s grave. On top, an insect. Shoo-shoo. Let it be. It wants to stay. Snowy. All day inside. Alone. The flakes like brush fire ash. Snarling. No phone. No mail. Make broth and drink it. Cloudy. The moon half there tonight. On board a train scar-scar, scar-scar. Gingerbread cake across the aisle. Clear day. An insect lay beside the...
by Yang Mu A Translation from the Chinese by Ryan T. Scott Nance Noontime The leaves at the window screen lightly shudder, shudder with some sort of feeling: an inconceivable grand romance the G isn’t easy to manage, she says— her hair slides over to the left) She squints down at her ring finger suffering to press a Granadan air. A nun in the window chants the Rosary, happens to look up— far off,...
The bus I’ve boarded is filled with passengers whose mouths have just closed after months of singing. Little starfish, or cloves, punctuate above their chins. The driver breathes and shifts heavily on his vinyl seat. The first floating neon sign sputters on. I feel I am a threat, an inappropriate handkerchief. The rubber-lipped doors squeak when they close. The bus motor hums all...
by Robert Hass I Art & love: he camps outside my door, innocent, carnivorous. As if desire were actually a flute, as if the little song transcend, transcend could get you anywhere. He brings me wine; he believes in the arts and uses them for beauty. He brings me vinegar in small earthen pots, postcards of the hillsides by Cezanne desire has left alone, empty farms in August and...
Letter to a Poet
by Robert Hass A mockingbird leans from the walnut, bellies, riffling whte, accomplishes his perch upon the eaves. I witnessed this act of grace in blind California in the January sun where families bicycle on Saturday and the mother with high cheekbones and coffee-coloured iridescent hair curses her child in the language of Pushkin - John, I am dull from thinking of your pain, this...
There was a late spring night, a few weeks before my apartment building (and the Japanese Embassy beside it) was town down, when i was alone in the house. I’d opened all the windows and was lying in the dark, listening to the taxis and scooters buzz down the alley outside and i was thinking of a love adventure gone awry. And then i heard a voice from far off, clear but veiled by distance, of...
ratherfancy: Time Lapse: Growing a Beard and Walking to Germany is Today’s BIG Thing - APR 22, 2009
The Idea of Order at Key West
with audio of his reading http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15749 by Wallace Stevens She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, fluttering Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry, That was not ours although we understood, Inhuman, of the veritable ocean. The sea was not a mask. ...
by Donald Revell Sha- Dow, As of A meteor At mid- Day: it goes From there. A perfect circle falls Onto white imperfections. (Consider the black road, How it seems white the entire Length of a sunshine day.) Or I could say Shadows and mirage Compensate the world, Completing its changes With no change. In the morning after a storm, We used brooms. Out front, There was broken glass to collect. In...
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able...– First Elegy, Duino Elegies, Rainer Maria Rilke
Mummy of a Lady Named Jemutesonekh
XXI Dynasty by Thomas James My body holds its shape. The genius is intact. Will I return to Thebes? In that lost country The eucalyptus trees have turned to stone. Once, branches nudged me, dropping swollen blossoms, And passionflowers lit my father’s garden. Is it still there, that place of mottled shadow, The scarlet flowers breathing in the darkness? I remember how I died. It...
He dreamt first he was met on a snow-blown block at night by a slasher who scalpelled a trough from his chin to the tip of his sternum and pulled his esophagus out. He lay, breathing more openly in the wintry air until a nurse in burgundy found him and fit him with a length of green garden hose, and stapled him shut. Next he dreamt the slasher had been the one to fit him with the...
But whether or not he places him in custody, he shall first cause his house to be searched unexpectedly, and all chests to be opened and all boxes in the corners, and all implements found to be taken away. Ah, we’ve found the bad feather he’ll simper, against the rounded edge of the Dutch hutch. And there will be no error. The black queen, held phantasmically in his palm like a...
Leaves flap through the dark windows like stiff-veined flags. Wind stirs much of the street. An uncut lime is small and fits in the palm’s hollow, near the wrist. It turns like a key: the apartment door and the neighbors’ door, the front door to the sidewalk beneath the tree of urgent flags, and the windows which seem so much like passages—— should be looked through, but not stepped...