Thinking

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The Arch“, by Patricia Lockwood.
Ladybirds“, by Larissa Szporluk.
An American Poem“, by Eileen Myles.
High and Bright and Fine and Ice“, by Darcie Dennigan.

My own work: “Island century” and “Dream sequence for the century, with sonata“, in Cerise Press. An excerpt from a book-length poem, Scale model of the world, in Free Verse. Two poems in Precipitate.

If you are participating in National Poetry Month at all, what are you doing? If not, but you are reading/writing/finding interesting things, I would love to know. And did you know that MIEL, the press I run with Jonathan, is looking for shops, bookshops, cafés, artists, writers, makers, etc., to feature on its weblog?

PERFORATION

Pura López-Colomé, AURORA, published 2007 by Shearsman Books in the UK. Trans. Jason Stumpf.

A BIEN RESGUARDO

I

El otro mundo.

La luz me abrió sus puertas
cuando quería seguir el cauce
de este sueño
grave, ensombrecido,
en dirección contraria al día,
Una dorada catarara,
agujas finas,
panetraba mi ceguera:
polvo de cristal,
palabra nunca vista,
aurora.
Nuevo el peso.
Nuevo el brillo.
Regalo de bodas colectivas,
paraíso en la manzana de la ciencia,
jugo verdadero,
gozo a tiempo.

* * *

TO GOOD SHELTER

I

The other world.

Light opened its doors to me
when I wanted to follow the course
of that solemn,
dark dream
in a direction against the day.
A golden waterfall,
fine needles
pierced my blindness:
crystal dust,
word never seen,
aurora.
New balance.
New brilliance.
Gift of group weddings,
paradise in the apple of science,
true juice,
joy in season.

* * *

Element. Scale. Concept. The grand. The universe. The what-is-beyond-there. It’s an edition with both sides of the tongue, Spanish and the English translation. The sounds of the Spanish please me and here’s clear the catch between what means and how sounds. A book about gifts. Tables here are mostly laden. This is for you, says the book. Have you read Neruda’s Odes? Have you loved Mistral? Paz? Here is another voice speaking their idiom, where branches are loved so much there is no cold. Robert Lowell hides in a few lines. A young bird jumps through cables of light.

C.D. Wright (poet, essayist, leading the light-charge for my heart), ONE WITH OTHERS [a little book of her days], published 2010 by Copper Canyon Press.

from ONE WITH OTHERS

To sit in a booth and order a sweet soft drink

To work at the front deask

To be referred to as Gentleman

To swim in the pool

To sit in the front row and watch Run Wild, Run Free [next week: Death of a Gunfighter]

To make your way to the end of the day with both eyes in your head

Nothing is not integral

You want to illumine what you see

Fear reflected off an upturned face

Those walnuts turning black in the grass

It is a relatively stable world

Gentle Reader

But beyond that door

It defies description

* * *

A record of involvement, implication, resistance, community; the particular participation of an Arkansas town in the institution and embodiment of racism and racist lawmaking; the possibility of solidarity; the possibility of change, even understanding; the fact remaining of a great injustice.

The possibilities in poetry for the long form. Openness and ability to repeat oneself [Come again]. Repetition to create impression. This is what I mean by effect, as in to have one. Which it does. And the possibility in a longer work of dealing with difficult things slowly so as not to gloss them and not to be able to pretend they are simple. Which Wright does not.

The Cost of Walking, by Shannon Tharp (SkySill Press, 2011; $15 incl. postage to US; £8.95 incl. postage to UK).

WITHIN REASON

Woke voiceless, wanting
to sing in the city
where people say rain
spells weather, where
one goes grey with
waiting. I used to think
to find my way around;
now I go braving
anything that I can’t
think to see. Things
go luminous (within
reason) without light.

The poems are spare, often just a few phrases or sentences, and narrow. Not parsimonious. Not closed off. Present in the way the ocean is present when you are next to it, at once elemental, tangible, and so large you cannot see it all, or begin to. Moments in text. Small motions in text. Nothing superfluous, in the way that the best garments are constructed with no puckering and no frill to hide a poorly made seam. Out of durable material which falls beautifully away from the body.

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