Wednesday, February 11, 2009
-after Winslow Homer
Barren light rocks cries and a wish
Before there was anything to salvage
Paint distances ships emotion clip
Horizon waves trees truncate Cape
Cod lamps or Maine trees like degrees
Of flight songs for actual things
All to their eyebeams owe to this
Stutter wilderness Pilgrims tense with
Brush water-color must be cast quick
Like New England nervous lines scalp
Cropping’s our way to break frames
Night shot thru with sin shame heavens
Heathen origins hear what carries
Across Atlantic journeys which crests
And cusps will have been your master.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Little Red Leaves 3 is out with an all star line-up. However it is this poem, by Jocelyn Saidenberg, which stood out most for me:
LRL has also published the first chapter of Yedda Morrison's Darkness in their new e-chabook series. Download the PDF or order a bound copy thru Lulu here:
Too happy Time dissolves itself
And leaves no remnant by -
Monday, February 09, 2009
Dorothea Lasky & Filip Marinovich
Friday, February 13th, 2009 8PM
BYOB & donation: $5
hosted by Thom Donovan & Robert Kocik at:
1227 Bedford Avenue
(between Fulton and Halsey)
about the readers:
Dorothea Lasky is the author of AWE (Wave Books, 2007) and Black Life (Wave Books, 2010). Her chapbooks include Tourmaline (Transmission Press, 2008), The Hatmaker's Wife (Braincase Press, 2006), Art (H_NGM_N Press, 2006), and Alphabets and Portraits (Anchorite Press, 2005). She has been educated at Washington University, University of Massachusetts-Amherst, and Harvard University. Currently, she studies creativity and education at the University of Pennsylvania.
Poets, you are eager
Young poets, you are so eager
To call the language
That comes after language
That of false children.
Maybe we are not so much false children
As we are conduits of the truth.
The death of the author never meant
The landscaped moon-earth you inhabit
Alongside the strange animals you let in there.
The real life is wild and the animals will bite you.
It is not so much moonless as the moon is seen nowhere
And always felt.
It is no matter, however
As you are just about to eat the fire you speak.
Even now, I can feel the heat upon you
And smell it singe your human flesh
Filip Marinovich's book ZERO READERSHIP is out now from Ugly Duckling Presse. He has published online in EOAGH and Critiphoria. He is a poet, painter and performer living on Manhattan Island Upper West Side. Autumn grain available upon request.
I wish that someone
would come to me
in the middle of the night
and fuck me very hard
against the bedstand
so that the shriek would glow
like a magnet in my hand
and by my side would appear
friends now gone.
PEACE EVENTS is committed to presenting emergent work across disciplinary boundaries and against categorization. For past listings and documentation check the right-hand column of Wild Horses Of Fire weblog: whof.blogspot.com.
"In mystical states of mind…we are conscious of an expansion of our personality thought union with something not ourselves, but this union is felt and not seen"