Posts tagged ‘2014’

Thursday, 22 September 2022

Pomegranate by Diane Gage

Every day on my walk I would touch
a pomegranate tree, think of Persephone
and Demeter and my own mother,
her mournful fondness for my girlhood.
Was my sunny husband, like Persephone’s,
a dark Lord? Not in manner, perhaps, but

in secrets held and guarded. And in my choice,
however natural, Demeter’s betrayal.
How I love the smooth burgundy leather
of a pomegranate! And the long slow work
of consuming its bright blood-red seeds.
How refuse such an offer, whatever the cost?

It’s been a long time since my life
was close to my mother’s. She died,
my husband and I divorced, someone
chopped down the pomegranate tree.
For years I have walked past the bare spot,
but this soft spring morning I saw shoots

with small leaves, new signs of life.
We’ve had a winter of remarkable rains.
I thought I had moved beyond that old story
but my daily rounds brought me back
to the place where its mystery emerges
trembling, again, on the brink of breath.

From: https://silverbirchpress.wordpress.com/2014/10/11/pomegranate-poem-by-diane-gage-mythic-poetry-series/

Date: 2014

By: Diane Gage (19??- )

Saturday, 30 July 2022

Song for An Asian American Radical: Yuri Kochiyama by David Mura

I open the door
and there she stands hectoring me

about Malcolm X.
Says impatiently there’s no time

for sumiye or sake,
exigencies of meter, rhyme.

She’s so tiny, I’m so
unknowing, the fractions enormous,

all those years of fires
in Philly, Detroit, Oakland, Harlem, Watts.

Behind her the night
stalks its stars beyond history

and I know if I shut
this door each time she vanishes farther

till nothing remains
but silence and sleep.

Reader you may think
in the end I’ll let her in.  Don’t

count on it.  That’s
why she keeps knocking

night after night.

From: https://apogeejournal.org/2014/06/24/david-mura-on-the-last-incantations/

Date: 2014

By: David Mura (1952- )

Friday, 15 July 2022

In a Foreign Country by Jules Supervielle

Have these faces come from my memory
and have these gestures touched earth, or sky?
Is this man alive as he seems to believe
with his voice, and this smoke on his lips?
Chairs, tables, unfeeling wood, you I can touch
in this snowy country whose language I do not know.
Stove, with your warmth whispering to my hands,
who is this man before you who resembles me
even in my past, knowing what I think,
touching when I touch you and filling my silence,
who then rises, opens the door, and disappears,
leaving this emptiness behind where I have no place.

From: https://fortnightlyreview.co.uk/2014/11/supervielle/

Date: 192? (original in French); 2014 (translation in English)

By: Jules Supervielle (1884-1960)

Translated by: Ian Seed (19??- )

Tuesday, 5 July 2022

Untitled by James Baldwin

Lord,
when you send the rain,
think about it, please,
a little?

Do
not get carried away
by the sound of falling water,
the marvelous light
on the falling water.

I
am beneath that water.
It falls with great force
and the light

Blinds
me to the light.

From: https://kenanmalik.com/2017/01/19/let-america-be-america-again/

Date: 2014 (published)

By: James Baldwin (1924-1987)

Tuesday, 24 May 2022

Scrutiny and resistentialism# at a supermarket in the west hills of Portland by Talal Gedeon

Under scalpel white light
every skin transluces
like esca-lit# anglerfish skin
in the stygian# sea and
it’s anybody’s surgery#
at the Market of Choice.

No luscious forefathers#
in this land of bacon thick and thin
and shining cereal dispensers
and packaged everything.

In this land of the beef-witted,
of hawks and zafties#
and California widows,#
the juiciest bits# are
wrapped in cellophane.

And tonight,
while rope-bound asparaguses gleam,
a lone old lady
extends a veiny little hand,
cops a stern feel
of organic avocadoes,
and whispers her valuations.

#Resistentialism: the seemingly spiteful countenance of inanimate objects.

#Esca: the fleshy appendage that protrudes from the forehead of anglerfish. The esca acts as a lure, and in the case of anglerfish from the bathypelagic zone, often emits light.

#Stygian: dark and/or relating to the river Styx.

#Surgery: a time for seeing inside of things, evaluating, and deciding what is needed and what is not.

#Luscious forefathers: such as Walt Whitman, Garcia Lorca, Allen Ginsberg, & Co. (cf. A Supermarket in California, by Allen Ginsberg).

#Zafty: a person very easily imposed upon.

#California-widow: a woman whose husband is away from her for some time.

#Juicy bits: such as—Luke’s Honeyed Ham With Water Added, Red’s Prime Roast Beef, Oregon Jack’s Bleu D’Auvergne, Hardy Harry’s Medium Raclette, Francine’s Natural Chicken & Turkey Breasts, et cetera, et cetera!

From: http://oregonpoeticvoices.org/poet/484/

Date: 2014

By: Talal Gedeon (19??- )

Wednesday, 16 February 2022

Francesca Says More by Olena Kalytiak Davis

that maiden thump was book on floor, but
does it really matter who kissed who
first or then who decided to go further?
lower? faster? naturally, we took
turns on top. now here, now there, and up
and down…
once it started no one even thought to think to stop.
so, we have holes inside our souls,
but mustn’t we begin by filling others’?
god gave us lips and hands and parts
that cannot possibly be saved for prayer. nor by.
i will not name name, claim fame by how well
or who i fucked or why, it happens all the time.
and it’s you, white pilgrim, whom next galehot seeks.
fuck. we didn’t read again for weeks.

From: https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2014/12/08/you-and-me-both

Date: 2014

By: Olena Kalytiak Davis (1963- )

Monday, 14 February 2022

Saint’s Day Triolet: Saint Valentine by Deborah Paredez

You’re flush with hearts and I’m forced to fold
this hand and swear off another luckless match.
How we’ve found ways to love each other, cajoled
our cindered hearts, flushed and forced to fold
upon themselves like Saint Valentine ensouled
with seizure, skin a whirring bee swarm, a hatched
flush of doves. My heart, how I’m forced to fold
my hands in prayer for another struck match.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/56997/saints-day-triolet-saint-valentine

Date: 2014

By: Deborah Paredez (1970- )

Saturday, 22 January 2022

What On Earth!? by Π. O (Peter Oustabasidis)

Every S is a P.
This S is not a P. S must be a P.
S is not a P. (If something exists it must be
a Tree). A Tree is a Tree.
Either its a Tree, or its not a Tree.
It can’t ‘be’, and ‘not-be’.
Hot things grow — cold things don’t —
Wet things drain off; and the Earth
gets drunk. If it rains tomorrow: P, i will wear
a raincoat (Q) ////////////// PPPPPPPPP//////////////: Q!
Someone sees smoke, and shouts ‘Fire!’.
Shoes, ships, cabbages, and Gaia.
‘therefore’, and ‘in as much as’ i speak
the Truth, the cloud (on the horizon)
looks like ‘cotton wool’. A fish, is a fish.
A fin is a fin. Hesperus is Phosphorus.
Phosphorus not Hesperus. Hesperus and Phosphorus.
/// PPPP ///// Q! A possum curls up on a Tree.
Post hoc ergo propter hoc the Sun is
larger than the Earth. A flower is a flower,
a seed is a seed. (Why don’t they
just put down that parrot, and call it quits?!).
How do you do a Rule of Thumb?
The Theory-‘T’, predicts observation ‘O’.
— ‘O’ is observed, therefore ‘T’ is True. (6 to
the power 2); the Earth is hotting up.
Count out the Sums: A is True
because B isn’t. B makes ‘sense’, cos C doesn’.

From: O, Π, “What on Earth!?” in N-Scribe, Volume 9, 2014, p. 16.
(https://arts.darebin.vic.gov.au/-/media/Arts/Files/Programs-and-opportunities/Programs/n-Scribe/n-Scribe-issue-9.ashx)

Date: 2014

By: Π. O (Peter Oustabasidis) (1951- )

Wednesday, 22 December 2021

Summer Solstice by Vanessa Page

Mango trees
wear fruit bling
like two-bit hookers

top-shelf drunk
backs turned
on the lawn

lorikeets
arrive like rain
tearing at the pulp

a sweet rot
rises in this
sex-sweat heat.

From: https://webarchive.nla.gov.au/awa/20140723141004/http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/41815/20140724-0003/www.foame.org/Issue11/poems/page.html

Date: 2014

By: Vanessa Page (19??- )

Saturday, 5 June 2021

Post It by Gig (Elizabeth Anne Martina) Ryan

Technique whittled to a spear prongs earth 
as tabby night filters a soaped waterfall of recollected words 
jammed in a shoe, prudently 
It passes on a cloud 
and can’t fit in the photo 
that dissolves trusty leaves 
that feather bright and soft, as if a picture’s jarred time 
where unlit books ramble into dream, sleep’s pillion 
levering The Anthology of Fireside Chats 
away from the grate with an heirloom poker 
or more exactly, some crimp heater sloughed by the street 
Fill the chute’s leftovers, a mug’s trail of relenting principles 
wired to ankle, currency lass in a jumper times the curfew 
a ball of discomfort on a vintage beanbag 
while daffodils recite – preamble: body-as-quest 
tougher than a table of elements in pin-drop pause 
Adjust the sigh track near a convocation of analysts 
A remix swims over a screen 
Talk: plastic 
 
From: Ryan, Gig, ‘Post It’ in Cordite Poetry Review48.0: Constraint, 20 December 2020, p. [unnumbered]. 
(https://webarchive.nla.gov.au/awa/20141220030158/http://pandora.nla.gov.au/pan/14234/20141220-0000/cordite.org.au/poetry/constraint/post-it/index.html) 
 
Date: 2014 
 
by: Gig (Elizabeth Anne Martina) Ryan (1956- )