Poetry

  • Poetry

    “The Spider Spins” by Sean Karns

    June 28, 2019 /
    In its foliage, the spider rides the vibrating
    web. It is patient and waits Buddha-like,
    as if it knows something greater—
    that survival requires less consumption,
    that survival is basic— therefore its needs
    are minimal. When its hunger is met,
    it is blessed, so much so, it wraps its dead in silk.
    It seems simple, the spinning of the web.
    The spider’s world is instinctual—
    it ignores the chaos-order beyond its web.
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  • Poetry

    “The Art of Music” by David Shapiro

    June 10, 2019 /

    You were practicing the early art of memory.
    You would bestow twenty per cent of your attention on me
    Then shut your eyes. From time to time since the invention of print
    The phrase “elephant debt” would force itself to your lips.

    Only one thing exists:   the universe.
    The others by definition cannot; how rigid out theory is.
    Without the flavor of paint however force seems useless.
    Needless to say the stage was set, but what followed?

    Together we will sing in octaves. And the hairy bushes
    And bleeding hearts develop like twining vines.

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  • Poetry,  Translation

    Excerpts from “The Cloud in Trousers” by Vladimir Mayakovsky (translated from the Russian by David Lehman)

    June 1, 2019 /

    The Cloud in Trousers

     

    (From Part One)

    Hey!
    Gentlemen!
    You who,
    next to me,
    are rank amateurs
    in the realms
    of sacrilege,
    mischief,
    and mayhem —
    have you laid eyes on
    the most terrifying thing
    in the world –
    my face
    when I am totally calm,
    cool and collected?

    I fear
    my ego
    isn’t big enough
    for the rest of me
    which
    is struggling
    to emerge
    as a full-born youth
    from a Madonna’s womb.

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  • Poetry

    “Crepuscule” by Daisy Bassen

    May 2, 2019 /
    Vanity is important as snow,
    As the deer in the yard
    That is covered by snow, unpocked
    With boot-prints. She was more beautiful
    As a fawn. I wanted her to be mine,
    To come every twilight and look at me
    Because we were alike somehow
    And it was worth the risk to stand there,
    Like an India ink etching, a meal for a coyote.
    But I was irrelevant or perhaps deer do not see
    Very well when night is coming,
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  • Poetry,  Translation

    Three Poems by Vladimir Gandelsman, Translated by Olga Livshin and Andrew Janco

    May 1, 2019 /

    MOM, RESURRECTED

     

    Wear your coat. Wear your hat.
    You’ll get sick. Don’t do that.
    Call your mom. Call your mom.
    A storm is coming. A storm.

    Get some bread on the way home.
    Get up. It’s five minutes till. Hello?
    I got you a delicious treat.
    We’ll be able to pay for heat.

    That’s for the holidays. Why did you open it.
    What did you do this time. What did—
    Just go away. Just beat it, all right?
    Daddy and I waited all night.

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