Of Time and Intensity Of Time and Intensity
Is Time a dispersion of intensity? For epiphanists, maybe, but not for me— for whom Time is a transposition of immensity into a lower key.
Jul 10, 2012 / Books & the Arts / Peter Cole
Tutelary Tutelary
Solace from anemones, sepals of instinct pushing the air. Why do they matter so much, there in the room at noon while nothing moves around them: scarlet, creams, and burgundies, magenta, bone-white, and bruise-like blues; the wind’s daughter, or bride, for some, for others a temple to the wounds of Tammuz— or living itself, wordless, longing. Where is that luminous lusciousness from?
Jun 25, 2012 / Books & the Arts / Peter Cole
Recipe Recipe
You carry things at a right angle Subtract thirty years Add salt, breadcrumbs; add powdered sugar I walked through the woods there, the fields running under the phone lines, dry but cold, staying inside the tree-line, inside the dream The field side of things felt like early winter in the 1970s Three deer, two waiting on sawhorses, were being butchered in the snow by a couple wearing orange snowsuits There was a child There were statues in the woods with me One had a hand covering his mouth I’d parked near the one lane bridge Hid my car keys up inside the right front wheel-well I used to go on these walks all the time
May 29, 2012 / Books & the Arts / David Dodd Lee
The Road to Hi Hat The Road to Hi Hat
Sunrise hurt the cat-owl’s eyes. Crows go to ground in the slim valley. Past Hard Shell, around through Softshell’s barnless swallows. Transhumance older than the hills: Up the mountain in May to see the spindly sourwood flowers. Down in the fall with the firelit honey. Even the river stones show early autumn: wet scarlet, sugar-maple bronze.
May 16, 2012 / Books & the Arts / Merrill Gilfillan
Cradle Knoll Cradle Knoll
All the bloodhounds in the world touch down. Wardens come from miles around. Last night a lazy dream, footage of a full range tossing under storm, wild zydeco wind up from the south via Hurricane Gap, leaves in the air, gullies surging, foaming brick-red— Van Gogh’s hair, sickle-cut, or General Sherman’s. Grouse drum on hazy ridges. Down the road a place called Muses Mills. White-throated sparrows sing their whisper-song. All the bloodhounds in the world can’t pin it down.
May 16, 2012 / Books & the Arts / Merrill Gilfillan
funeral coffee tea funeral coffee tea
my stepmother called regarding the arrangement for my dad’s funeral she is actually my second stepmother and she wanted to do things informally in a manner that my dad would’ve liked you should understand that this stepmother is two years younger than I am and that she is very very cute well this was it the funeral banquet will be in the church hall but it won’t just be coffee tea and cookies it would be coffee tea and my dad’s favorite sandwich peanut butter and bananas what could I say? it’s true I said that that was his favorite sandwich but his favorite meal was steak and lobster and it was a dead silence on the other end of the phone
May 9, 2012 / Books & the Arts / Michael Casey
Leviticus Again Leviticus Again
“And his issue is unclean,” 15:3 He is human and so will be humbled He is flesh and so will fail He is bone and so will be broken He is blood and so will bleed He has cheated and so will be changed He has deceived and so will be drained He has mocked and so will be muddied He is hollow and so will howl He has sullied and so will sadden He is nothing and so will be nought He is pain and so will perish He is emission and so will be missed He is water and so will weep He is cavernous and so will cry He is dross and so will disgust He is a carcass and so will be cast He has soured and so will stink He is rank and so will retch He is a worm and so will writhe He is corruption and will be betrayed He came forth, and so he will fade Palestine, sixth century CE (translated from the Hebrew by Peter Cole)
May 2, 2012 / Books & the Arts / Yannai
The Drought The Drought
Dip him in the river who loves water… said the cook on the cooking show… Take the hearts of thirty ducks… and here’s the trick… You must keep them wet… the way to go… the way to go is broth… Ok… Broth of hearts of duck… I went to go buy broth stuff… a bay leaf… Oh said the grocer… With duck heart what you want is spice… Curry the thirty hearts he said… Back home… Hurrying… Ok, curry… The mailman smelled the place… Oh Ho he said… I smell blood… he opened the pot… Why if it isn’t 30 duck hearts… Of course you’re going to skewer them…? Skewers… I had to… I had to go… I ran down to the hardware depot… Skewers…? Well it’s not BBQ season… I persisted… I explained the meal… the populace… Meanwhile… customers were coming… buying out all the salt and shovels… for the blizzard… buying out all the fireworks… for the Fourth… buying out all the hammers and nails… for Hurricane Ross… Remained: some rope… I’d hang them… if I had to… It’s not thirty duck hearts is it… asked the clerk… I didn’t dare talk… To skewer the hearts of thirty duckers… he said… you need the beaks of thirty ivory-billed woodpeckers… Are those… rare?… As rare as they come, he said… Better give me 31… Ran home… the kitchen was smelling… majestic… Ok…Ok… Almost ready… The places set… Candles lit… The downstairs neighbor tuning her pipe organ… 29 special guests filed in… Please sit… May I present… In the heart of each duck… there was a glint… majestic… They said, Is that…? Yes, I said… Yes… each one swimming in sauce and broth… Oh, they said… Oh no no no… Had I…? Were they…? No, no no no no … Dip him in the river who loves water… Yes that’s the recipe I followed… That’s not the way it goes… anymore… they said… They said… each heart should be served raw… and drowning… in a sacred diamond-flavored fountain… I was so… I didn’t usually believe in impressing… But these guests!… Honestly… They were just… They were as hungry as I was… One especially kind… one offered to… to pawn the woodpecker skewers… I lied… said they were worthless… said Oh they were free… Oh just papier-mâché… Oh found a ton of them lying around… down… where the river used to be…
Apr 17, 2012 / Books & the Arts / Darcie Dennigan
‘I am not myself’ ‘I am not myself’
I’m severely everyone & it hurts if I’m sick you’ll take care of me? “Oh, yeah sure of course.”
Mar 27, 2012 / Books & the Arts / John Coletti