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Tyndareus Crushed, by Igor Mitoraj (taken August 2005)

READIN

Jeremy's journal

Language speaks, because speaking is its pleasure and it can do nothing else.

Penelope Fitzgerald


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Tuesday, January 16th

🦋 ¡Hagamos idioma!

Cuentista, son tus palabras
El idioma y nada más.
Cuentista, no hay idioma,
Se hace idioma al contar.
Al contar se hace el idioma,
Y al recordar las pasajes contadas
Se oye el relato que nunca
Se ha de volver a narrar.
Cuentista no hay idioma
Sino espuma sobre las aguas.

posted evening of January 16th: 1 response
➳ More posts about Poetry

Sunday, January 14th

🦋 Prophesy: Laura's dream

In the dream it was a sunny morning after a night of heavy rain. Everyone was nervy because of an ancient prophesy: The morning sun sparkling on the waters of River X (which had been dry for all of recorded time -- the river had a name but I've forgotten it) would portend the end of days. So we walked down to and along the bed of the river, at every waystation I was pointing out to my friends how it was dry, nothing to worry about. We passed a concrete embankment with a light rill of water running down it, the sunlight sparkling. Beyond that was an ocean, where none had been before; its vastness was dumbfounding. Thousands were gathered there, standing on the shore, gawking.

posted morning of January 14th: Respond
➳ More posts about Dreams

Monday, January first

🦋 Círculos

¡Felicidades al año nuevo, herman@s poetas!

posted evening of January first: Respond
➳ More posts about Writing Projects

Sunday, December 31st, 2017

🦋 I dream of Antwoman

Deviant Madonna of the ants,
she listens to their chants,
she catches every glance,
she wants to but she can't...
Is this love?
Is this love?

posted afternoon of December 31st, 2017: 1 response

Sunday, December third, 2017

🦋 Syndication

READIN syndication is once again live (after an interval of some years) at http://readin.com/blog/bfeed.xml. In case you're using Google Reader to manage your blog subscriptions... or you know, Feedly or something.

posted evening of December third, 2017: Respond
➳ More posts about The site

Friday, October 27th, 2017

🦋 No debe ser marinero

No debe ser marinero
quien quiere dejar rastro.
La estela de la barca
se ensancha y despacio
desaparece. Sin hacer ruido
golpea el remo
otra vez contra el agua.

posted evening of October 27th, 2017: 8 responses

🦋 Pine branches

Pine branches like spokes
on a rimless wheel

twowheels

posted afternoon of October 27th, 2017: Respond
➳ More posts about Pretty Pictures

Tuesday, October 10th, 2017

Deep blues, and reds,
And pastel shades of gray and tan
Are the colours that line Meeker Street

posted afternoon of October 10th, 2017: Respond

Monday, September 25th, 2017

🦋 Flesh and bones

Flesh and bones, I wear you like an overcoat.
Flesh and bones, you carry me around
like a favorite toy.

posted morning of September 25th, 2017: Respond
➳ More posts about Identification

Tuesday, July 25th, 2017

The cool, heavy sun is mute: Apollo's
giddy, radiant youth
now past and gone.

The sky is cloudy. Daisy's
nervous growl
reminds you
you need to be somewhere
in an hour or two,
reminds you
it's Sunday.

posted evening of July 25th, 2017: Respond

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