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Jeremy's journal

The gate is wide open, the madmen escape.

José Saramago

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Boolean intimacy/ cold equations/ of true love and betrayal, heartbreak/ and satisfaction

posted Saturday morning: Respond
➳ More posts about Writing Projects

Tuesday the 13th


posted evening of the 13th: Respond
➳ More posts about Projects

Sunday, April 16th

se debe leer en un idioma que no sea el propio

posted morning of April 16th: Respond
➳ More posts about Altazor: The Journey by Parachute

Friday, October 28th, 2016


Mirá / estas cenizas / que fueron en otro tiempo mi cuerpo / lo que has abrazado fuerte / en otro tiempo / sientelas caerse / estas cenizas / entre tus dedos. Escuchá / al bosque / silencioso.


Look, now/ at these ashes / that used to be my body / you held me tight / used to / Now feel them falling / these ashes / between your fingers. Listen / to the silent / forest.

posted evening of October 28th, 2016: 1 response

Thursday, July 30th, 2015


the repetitive nonverbal dialogue of crickets and birds. Pradeep pradeep!

posted evening of July 30th, 2015: Respond

Thursday, January first, 2015

mañana es otro dia

mañana es otro día
por J. Osner

nos unamos los manos:
nos giremos hacia el este
esperando al sol que teñirán
de rosa sus rayos el cielo negro;
nos dejarán saber
que empieza el nuevo día,
ese día hasta que postergábamos
todos los deseos más queridos.
agárrame a mí ahora la mano
y dime nuevamente, muévete:
nos ya estamos quemando
debajo del sol del mediodía.

posted evening of January first, 2015: Respond

Saturday, December 13th, 2014


Luminiferous Genesis
by J Osner

The first day was water. On the second day
water created earth.
On the third day mud

breathed air. On the fourth day creation blazed, and said
that it was good. Muddy reality,
eternally drying out in the heat

of the moment.

posted morning of December 13th, 2014: Respond

Saturday, December 6th, 2014


on an easel on the stage, the title -- ποταμοῖσι τοῖσιν αὐτοῖσιν ἐμϐαίνουσιν, ἕτερα καὶ ἕτερα ὕδατα ἐπιρρεῖ. Different waters bathe those who step into the same river. --Heraclitus of Ephysus. The spot fades and the placard is removed; enter Cratylus stage right. Lights come up stage right on Cratylus and gradually on the rest of his colleagues, who are standing like statues. Each (except Cratylus) has a placard identifying the character's name at his feet. Cr. kicks them away one by one as he points at the actor -- "waking him up".

posted morning of December 6th, 2014: 3 responses

Tuesday, September 23rd, 2014

Poetry activity

A couple of things have been happening lately in the world of "poetry by J. Osner"... The chapbook of the Universidad Desconocida workshop was presented at the kickoff event for the workshop's second year. It features three of my poems and lots of beautiful writing from other students -- and I've just finished a translation of Isabel Zapata's "Sleepwalker's Lullaby" from the chapbook. ...Two of my poems (both from Analogies for Time) were published in Issue 5 of Street Voice (I think it is the first time I have ever appeared in a poetry journal), and I'm in touch with the editor about submitting some more work.

posted morning of September 23rd, 2014: Respond
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Saturday, September 20th, 2014

The tintinnabulation of the night

Here is an idea I am liking, poetry-wise: I think I've hit on this rhythm and voice that will allow me to propel the text, to follow almost blindly the beats and consonants of the text and ultimately even to transcend the text. Here is a piece I wrote in that fashion, following this meter, yesterday -- as I say I like it, and find this a pleasant voice to adopt, cute, (semi blatant) echoes of Poe and of Whitman -- formally of one, excitement-wise of the other. The poem is to a prompt from Describli.

Lines ii

by J. Osner

Read between the lines,
lines marking boundaries that
separate *within* from what's
without. Read behind the
words, the printed words are
only messengers, the poem
that's behind them's what you
need. Read between the lines,
dividing lines between the
text and empty paper. Read
behind the words, read
through the text, it's a distraction from the message
graven deep on every page.
Read behind the page, now
read the emptiness around
you, shining message, read
the tintinnabulation of the
night, the air around you's humming,
breathing, clicking, pounding, every line
of every poem you've ever
read's inscribed there, see it,
read it, listen to the meter of
the poem that's behind the
text you're reading in the
sweet night air, encoded
in the symbols of the lines.

posted afternoon of September 20th, 2014: Respond

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Jeremy Osner, The Untranslated on The Disconnected (2 responses)

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