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Friday, August 10th, 2012
Cómo pensar en idioma extranjera, cómo
tomar revelación en los pensamientos
y pasajes, palabras de luz
y de apologia cómo imaginarte que la tierra,
la desierte debajo de tus pies
sea planeta ajeno: que la estrella
la que deseas
a tà te sea patria
a donde nunca mas te volvieras
 (see you soon -- bloggy hiatus to ensue)
↻...done
posted evening of August 10th, 2012: 1 response
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Saturday, July 28th, 2012
So let's say you're standing now standing stock still on the front stoop
in Saugerties digging the ambient sounds of nighttime
quiet rainstorm whirring thousandfold cicada and
let's say your skin looks yellow in the mottled light
and sight and sight is in itself
diffuse too diffuse
and your line of visionary darkness
and difficult
You're staring at the house across the street the stream of lovely golden monsters
 passing
and the yellow light and patchy shadow mute them
mute them dancing
and dancing
and suddenly, you're dancing
 let's say you're standing like that stock still outside now
your eyes are closed now feel the length
the indentations and extension of your spine expanding
stretching backwards
filling what was void above you
and your hands,
and from your hands expanding
canvas dream hands hanging nervous
limp down by your side you feel
the energy that's pouring out
that's pouring groundward
grounded
posted evening of July 28th, 2012: 1 response
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Sunday, July 22nd, 2012
(written to a prompt from La universidad desconocida)
Entre estos árboles que he inventado
y que no son árboles
estoy yo.
If all the ink were wine and all the paper host
communion of the literate commences
when the printing presses close.
Beneath the trees that are not trees you sleep
and dream of average Joes and trains that are not trains
inhuman people, playing god, write out their epitaphs and fortunes:
your pen like silly putty printing mirrored verses
mocking poets' codes of conduct, bylaws
written waist-high on the wall.
The transubstantiation catches you off-guard,
you dip your pen once more to find
Our Savior's life-blood dripping from the
letters of your scrawl;
and senselessness transmutes your text
to whitespace, letters crawl away
like ants, it's time, don't miss your chance --
the Walrus beckons you behind his hanky.
Come and take a walk, we'll have a pleasant chat,
we'll have some oysters.
Carpenter, who's running late, will meet us at the dance.
posted evening of July 22nd, 2012: Respond
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Saturday, July 21st, 2012
por J Osner
(las que lea con disculpas a Roberto Bolaño: directed freewrite based on some references to rain in La universidad desconocida)
Mientras llueve sobre la extraña carretera
En donde te encuentras
Estoy
Créeme que estoy
En el centro de mi habitación esperando
Que llueva. Está lloviendo:
Corriendo las aguas sobre
Los huecos vitreos, ventanas
Deslizandose
Mis mejillas abajo
Y otras partes
Menos delicadas.
Creo
Creo
Tengo miedo
Créeme que tus huellas tan mojadas
Salpicando
Pulsan inquietante
(And fade.)
posted evening of July 21st, 2012: 1 response
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es mi favorito, el túnel el túnel del PATH a la calle 9 acon los tubos desciendo homeward bound
posted morning of July 21st, 2012: Respond
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Why no flowers:
Señor Josner your sexless poems your notes cry out
They plead for love
For love
Be loved
Then love
que yo escribo
que yo intento
que yo intento escribir
que yo intento escuchar
escuchar
escucharé
escribiré, iré, irÃa
posted morning of July 21st, 2012: Respond
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Sunday, July 8th, 2012
...Why did I write? At the end of the day, the normal thing is to read. My accustomed answer was twofold: that firstly, my poetry consisted -- though I did not know this -- of attempts to invent a personality for myself. ...And furthermore, that it was based on an elementary confusion: I believed I wanted to be a poet, but essentially what I wanted to be was a poem.
-- Jaime Gil de Biedma
quoted in Bartleby y compañia
Mi intenta en decir «últimamente sobre nada» fuera igual que cuando yo decÃa antes, «escribir sobre escribir sobre»; la iteración se puede infinitamente reflejar: una reflexión de la realidad y de una realidad reflejado. Si los espejos el otro precisamente alinean, si la recurencia puede proceder sin fin, últimamente se produce el contrario exacto de la realidad descrita, asà precisamente nada. (Lo anterior es válido en doble en relación a «hablar sobre escribir sobre...»)
posted evening of July 8th, 2012: Respond
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Mi esperanza es (supongo) que esa especie de composición (intento decir, el movimiento de imagen vaga, abstracta, nada muy especÃfica, en combinación con ritmo escuchado -- justo al español, sin intervencÃon de inglés en la medida en que soy capaz de eso) vale la pena si nada más, en la instrucción idiomática... El español que hallaré con ese método de instrucción sonará muy ajeno, muy forzado, y de vez en cuando incoherente, pero también (tal vez) muy distintivo, una voz verdadera/engañosa. No tengo idea qué destinación busco, vamos a ver luego, cuando llegamos.
Mi tÃa descansa, su cara resplandece
Con luz infinita y magia y misterio
Viva retrato de dios
Hija
posted afternoon of July 8th, 2012: 1 response
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Saturday, July 7th, 2012
It's foreign, outlandish, in Spanish extraño,
the moving hand writes and escribe la mano
you play with your meanings and juegas con rima
built up from an image, imagen encima
posted morning of July 7th, 2012: Respond
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Friday, July 6th, 2012
Está bien te dices
Déjalo sencillamente
Transpirar acerca de ti
Solamente hunde
En el momento ajeno
Luego harás.
Se llama ésto «técnica»,
Técnica desechable.
posted evening of July 6th, 2012: Respond
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