I come with a smoking torch In the hut of a six-fingered untruth: — Let me look at you, let me watch, Since I’ll be laid in a pine coffin, struth. She treats me with pickled mushrooms, Takes a pot from under her plank-bed And serves a fresh nourishing broth Cooked from infant belly buttons. […]
Who sleeps with me at night’s
My secret, but if you must
I’ll tell you: Fear sleeps with me ––
Just fear, which suddenly
Cradles me in the see-saw
Of loneliness, with a silence
Quem dorme à noite comigo?
É meu segredo, é meu segredo!
Mas se insistirem, desdigo.
O medo mora comigo,
Mas só o medo, mas só o medo!
E cedo, porque me embala
Num vaivém de solidão,
É com silêncio que fala,
(Or, The Peculiarities of the Making of Cross-Cultural Literary History) What I’m here today to do is to make recommendations and to give advice. I know that what I’m doing is a little bit (if not a lot) presumptuous and ridiculous, and that my talk, to some degree, mirrors consciously and unconsciously the very processes that […]
We, human beings, have been adapting since the dawn of time. We’ve adapted to live in the most diverse ecosystems and under the most different social-political regimes. There are humans who live in the scalding heat of the Sahara desert and in the paralyzing cold of the Antarctic region. There are humans who survive in the midst of the sprawling Amazon jungle and between the towering cement jungle of Manhattan. There are humans who have endured unimaginable hatred and who have thrived against insurmountable challenges. We, as a species, are all about evolving, changing and adapting. If there’s one art we’ve collectively mastered, is the art of adaptation.
The founders of the League are at risk in signing the petition. It is very brave of them to ask for more freedom of expression, because the last time it happened, in the mid-1950s following military victory over the French, poets and writers who made such a request were treated very harshly, including imprisonment, loss of their privileged positions in the Writers Association, and not having their work published for the next 40 years.
Sponsored by China Scholarship Council, Prof. Liu Fuli went to the University of Alabama to study Hank Lazer’s poetry. She was a visiting scholar in the first half of the year 2012. Liu Fuli: In China, the widely acknowledged description of your identity is as a language poet. So we will begin with language poetry. […]
Los Angeles poet Wanda Coleman, born in 1946, died at Cedar-Sinai Medical Center on November 22, 2013. The day after my marriage to Howard, November 23, 2013, I read in the Los Angeles Times of the sad news of the death, at age 67, of poet Wanda Coleman. Her husband, Austin Straus, vaguely told the […]
I hear democracy weep, on election day.
The streets are filled with brokered promise, on election day.
The miscreant’s vote the same as saint’s, on election day.
The dead unleash their fury, on election day.
not unlike the rest –
just for a moment,
the past, it catches flies
has no air sac
snakes, mice, thieves
scorn its grave
plush wolves howl,
its future is moot
it’s a blind bee and its mate wearing glasses
it’s tongue is no sponge
it’s antennae scent out Drummond
unable to see in the dark