Night of this night, there is a prayer in me
Who read my destination in their love.
O may this cancer and this leprosy
The sovereign brand of our conjunction prove.
This is my world among the beasts who see;
In them I endure the night, and they in my.
The marginal dark - John Malcolm Brinnin
The Lady of Shalott by Maxwell Snow
“Max Snow’s newest work takes its title from Tennyson’s poem: a lyric ballad adapting Arthurian Legend. Cursed to remain alone in her island fortress, The Lady of Shalott is unable to participate in the world except to view its distorted reflection in her mirror and weave those images on her loom. Both the poem and the show serve to raise questions about society and the artist’s role, responding to the conflicting commands to create art inspired by the world and also to live in it. The longstanding connection between weaving and fate implies that the ultimate destiny of the lady, as both artist and individual in society, is to see the world only through her own filters. There is also the embedded allusion to Plato’s allegory of the Cave where the world is a shadow play of ideal forms outside and beyond human perception.”
Andrew Lenoir
The firebombers
We are America.
We are the coffin fillers.
We are the grocers of death.
We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
The bomb opens like a shoebox.
And the child?
The child is certainly not yawning.
And the woman?
The woman is bathing her heart.
It has been torn out of her
and because it is burnt
and as a last act
she is rinsing it off in the river.
This is the death market.
America,
where are your credentials?
Anne Sexton
De la palabra Mirada - Apropiaciones sin derecho alguno (Instalación/ Happening poético) - Reportaje
by Gabriel Cardenas
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?
Bluebird - Bukowski
The boss hires
I want a man who has nothing to gain.
I want his pace to say: nothing more is to be lost.
I want to see from his hands;
That he shall not mind the hours,
that he shall stay on, that the pay will never be just.
Charles Simic
zine inspired by a fragment from the poetry book: ‘a lot like life’, by jesús montoya and fernando vanegas.
zine inspirada en un fragmento del libro de poesía: ‘parecido a la vida’, por jesús montoya y fernando vanegas.
por Ann Ernandez
@monologodelsolo
Y la música sigue sonando,
no ha cambiado nada, no ha pasado nada.
La gente muere,
las cosas pasan,
el mundo se acaba.
Este año algunas personas se han declarado
con hambre, algunos han muerto, otros no,
así es el mundo.
Qué música tan hermosa,
se hace difícil no llorar en estos días, es que la música sigue sonando.
Nos damos la espalda para no vernos el corazón,
quisiera hacer algo,
pero la música sigue sonando.
Fernando Vanegas
