Apr 15, 2015 Uncategorized 0
Blackbirds pluck the trees, throat bloody notes through limbs and eaves. Such radiant violence. The sky, a nacred sheet. The forehead of a hill cracked open so the ghosts rip free. A height once whole, a peak from which to see. Between the curtain and the wall rusts the world through a window. A nest with four teal eggs, dotted gray. Yolk and plaster, pastel-caked. Here, blackbird. Here, landscape. To watch your watching without recognition, without name. Grass-line, tree-line, hairline breaks in the glass, the gauze, the gaze. Your head wanders, nodding like a cradle.
Notes: Titles and italics are adapted from Emily Dickinson’s poetry. Published in Lullaby (with Exit Sign). Philadelphia: Saturnalia Books, 2013. Originally published in Crazyhorse.
Tender father. Feather your face. Fingers laced with June. This waiting room white as always. July. You were patient. August. Body of wilted springs. Part tissue. Part decay. Paralysis. September, and the months drip. Patience. Pain. Infinite contain. Patient between 3 AM and Tuesday. Between sponge bath and morphine. Between warfarin and vomiting. Current, rubber, hiccup, vex. The body lit up, needled, electric. You dream, half-life, half-lit. Machines chirp metallic lullabies. A neon line blinks across a black screen. Pulse like a promise green and green until the heart stops, sleeps.
Notes: Titles and italics are adapted from Emily Dickinson’s poetry. Published in Lullaby (with Exit Sign). Philadelphia: Saturnalia Books, 2013. Originally published in POOL.
Unsentence it there. Pry the comma’s hook. Lift with hammer’s claw or thumbnail. Unloose the current of next and next. Shadows appear in their ink dress. Letterforms with arms like a girl: shoulder, leg, bowl, stem flailing in a white sea. Dash table, dash pen, dash raft. Each mark too small to carry breath. What becomes us: marginalia. You once were. Then. Letters through which a promise drifts, until the Matter ends.
Notes: Titles and italics are adapted from Emily Dickinson’s poetry. Published in Lullaby (with Exit Sign). Philadelphia: Saturnalia Books, 2013. Originally published in American Poetry Review.
Read Interview with Hadara Bar-Nadav here
Jan 15, 2015 0CALL FOR: This is an invitation call for poetry editors, scholars, professors and creative writing geniuses to be a part of a mammoth project on contemporary world poetry of major Diasporas. WHAT IT IS NOT: This is not another anthology or a mere collective of poetry. This is a much...
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