Skip to main content

from the notebook

14 October 2010

all the mornings of the world
I'm saved
socks are holy
bee stings are not

my tongue has drunk
the lust of yr race

supreme lucidity: when the lights
die down

a camel ravishes
a goat

and in the encyclopedia of
yr brown eyes

I find

a no-moss mind
this is my Italian translation:

Easter is married
to Hades


I do love
your cheeks

I sit in the Piazza Unita
open to the sea
the fountains of four continents
an Italian rock
grinds out tunes
to the wind

I'm not frightened
I'm not frightened
of your lovebones
sweet hun luv etc.

bling bling
my margins
have shifted

don't get ______

this is the occult
caves of your music
I slept late &
late again
with an army
of insecurities


yr notorious allure cannot be threatened
by the queen of the onion shrubs
all dogs dance
such intimacies
such imtimacies
my friends
of the trade winds


in the bliss
of a new dawn
we are yoked

and a number
we are doing a new

tapping out lines

900 exhibits
of the mind

in heaven
there is television


I'm forever blowing
bubbles bubbles
senora senora
I'm hung up on
yr love
and love I'm there
in a thin white
what if getting old means
no one ever finds you
I'm always in the tunnel
not older
not younger
I'm tired of this
poem but want
to give you
senorita senorita


Popular posts from this blog

poets reading poets

There are on A now: Andrews, Antin, Apollinaire, Ashbery

A project from the Atlanta Poetry Group. Check it:

The Poetry of Tao Lin

Another Ireland by Robert Archambeau

This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).

Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…