Mi cuerpo está dormido. Sólo
mis ojos y mi cerebro están despiertos.
Las estrellas me rodean
como pupilas de oro. Yo no sabría
decir dónde comienza mi ser o dónde acaba.
La suave brisa en los oscuros pinos,
y en la hierba invisible,
la tierra que se inclina, las estrellas titilantes
tienen un ojo que se ve a sí mismo.… Leer más
13 Poemas de Philip Lamantia
The Islands of Africa
to Rimbaud
Two pages to a grape fable
dangles the swan of samite blood
shaping sand from thistle covered fog
Over sacred lakes of fever
(polished mouths of the vegetable frog
rolling to my iron venus)
I drop the chiseled pear
Standing in smoke filled valleys
(great domains of wingless flight
and the angel’s fleshy gun)
I stamp the houses of withering wax
Bells of siren-teeth (singing to our tomb
refusal’s last becoming)
await the approach of the incendiary children
lighting the moon-shaped beast
Every twisted river pulls down my torn-out hair
to ratless columns by the pyramid’s ghost
(watered basin of the temple stink)
and all the mud clocks in haste
draw their mermaid-feather swords
(wrapped by Dust) to nail them
into the tears of the sea-gull child
The winter web minute
flutters beneath the spider’s goblet
and the whores of all the fathers
bleed for my delight

There
on that chain of Ohlone mountains
shafts of light on a bobcat
through the thick madrones
first seen emblems that endure cupped my nine years
the great booming voice of nature
in the red bark’s sloping labyrinth
who called my name
fetishes of pebbles and tabac in a redwood pouch
secret house of bark between the branches
these lights never die whose embers glow wilder
than wilderness at the beginning of words
to catch the ring of stars
at the still point
of infinite sur-rational flight
all was bathed in red
according to the perfection of temporal mirrors
elastic time in the gape of memory
visionary recitals in the exultant spring oblivious to the sea

Blue Grace
crashes thru air
where Lady LSD hangs up all the floors of life for the last time
Blue Grace leans on white slime
Blue Grace weaves in & out of Lüneburg and ‘My Burial Vault’ undulates
from first hour peyote turnon
Diderot hand in hand with the Marquis de Sade
wraps himself up in a mexican serapé
at Constitution Hall, Philadelphia, 1930
Blue Grace turns into the Count of Saint-Germain
who lives forever
cutting up George Washington
dream of pyramid liquefactions from thighs of Versailles
Blue Grace intimidates Nevil Chamberlain
feels up Fillippo Marinetti
and other hysterics of the phallic rose
Blue Grace dressed up as automobile sperm
My Claw of the future
and the almond rose Rich the Vampire wears
over the US Army
— flags !… Leer más
8 Poemas de Janine Pommy Vega
The Last Watch
The monk’s prayer sung bowed down in the dome
comes around ascending sound
calling far as the land reaches
Wakefulness now in the last watch —
Lord near us!
& churchbells toll no hour thrice….
dogs barking endlessly nightlong, a sign
of the ending of days, are lain down in stillness;
From my threshold of silence candlelighted I listen
alone, the flourish of wind through the trees —
dawn of grey rose, expansion of morning.… Leer más
8 Poemas de Philip Whalen
The Same Old Jazz
OK, it’s imperishable or a world as Will
& Idea, a Hindu illusion that our habits continuously
Create. Whatever I think, it
Keeps changing from bright to dark, from clear
To colored: Thus before I began to think and
So after I’ve stopped, as if it were real & I
Were its illusion
But as Jaime de Angulo said, «What’s wrong with two?»… Leer más
Diane Wakoski visual
Diane Wakoski, Distinguished Poet Series, June 16, 1987
Enlaces de interés :
7 Poemas de Diane Wakoski
5 Poemas de ruth weiss
this is really real
crystal in the night-sky
last night in september
flashing blue flashing green
–
crystal in the night-sky
moves double-speed of stars
flashing gold flashing red
.
crystal in the night-sky
four times a star to eye
this is really real
.
this is really — real
this is here to heal
.… Leer más
3 Poemas de Mary Norbert Körte
La monja cocinera Eddie Mae soñó que sor Mary huía con Allen Ginsberg
Los largos pasillos oscuros están bien fuertes
para haber permanecido después del
terremoto de 1906 cuando la sobrevivencia fue
calculada por el sonido que hacían las cuentas
del rosario de la madre superiora
ella soñó eso
la cocinera soñaba a las demás monjas
soñaba imposibles sueños de visiones plateadas
y sonidos océanicos en la
noche quejumbrosa
Soñar fue su misión a la que ella no podía
renunciar.… Leer más
4 Poemas de Hettie Jones
Praise
for Marie Ponsot
All praise the midweek market,
the first-of-the-season sexy zucchinis
gazing up from their crowded
boxes
All praise the cherries, their tight
red bellies, the sweet, slender stems
and the pit, ah the pit, to be nursed
in the mouth, cajoled to give up
its last sweet hold, praise
them.… Leer más
Hettie Jones visual
Master Class de Hettie Jones sobre poesía (abril de 2012)
Poet Hettie Jones remembers and reads poems dedicated to Allen Ginsberg
El Proyecto Legacy en el County College of Morris (CCM) organizó un foro sobre la influyente Generación Beat, un período de tiempo en la historia literaria estadounidense que vio a los escritores romper con el paquete y desarrollar sus propias voces contraculturales.… Leer más