Jim Moffitt’s his name, he hails from New Carlisle, Indiana and when he’s not painting watercolors, he’s a bicycling fool—my kind of anti-lemming. Welcome aboard, Jim.
new old kid on the blog, with an occasional old or new poem written off the old writer's block
Saturday, November 6, 2010
A Dedication: Some Poems from My Spanish Friend Mario
It must be an exhilarating albeit exhausting task translating Seferis, Elytis, Eliot, David Jones, Zukofsky, et al. into Spanish and all the while writing your own poems, but this is what Mario DomÃnguez Parra does, and he does it with all the passion of a Spanish Markos Vamvakaris: When the great rembetiko musician first heard a bouzouki, he vowed to learn how to play the instrument in six months or he would chop off his arm with a cleaver! Now that’s what I call dedication and I’m grateful Mario has it.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Tenderfoot
young heifer nibbling
cane shoots down
long river road, further up
road looking back, tough mama
moo-cow watches on.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Huuklyeand Cinquor on Going in Circles
Somewhere round
Here is a square peg.
Moderator’s comments: The apotheosis of the absurd in only seven words; however, what remains of my frazzled logic impels me to peg the odds at 99-1 that prior to writing this “exercise in futility,” Cinquor envisaged the specter of the great Archimedes uttering his famous last words “Do not disturb my circles” just before an enraged, mathematically ignorant Roman soldier “put him in a pine box” for what he thought was insubordination, when in reality all the good mathematician had in mind was to continue his line of thought undisturbed, outside the box.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Huuklyeand Cinquor on Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish
Why make such a stink about leaving?
The first and only time you said
Something worth waiting for
Was when you said goodbye.
Moderator’s comments: At times I can’t help wondering if some of Cinquor’s offerings contain references that he’s carried over from other works of art; take this one, for example. It reeks of something that might have been said by Vladimir to Estragon or vice-versa. But then again, an artist bearing such impeccable references wouldn’t be that heavy-handed in the handling of our cultural baggage, would he? Besides, the image of a fumbling Cinquor decked out as porter is so ludicrously repulsive as to be unbearable.
Monday, November 1, 2010
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