All posts filed under: Maps

“Wending” and other Poems by Allis Hamilton

Mrs. Piper after Pied Piper of Hamelin   He came home with that wooden whistle one blustery winter’s day.   Said he found it on the snow at the crossroads of Hamelin and Coppenbrügge.   It was just lying there he said. He learned to play it fast enough,   one could well say he was a natural. But I got rather fed up with his playing here in the cave.   It bounced off the stonewalls and I could get no work done, so I sent him out.   The first time my husband returned after a day out with that whistle, it was flies that followed him.   All a-buzz in swarms like swallows on a summer’s eve. Next it was the worms slithering along behind him   like one enormous python. He used them to catch us plenty of fish.   When he brought home the rats, that was quite something.   I smoked the meat from most of them; we had a winter’s worth of food.   And I tanned their …

“Cuween Chambered Cairn” and other poems by Tim Miller

Cuween Chambered Cairn   I should go on my hands and knees to you, you farmers from five thousand years ago. Even though your skulls are no longer here or the small skulls of your two dozen dogs, in retrospect I realize how wise I was, dipping in and out of your dark —the familiar main chamber and three rooms— to never pause in all my picture-taking to never stop and extinguish the light to have found you at the end of the day, so that we were tired and a bit rushed. Something like the terror at what went on here would have overwhelmed me in the moment, the seriousness of generations which I only became aware of later: like an ancient fireplace still smudged with smoke, our shoulders were soiled from the gloom on your hands.   Horses on Orkney   Horses curled in the flaming spiral of sleep, the huge immensity of their bodies   belied by the blankets they wear, or the tight scroll they twist themselves into on the ground, …

“Eve Labouring for 37 Hours; the yes poem” at Levure Littéraire 12

ring Eve labouring for 37 hours; the yes poem   Great Monumental Eve in pain.   Will bring Forth a Cain / Abel Cannibal.   Exhausted stretch rather/rather/rather rather/rather/rather dilate/ than die/ yes.   So just. Sous justice. En vertu de la justice, pour :   (‘In sorrow you shall bring forth children’)   Face. Yes. Present. Yes. Hands. Yes. His image, Who conjured it?   Mouth of dry twigs The/sticks/stones Bones/buttons   a knee-piece/skulls.   There are piles of skulls pushing through my grimacing cunt,   All the pretty things, stones/bones/buttons a knee-piece/ skulls   Sous justice.   Merci !   The Burning Tree   Mineral planes impinge surface embed glares red,   deep red. A scarlet arrow burns out on my white tile, and cools.   The Burning- Years’ round brings Rothko light – Tree.   Glass stained is a bloody transparency.   Sun brings up the silica right to its surfaces, where they may glitter their red sparks.   Willow   Willow’s wooded music is hollow, dead, or veiled. She awaits yellow …

“The Middle of April” by Fióna Bolger

The Middle of April   After Robert Hass   i whan that Aprille with his shoures soote the droghte of March hath perced to the roote my grandfather quotes Chaucer from the vinyl   ii he knows more now we will too soon   iii in the spring pelmet of green   in the summer scarf of orange   in the autumn shawl of white   iv bamboos knock out a tune until disturbed by elephants grazing, discarding as they go   v The dangers lie in the jugular. No one really likes the smell of elephant poo but it makes paper of a high quality. Words written on digested bamboo. Nothing is lost between page and palm. That is mystery: pen, ink, paper, thread, card, dream, word. A memory clings like the smell of dung. And there are always fibres   vi let there be peace between us let us learn together om santhi santhi santhi   vi there’s no shit like your own shit   vii And instead of entering the reserve forest we wandered through …

Excerpts from ‘The Muddy Banks’ by Michael S. Begnal

Uptown   1.   Yellow and crimson leaves, the sidewalks and streets, leaves of vines clinging to tree trunks and brick buildings, concrete staircases overgrown with weeds and roots—   vines cling on tree trunks, brick buildings are concrete things, dwellings of a dead mind, dwelling-places of a vanished mind that stained such things as this—   dwellings of a vanished mind, saw someone, saw things, broken windows, crimson leaves, mansards, toilets whose porcelain is stained and rough, whose water ran—   broken windows saw the concrete staircase below, its iron handrail rust like leaves, its steps buckled and cracked with roots and weeds, hacking coughs—   window broken to the cold, saw someone hacking over the porcelain stained rough like leaves, a mind vanishes, someone vanishes in a cold apartment where the toilet runs—   a dwelling-place is empty but of concrete things, broken panes, a toilet’s porcelain dry and rough, a mind has vanished down a concrete staircase, across the highway, to the cold river   Uptown   3.   Snow on one …