All posts filed under: Maps

infinitebody-07

“The Infinite Body of Sensation”; Visual poetry by Salma Caller

Sound is a shell Sound is a shell An ear Curves of sound Vibrating and condensing air Echoes in a curved space An ocean in the shell of sound Pearls Things that stand in for other things The Witches Pouches Bags of velvet black Nets entangling objects Bones of birds The insides of shells Spells Pearls Things that stand in for other things Nets entangling objects Bones of birds The insides of shells Black Lace Turn this talk into a tale A small dark textured cloth Shadows with shades of velvet Borders and edges tactile Spaces glittering and ornate An elaborate intertwining language Of touching A complex dance of bodies Claustrophobic close Obscure ornate organs Lying in a dark net of black stuffs Needles like obsidian beaks Braiding sound into A florid calligraphy of sensations Rose Point Point de Neige Gros Point Punto in aria Lying in a dark net of black stuffs Needles like obsidian beaks Braiding sound into A florid calligraphy of sensations Rose Rose coloured lips swirling around a dark spot Tasting …

unnamed

Dowsing/ RABDOMANTICA – by Daniela Raimondi

Dowsing/ RABDOMANTICA & other poems is © Daniela Raimondi, the english translations are © Anamaría Crowe Serrano DOWSING   Mother pregnant with rain. Mother of virgin sounds, with music in your marrow and the chirping of a bird in your mouth. Mother sewing and unsewing the waters and the tides holding between your teeth the source of all rivers, the alphabet that gushes on the tongues of poets and leaves damp traces, the imprint of a lamb wet from birth. Mother of the dark-dark Mother of the black-black night. Moved by a primitive thirst, the same need to flee from light that pushes the hare deep into the scrub. Touch me with your clear fingers oil my lips with your blind love. Like a heavenly valley where only light falls. Your blue within another blue, the intense azure breath of your sky.   RABDOMANTICA   Madre pregna di pioggia. Madre di suoni vergini, con un midollo di musica e sulla bocca il gorgheggio di un uccello. Madre che cuci e scuci le acque e le …

image14

SCA/OPES – by Nicole Peyrafitte

SCA/OPES   Tidepools Westwing Lake Palourde           Tide Pools Encinitas, California, October 2013   Re-visiting Encinitas California & measuring the past:  “how to measure such distances how to count such measures” sz PJ   in step with Pacific ocean memories’ ebb & flow tide-pools of hardy organisms cast reflection but what measure measures the past? remains? newbies? Anthopleura elegantissima? I too stretch & clone myself wear a shrapnel shell camouflage practice both sexual & asexual reproduction temporarily attached to immersed objects Pollicipes polymerus? our peduncle is plump short edible attached to a rock beaten by the waves coping with flux & reflux anemones, goose barnacles pelagic witnesses symbiotic walk on provisory bottom where onlookers mirror life of constant changes shared illusion with sardines & mackerel the alternate rhythmic condition back & fro movement decline & renewal  a mighty fear a sounded fear a good fear in a rare intertidal zone mussels prey on barnacle larvae Revoir Encinitas, Californie  & mesurer le passé: “comment mesurer de telles distances  comment compter de telles mesures” …

“Disarticulation” and other poems by Clare McCotter

Selfie With Thelma after Thelma and Louise   In the Southwest desert shedding turquoise on an old man’s palm she trades time for a beat up Stetson hat. Only a day or two since she posed with rose red lips black sun glasses and Audrey Hepburn headscarf marking the start of their journey with the big Polaroid held at arm’s length.   A snapshot of two smiling faces left lying on the backseat of a convertible loaded down with all the stuff they thought they needed pencilling in borders shoring up boundaries soon smudged with ochre earth lost in the dust from a stampede of stars.   Everything looks different now doused with dirt they are part of place gunning the engine before flooring it for the canyon cliff. Out here at Dead Horse Point there are no shallow graves wooden markers or name plates only a thunderbird still whipping up storms suspended in a high solitary leap of faith.   Disarticulation in memory of E M   For them the grave gave no rest. …

“Colour” and Other Poems by Paul Casey

Colour for T.S.Eliot and after fourteen poets The purple stole away from the skins of plums Everywhere we turned became a maze of colour I protect you with an indigo coloured whisper You curve the ends of my black and white day Coffee brown, is mole, dying leaves, dry earth But smell led me here, the smell of yellow The blue, white and red stripes of exotic confusion Moving over the green gravel of a formal grave I wet my lips and a blackbird flies out of my mouth Faces in the front row, silvered in screenlight, focus I thought everyone knew what was meant by sugar-paper blue Tyrian dyes and flax and peacock plumes Gold and yellow where the clouds crack and break away Anemone-blue mountains outlined against the pearl-grey morning Colour was first published in Live Encounters Fishapod out of Watercolour The Spring sea arrives in flailing sage, clutches lime-white soles with the early hunger of sand. Seeping, air-bound, caught on the cusp of an inner eclipse I turn to olive water. Nothing …