All posts filed under: Metamorphoses

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“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 …

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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” …

“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/ and 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 in a bloody …

“Fintona” and other poems by Aine MacAodha

Windowless church   My church has no windows in fact it has no doors either and to be fair no altar it has no ordained minister or priest or gospels. Its in my heart, in the starry sky the moon shining over the land its the planets in our solar system the sun when it shines or not its the foods god/creator left us, berries, leaves, nuts my church has winter winds that cut to the bone and to enlighten I have the sweet smell of roses as I follow the seasons. It is bog cotton waving on an early Autumn evening as the sun bids farewell. On nights like these dark and Irish wintery the familiar trees and hills become ancient septs ready for battle with the ether. Fields caped in winter fog appear as crafted cities of the dead souls roam among the rushes in search of utopia or a home. Trees scan the darkened horizon the wind calls out names too and winter hangs around like a threat. This is my church. …

Canto 1 of Dante’s Inferno, a transversion by Peter O’Neill

Canto 1 of Dante’s Inferno   In middle-age I found myself in an obscure wood, for the straight road had long since been lost.   Christ, how hard it is for me now to even contemplate how harsh and savage a place it was, without renewing my old fears!   It is a place so bitter that death might come as a relief; But to speak of the good I will tell of the other things too that I found.   I don’t know how I can begin to describe how I entered, having been so drugged in a kind of sleep that I had long since abandoned the straight way.   But, when I reached the foot of the hill, there where the valley ends, and where my heart had been seized with such anguish,   I looked up, and I saw its shoulders dressed in the rays of the planet which directs us all to where we need to go.   Then the fear was a little quieted, which had endured well into …