Wikipedia Poem, No. 864
ultimately — untimely
from the old english
pinian
("to suffer") and repines
recoils in 1820 his diction
in pain contain
languish/waste away
Tag Archives: greek
A Noisy Phalanx Is a Safe Phalanx
“The Word Hoplite is Scratched Out” Joseph M. Gerace. 2018. 6′ 3″ x 6′ 3″
I impute, with geometry, Hoplite. Consciously I do this to you, Too-Beautiful Poemtaker. Remember John to Philip wrote: “Don’t worry about it Levine, you’re ugly enough to be a great poet.” That’s filled with funny truth — oozes out of the recoiling seams, the reactionary-gunman seams. The Ugly Poet pities him — Perfect Gator — welcomes him to his soul. That child labor where hallucinations are made and thrown into the blood pool. Do you two remember the Battle of Thermopylae? Sit down, Hero, Xerxes — your pearly Perfect Gator — wants to entomb a hedge around his lengthy head. His dome is a lighthouse, don’t get it twisted with scalene teeth and bombing runs. Violence, he fancies himself president, dope commander. There. Over there. In the darkest dark. There it is. A carefully restored — the pearly acquiescence notes this before enveloping everything else — bust of Leonidas. His feathered features spark like desire. There exist no right angels in the black, you were correct. Always have been. But, no more! Desperate Darius sends emissaries to each Greek city-state clutching hundreds of printed out text messages describing’ Xerxes’s corpse. No two missals contain the same information, but each is precise in blood-line.
Scraps for God
Wikipedia Poem, No. 718
mount ancient
hard sounds
from the coast
of his way
to be had
life ended up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged up
scrounged u
Self-Portrait (Memnon’s Remix)
Wikipedia Poem, No. 652
“And look! Memnon has been stolen away and is at the edge of the painting.” Philostratus the Elder
i know what precisely to say do i say a few years back what's right and how much of love is high cheek bones and how many high cheek bones gatherd here how low the creek groans bones and how much left i felt the thin cracks in what's right and how does algae grow so deeply phonetic down my chest beauty when ever where ever i'm not looking at my phone am i begging myself to stay say a few years back what precisely do i mean or am i asking me or am i asking me or am i asking my phone when ever i'm right behind myself that's how love is high cheek bones and glass skin and how much of love is deeply photosynthetic am i asking my phone which i am not looking at first that master's eyes surrounded by bones and how much of love is a long stemmed wine glass there are my high cheek bones love and how much of love is thin cracks in that master's degree eyes surrounded by all the pain out of hand i know what precisely do i mean or am i muttering again either way i see myself of course in my master's eyes surrounded by all the rosette bone algae growing so deeply phonetic then i say a few years worth of what's right and yet look first that's how much is felt see the seamouth's signifier and how much of love is glass thin skin cracks in the long stemmed wine glass full of saltspit there are high cheek bones and then there are high cheek bones in a low cut white v-neck crawling with algae so deeply photosynthetic am i asking myself or am i asking me say a few years go by what precisely do i say then after a few thin years
After Reading a Page and a Half of Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry
Wikipedia Poem, No. 600
“He who arrives at the door of poetry without the madness of the muses, thinking that he can be a good poet thanks solely to techne remains incomplete, and the poetry is eclipsed by that of the mad.” Plato
the keyhole
of my broad back
of
my ignorance were i
ignorant as all the philosophers
poured into a visible earthen mold
be invincibly
ignorant for being
unreached but unreachable
this
condition is
the key then to
to verdant madness
and made
one less
the
light the winged the
sacred thing of madness
i am stone
the
poem
is no more
no
i am so enamored
no
i am
so
enamored
no
i am so enamored
no
i am so enamored
no
i am so enamored
‘Delirium for the Four Legs of a Love’ by Dimitris Athinakis (trans. Karen Emmerich)
I see your yesses coming from afar
and my own, like candles,
brandish
and burn
awaiting the centuries
A strong wind
carries off my hat my glasses my tattoo my arm
carries off
my leg and an eye
[I'm left there smiling before jets
gushing the joy of nothingness]
joy —
it too alone
Stay, if you want, by my side
— even if no one understands us
[Why let that, too, smother us]
Just let it flow
let time
the wine
the smoke
flow
Source:
- Athinakis, Dimitris. “Delirium for the Four Legs of a Love.” Translated by Karen Emmerich. Austerity Measures: The New Greek Poetry, edited by Karen Van Dyck, New York: New York Review of Books, 2016, p. 11.
Additional reading:
Wikipedia Poem, No. 330
“eventually / even scorched earth goes green though beneath it // the dead might still luxuriate in their rage my ancestor / was a dervish saint” Kaveh Akbar
luxure obsolete
from the whistling verb
float
rather the 1660s relay
reluctance lasting and
first attested sometime around
1661 lather reluctantly wrestle
stains see related lasciviousness
lust 1520 screams obsolescence
the verb first fury related
which attests sometime
in 1660 the king burns grace
which is reluctance latin relates
60 pounds of cake perhaps shake
shares a common origin with the greek lygos
pliant twig luxurie debauchery
dissoluteness lust 12c modern french
luxurie debauchery dislocated
arm relate the 1660s relate
14c lasciviousness leathered up
in reluctant magnificence
Excerpt from Kaveh Akbar’s “River of Milk” used without permission, but with unconditional love, from the Poetry Foundation.
Wikipedia Poem, No. 265
“Vex thyself not through all thy wanderings, / through all thy vagrant course from land to land / Vex thyself not, if but there be to hand / A hut, a fire for warmth, and simple things / For food—a cake, kneaded from trough of stone / Relished with mint or thyme, or salt alone.” Leonidas
prefer to discuss who disgusts
one avoid this phrase as a mewet
on the gibbous moon of dry ink
distinction as plosive implies third eye
and creative nasal cones deflect áphōnon
one avoids this phrase altogether in order to prefer
one must not call an unreleased burst plosive
through sounds inaccurate one doesn’t know where one
comes from nor does one particularly matter
Source: Dudley, Donald R. “A History of Cynicism from Diogenes to the 6th Century A.D.” London: Methuen, 1937. Print. Page 115.
Wikipedia Poem, No. 164
“But it is precisely as an attenuated Abstract Expressionist that Twombly has won a place in history. He preserved the Romantic subjectivity of a movement that, as American culture turned witheringly skeptical, lost all conviction. He did it by hazarding that conviction is overrated. Mere whim will serve just as well.” Peter Schjeldahl, New Yorker, Drawing Lines, March 2005.
struggle to
be made; perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect
perfect
perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect perfect per
and safeguard threater of god's elect is
beyond reproach blameless as
his online reviewers note
and
safeguard threater
god is
beyond reproach in christ
what is
beyond reproach a phrase
35 years
the one
who
was alienated
this
is beyond
reproach phrase lamprey
impeccable
exemplary imperious in her direction
with
twee over us who stubbornly struggle
to be country and
safeguard
through ethical standards
for us
who writhing
to
term a country and safeguard threats
to be made; perfect perfect perfect perfect
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect
“Orpheus in Athens” by Jack Spicer
Diogenes the onion-eater, watched by dogs, sitting in his tub. By Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1860
The boy had never seen an honest man. He looked among us every night he said. He eyed each stranger like Diogenes And took him with his lantern into bed. He'd probe the stranger's body with that light Search every corner of his flesh and bone But truth was never there. He'd spend the night Then leave him and resume his search alone. I tried to tell him there was some mistake That truth's a virtue only strangers lack. But when he turned to face me with a kiss I closed my lying heart against his lips.
From “My Vocabulary Did This to Me: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer”