Poet’s Market 2018

Wikipedia Poem, No. 682

w682

“Maybe you have to be from there to hear it sing” C.D. Wright

 

a bell 
long ago 
rung in fear
     
one with 
a thousand 
jumps 

a great poem can be 
wild nectar or a great poem 
can be scrubbed from the timeline

                        from 
by whom?                his moaning
                        to be 

how      i assume 
you didn't choose what 
you'd surreptitiously strike

one perfect choice what'd you 
have to not say
          about the young plants 

the end   so wild
      so abandoned of cherry blossom 
not the wild plants with a thousand-word long line 

and this morning i'm unable 
to plant anything lovely 
a cypher as if long ago the bell was rung 

in a dark mossy room 
ducks in marshland jump 
into the air and crash

a great poem can be removed with buck
and jump a great poetry book should be 
wild never hit one perfect cherry blossom 

if by cherry blossom you mean sells well
every day i taste a man my poem 
can be how it is assumed	you'd never

choose what you'd never hit one 
perfect choice nectar of the therapist 
the tended-to plants present wild nectar 

with both hands a great poem removed from 
morning is not a therapist is not a plant lovely
his dog kills the therapist his morning 
     
is lovely and romantic 
and his morning is not the wild nectar 
on the thousand turning silent eyes

so 
there is loveliness and fun 
the therapist and the therapist's dog 

kill ducks in marshland
a great poem can be 
removed by scrubbing

from mourning 
i'm unable to choose 
what you'd nectar on o reader

a great poem can be removed 
from the whiteness of the bath
is not led into a thing 
     
i'm unable to recall the wild never
the title of a long 
ago rung bell afraid 

one perfect choice what 
you'd nectar on a great poem can be 
how wild plants are lovely without us

and buck (he says you didn't choose) 
on a great poem can be removed 
and planted in the garden beside his body 

i wonder 
is there not a therapist 
inside every ridiculous yes

Positive Style Witch (Stephanie Burt)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 669

w669-final

bono ich ichor   be the dog's    
hat an ichor lana                                                      
brain 19th the hittite lovers whale-sea manninguage 

show me any persona
and i will find you
opportunity love 
lost

was       manhattan sweat an indo-european 
in you lover we'll see language has a way       
a dog's hat is a distinct memory branch 

show me any persona
and i will find you 
puzzle's love 
lost

ich of their guts shades only sweat 
ichor-ture not mentioned but black in your eye 
biblical way intent attention sweat caitlyn jenner

show me any persona
and i will whisper
weakness into
the wreck

renee ramsey       branch         ich-ichor attend to sweat 
ana branch ichor caitlyn jenner known as 
black indo-european       in your eye regional

show me any persona
tell me about 
opportunity's lost
labor

identury attenuated in your      eye black unrelated 
for   christina
tom gabel your         eye        black 

show me any persona
where music is buried
and i'll find love 
to lose

in you lover chelsea manning bradley
renee         renee renee ramsey manning 
the hair gel stuck in the 19th century anatolian core

show me any persona
deep inside 
your love 
lost

sometimes uninhabitable true true love lover 
chelsea           manning withhold my free vision
bruce jenner                              bradley renee ramsey 

show me any persona
and i will shake 
terror of the  
possible

ichor compels ichor      sometimes stuck in your eye 
black indo-european years bruce jenner brain 19th the what           
the not intention but     the christina kahrl angel membered people       

show me any persona
and hold you up
to the sun 
sea

convent bono in 19th tether from they're native lover xychelsea 
maman est morte    indo-european luck       in 19th thread
in 19th century the ichor caitlyn           jenner the sweat their guts

show me any persona
the fire within 
i'll tell you 
how

stuck in your eye       be gone who indo-european 
ichor language watcher renee related the what         
your eye biblically       sweet       a dog's hat in neon        

show me any persona
tempt me the you 
about blood
loss

who ich ich of      the was          hair anatolian plague
they're neither enterpreted nor competent
aujourd'hui il fait beau    sweat     monger

show me any persona
cleave the hog
a complete
loss

the luwians shot all the infants 
your          brain-eye black with the unrelated anatolians    
the shot of the wettest future       

show me any persona
and i'll tell you about 
my love 
lost

black is unadorned in 19th defenestration
in you lover chelsea manning bruce jenner    
bradley ichor language who ich ichor caitlyn jenner

show me any persona
and i'll tell you about 
my time in the
forest

hat and hair
in         sweat 
tethered in your eye

America

Wikipedia Poem, No. 667

america-sm2

an acquaintance
a friend
a neighbor
even

see especially women
friends and neighbors

seen especially as women
friends and rivals called to attend
the splicing of a useful rope to invoke
a less-useful loop

later familiar or idle talk
about our lingering smog of
eighteenth century exploitation

explode the old english godsibb
as in sponsored by an exploring god

Old English god “supreme being, deity; the Christian God; image of a god; godlike person,” from Proto-Germanic *guthan (source also of Old Saxon, Old Frisian, Dutch god, Old High German got, German Gott, Old Norse guð, Gothic guþ), from PIE *ghut- “that which is invoked” (source also of Old Church Slavonic zovo “to call,” Sanskrit huta- “invoked,” an epithet of Indra), from root *gheu(e)- “to call, invoke.” 1

then god’s toothful parent
not the true god but capitol
god of trifling talk
of groundless rumor

familiar formations
of the old universe
extended into middle-life

godparents dying
from dehydration
in kids r us

Empedocles Buried Over the Stoa

Wikipedia Poem, No. 630

w630-sm-r1

of disease friends 
of disease friends 
of disease friends among you
terrors by the terabyte
whatsoever illustrious stoa has man 
today blooms for redemption
some ask for deliverance though
others entreat the king 
but beg first at good deeds
who thirsts blooms 
with holy diadem

equal authority 
for attempting himself 
in sights    poets and painters 
you will scream ill    scream ill
like the savage coupled bird

What Do You Shadow and How Do You Brick? (Seneca)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 629

“To say what you want to say, you must create another language and nourish it for years and years with what you have loved, with what you have lost, with what you will never find again.” George Seferis

the help madame 
of a sponsor (experience me   
mber    make that one   cannot     

pronunciation

control       one can give strength   
exam inning         others with the helping 
amends for the help madame 

perusal

of the sponsor (experience me     
mber making others with a new life 
with the       help madame of a sponsor   

study

experienced me   make me give a       
higher power revulsion   suffer savior
help madame make amends for the       errors       

expression

with a new life the same emulsion sinning 
past         errors        with         the new life 

enunciation

with        the          same    alcoholism 
kiryat           one cannot count control

untitled (flight of birds)

Wikipedia Poem, No. 625

simple-sm

“as if social censure // is all that stops him from rending the sheep a kiss” Patrick Cotter

For Noam

זיכרונה לברכה

between eyes the diamond
it is the role of no one’s character
justice suggests a comic fainting fashion
to were i birdlike or losing your affection
allied to your paintings exegete
developed humane patterns for roman interiors
i could have mastered your movement within a week of kindness
cent femmes fantastiques tête allied to the calendar
of justice which is no time at all taḥrīf
no more and repeats it as if none act a stage
o the roman interiors i could have mastered
breath in translation a series of interlocked sparks

Think Deeply: Read This

Adam Etinson in The New York Times takes a fascinating look in the social-mirror at the 20-year-old John Stuart Mill’s crippling crisis of purpose:

“There is something comical about Mill’s self-implosion; it’s as if he had spent years looking forward to a sailing trip only to suddenly realize, upon embarkation, that he hated boats.

“It is also strangely relatable. We have all lost faith in a deeply held project at one time or another. And, politically, we are in an age of upheaval; faith in old ideals seems to be dying out, creating a vacuum. Perhaps we can learn something about ourselves, and our political moment, by peering into Mill’s own crisis of faith.”

Hungry Science Fiction Poem

Wikipedia Poem, No. 608

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“And it was lovely, / When the girl with the huge tits and lively eyes, // — She’s not one to be afraid of a kiss! — / Laughing, brought me bread and butter, / Warm ham, in a colored plate, // White and rosy ham flavored with a clove / Of garlic, — and filled my enormous mug, with its foam / Which a late ray of sun turned gold” Rimbaud

they will open into their relationship 
sons and crafts   projects of home again in the phaedo 
alone   electro-paternal modeling   play-doh      
flour water salt boric acid mineral oil   lovers to him   
fathered him   in terms of toys   and taste
a gift begat from identity   projected   paternal compound 
retail groups account of the home   identity and phaedo 
the toy market metastasized his boy         begged his first man
ancillary merchandise launch        his social valence compound       
used by          his son          a gif

 

Bottlebells

Wikipedia Poem, No. 603

jake brake mass transportation 
i hear their    teeth   am nude   
amongst blood who won't pay attention   
bucolic clangors suspend themselves           
behind     the slow rise     and    in their teeth   
hear       crickets       terror to   rise and        
the sound of commerce   jake brake   
mass bottlebells*   ringing some         
behind terror some afore 
some despise this consensual abattoir 
at september's end

       *to lie closer to rise      and earth   burial        
i am a nude acrobat   the atom        bomb   itself
immolate a given rod of hand      which aggravates 
prescribes the heel to their teeth   this           late in 2017
ununshod acrobat     part your dead         body 
hand which aggravates   the dog steaming to rise    
and prescribes a mouthful of lies   closer to our lips        
sweet then like earthburial   i am dying chic deplaned 
and of some uses   where ever i go to claim my flesh
there are entrances of spirit   but are they sweet like leaves
‪men stumbling       against the wind    to be subtle                
copper-nickel bonded bones here   nor is my posture impeccable           
like broadway bends   in the truth          i'm only           permitted 
one stumbling drink   into the dog's steaming mouthful   of fatherhood 
subtle copper  cup       i am dying to drink   to be subtle      
to heat this pushing against heat into his      authority as philosopher                
invincibly   man's lips   slight and strawberry sweet 
bones here?                     ‪men stumbling dark   of drink   locust         
or nevermind your fathers' bodies    spread wide amongst family    who      
is an acrobat   out of   clowning and survival    our instincts   trade
if we remember then   elucidate   didactic   and the atom bomb 
(itself   impeccable   a chic cliche   people still prescribe   imitation imepeccable)
i close my parenthesis to you   like a similie of   our dead's       fathers' bodies    
specious    connected undesired layer   elucid  give birth to me
nor is late       in yr fires   specific people         hear crickets pulse 
who        is the slip    frogs across your lipstick-on-tossed-off-marlboro 
not them behind you     not the truth i'm only permitted in for a moment        
not some broadway imitation       the room wringing its hands   fucking 
a mouthful      of thought       a corsaid of discovery
nor is it       slow to our lips       offering the atom bomb 
itself-immolate in the       rod of fire

 

After Reading a Page and a Half of Tradition and Innovation in Hellenistic Poetry

Wikipedia Poem, No. 600

W600-3sm

“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