Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Spray Painting Metal Bed Frame

Two poems, by Katherine Pierpoint

The Twist in the River


At the clear, beer-coloured and bubbleshot twist in the river --
Every stone a speckled egg spawned in that deep lap,
Every pockmarked, pitted pebble ap lanet, blindly seeing through its own evolution --
The shallows, and the tall air, are filled with sound and light.
This part of the river expects to be seen, for it has drawn you there,
And the trees, selfless, introduce the sky into your love for the water.
If this place were a person, It Would Be making up a paper hat while humming,
Entirely self-contained, absorbs radiant yet -
A family moment, appearing nonrmal Until Years Later in retrospect,
When Fully Are STI depths felt, Beyond blunt experience.
Underwater, the light thickens
Slightly
But never sets And the River Runs Through Its Own fingers, careless.

The bend in the river

In the clear, bubbly bend, color
beer - each stone a freckled eggs spawned in the deep bosom, every pebble
pockmarked and breaking a planet than blind looking through their own evolution -
low and the high air, are filled with sound and light.
This part of the river aspires aspires to be seen, for there you have attracted
and trees, humble, up to heaven in your love for water.
If this site were a person, make a paper hat while singing.
completely full of himself, absorbed more radiant
- a time of family, who seemed normal until years firing, looking back,
fully feel their Honduras, beyond the peel experience.
underwater, Light thickens slightly, but never rests
and the river running between his fingers, casual.





Katherine Pierpoint, born in 1961 in Northampton, England. Poet, editor, researcher and translator. The version of the poem was included in the lamb generation. Anthology of contemporary poetry in the British Isles . Translation of Pedro Serrano and Carlos López Beltrán.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Angel Wings Footprints



selection of some aphorisms, or wits of Joseph Hill, published in the blog of Letras Libres:

Romanticism was a leap of history to hysteria.

poet returned to the life giving breath
scholarship to scholarship [or, I should think of others, meeting to meeting.]

to ruin his eternal plagiarist, deliberately began to write badly. [Are you going to GGM
YCF?]

There essayists Marx Marxists ranging from less.

At the Academy, the then daring writer got canned.

A writer with no fear of the gerund is a writer, an editor is only [This should be at the entrance of any hall of FFyL]

Chapeau.