|
|
Saturday, September 13th, 2014
At first I didn't quite know what I would do with the book, other than read it over and over again.
Orhan Pamuk
by J. Osner
The book is just a dream
transfixed
on ink and paper
bound in rags
it's open on the table
just a book.
The book's an ancient river
stately
regal river
flowing softly
dried up on the page
it's just a book.
The book was wilderness
now logged
and pulped for paper
new edition
standing on the bookshelf
just a book.
The book is just a poem
a whisper
sound of turning pages
hear it
read it by the river
just a book.
The book's a dream transformed
transmuted
edited and copyrighted
pull it off the shelf and open
read the words and hear the whisper
trace the patterns graven
in the book.
posted morning of September 13th, 2014: 1 response
➳ More posts about Writing Projects
|  |
|
It's all going down tonight at McNalley-Jackson Books in the city. I'll be reading my poem "Formación" from the book of the Universidad Desconocida from last term, which is being presented.
Plus music and dancing! Come by if you're in the neighborhood.
posted afternoon of September 13th, 2014: Respond
➳ More posts about Projects
|  |
Saturday, September 20th, 2014
![]() Here is an idea I am liking, poetry-wise: I think I've hit on this rhythm and voice that will allow me to propel the text, to follow almost blindly the beats and consonants of the text and ultimately even to transcend the text. Here is a piece I wrote in that fashion, following this meter, yesterday -- as I say I like it, and find this a pleasant voice to adopt, cute, (semi blatant) echoes of Poe and of Whitman -- formally of one, excitement-wise of the other. The poem is to a prompt from Describli.
Lines iiby J. Osner
Read between the lines,
lines marking boundaries that
separate *within* from what's
without. Read behind the
words, the printed words are
only messengers, the poem
that's behind them's what you
need. Read between the lines,
dividing lines between the
text and empty paper. Read
behind the words, read
through the text, it's a distraction from the message
graven deep on every page.
Read behind the page, now
read the emptiness around
you, shining message, read
the tintinnabulation of the
night, the air around you's humming,
breathing, clicking, pounding, every line
of every poem you've ever
read's inscribed there, see it,
read it, listen to the meter of
the poem that's behind the
text you're reading in the
sweet night air, encoded
in the symbols of the lines.
posted afternoon of September 20th, 2014: Respond
|  |
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2014
 A couple of things have been happening lately in the world of "poetry by J. Osner"... The chapbook of the Universidad Desconocida workshop was presented at the kickoff event for the workshop's second year. It features three of my poems and lots of beautiful writing from other students -- and I've just finished a translation of Isabel Zapata's "Sleepwalker's Lullaby" from the chapbook. ...Two of my poems (both from Analogies for Time) were published in Issue 5 of Street Voice (I think it is the first time I have ever appeared in a poetry journal), and I'm in touch with the editor about submitting some more work.
posted morning of September 23rd, 2014: Respond
➳ More posts about Clips
|  |
Saturday, December 6th, 2014
on an easel on the stage, the title -- ποταμοῖσι τοῖσιν αá½Ï„οῖσιν á¼Î¼Ïαίνουσιν, ἕτεÏα καὶ ἕτεÏα ὕδατα á¼Ï€Î¹ÏÏεῖ. Different waters bathe those who step into the same river. --Heraclitus of Ephysus. The spot fades and the placard is removed; enter Cratylus stage right. Lights come up stage right on Cratylus and gradually on the rest of his colleagues, who are standing like statues. Each (except Cratylus) has a placard identifying the character's name at his feet. Cr. kicks them away one by one as he points at the actor -- "waking him up".
posted morning of December 6th, 2014: 3 responses
|  |
Saturday, December 13th, 2014
Luminiferous Genesis by J Osner
The first day was water. On the second day
water created earth.
On the third day mud
breathed air. On the fourth day creation blazed, and said
that it was good. Muddy reality,
eternally drying out in the heat
of the moment.
posted morning of December 13th, 2014: Respond
| |
Thursday, January first, 2015
mañana es otro dÃa
por J. Osner
nos unamos los manos:
nos giremos hacia el este
esperando al sol que teñirán
de rosa sus rayos el cielo negro;
nos dejarán saber
que empieza el nuevo dÃa,
ese dÃa hasta que postergábamos
todos los deseos más queridos.
agárrame a mà ahora la mano
y dime nuevamente, muévete:
nos ya estamos quemando
debajo del sol del mediodÃa.
posted evening of January first, 2015: Respond
| |
Thursday, July 30th, 2015
outside
the repetitive nonverbal dialogue of crickets and birds. Pradeep pradeep!
--sh!--sh!--sh!--sh!--sh!--sh!!
posted evening of July 30th, 2015: Respond
| |
Friday, October 28th, 2016
Mirá / estas cenizas / que fueron en otro tiempo mi cuerpo / lo que has abrazado fuerte / en otro tiempo / sientelas caerse / estas cenizas / entre tus dedos. Escuchá / al bosque / silencioso.
Scattering
Look, now/ at these ashes / that used to be my body / you held me tight / used to / Now feel them falling / these ashes / between your fingers. Listen / to the silent / forest.
posted evening of October 28th, 2016: Respond
| |
Sunday, April 16th, 2017
se debe leer en un idioma que no sea el propio
posted morning of April 16th, 2017: Respond
➳ More posts about Altazor: The Journey by Parachute
| More posts about Poetry
Archives  | |
|
Drop me a line! or, sign my Guestbook.
•
Check out Ellen's writing at Patch.com.
| |
