F OWLPOX P RESS
F OWL F EATHERED R EVIEW FFR9
Excerpt from THE BLIND ANGEL, a poem by Louis R. Velasquez, with his illustration in oil. ...SAMSON RENDERED BLIND Had nothing more to say With head hung down in shame He suffered the long day with nothing more to do Yet those who loved him knew Kept in the darkened prison Captive behind the jail door Kept in total darkness Blind Samson saw no more YET GOD IN HIS GREAT MERCY looked down upon his angel with justice and forgiveness With the world being natural….
A UTUMN , 2014
the long day with nothing more to do….
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Dumbstruck Pantheon Galaxies no bigger than a thimble. Galaxies burning the last candle, that believe themselves to be everlasting bouquets thrown by a virgin bride. Galaxies. Celestial tops and arid plains. Fiery cartwheels in the long black of night, with bluebells and fumaroles and gullies. With green skies and a bit of a temperature. With snowy summits of eternal yearning, with storm clouds, desolate and vast shadows, eternity yawning in the dread silence. Galaxies craving the company of other galaxies, gathering in groups and gossiping, exchanging glances, information, energy, feeling sorry for themselves, fishing for compliments, weary of holding up the sky, suffering for an eternity
Biff, Mixed Media, 2009, $1,200, Brooke Weston
Galaxies gagging on
F OWL F EATHERED R EVIEW
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Shines from mobile side fins to the mobile fins in back. This grotto that encloses us and separates from fishermen Is not a prison like the prison the fisherman accepts as life, But an openness to the perfume of three wild scarlet flowers, A perfume that speaks a language of splendors and expands The few who are not deaf to terrestrial wonders, Like the fisherman testing his latest technological simulated fly, Of lifting with net minnows out of water to stick steel through their bellies. It is strange but I hear Anticulus inside the Trojan Horse try to speak, And is smoothed to death by Odysseus. Anticulus is covered with cape. TERRESTRIAL ILLUMINATION NO. 675 Campari for breakfast has cleared the ordinary speech Spoken by the people from my the metaphoric electrical network And metaphoric chemistry factory of my brain, the earth no longer
From the language of lies the people and popular poets speak...
Debased by their slave mentality words, I hear an aubade, Pan pipe accompanied, and suddenly overwhelmed to silence By the auroras of sound from a vibrating gray mocking bird throat. The space of dirt, I see, surrounded by bunches of yellow-flowered weeds, Its black expanse, the basis of a terrestrial paradise, Its black, silver speckled, no longer falsified by science, speaks A language rarely heard, a language of truth, so different From the language of lies the people and popular poets speak. TERRESTRIAL ILLUMINATION NO. 677 Omnipresent is the unseen, the unaccepted that intrudes, To sneak Into our inwardness, this strange Inner network Of What for the lack of a human vocabulary to delineate Reality Is called chemical, electrical, and sections, Supposedly parts, although inseparable into parts From wholes, are given a million names, names to be memorized To impress on the surveillance tests, and never to be fully Understood, to be accepted temporarily as forced-to- believe truths. This invasion of words from the slave mentalities conquer us. We never Know what defeated us. We never know, our destroyer was popular culture.
F OWL F EATHERED R EVIEW
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FROM RELATIVES AND GENIUSES
I NSIDE S TORY H EADLINE
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'T HESE ARE S PARTA ' S WALLS .'
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I NSIDE S TORY H EADLINE
Fowl Feathered Review is published quarterly by Fowl Pox Press. Please send all comments, questions, and submissions to: firstname.lastname@example.org Editor: Virgil Kay ISSN: 1929-7238 Our mailing address: Fowlpox Press, PO Box 27008, Halifax, Nova Scotia, B3H 4M8, Canada. Follow us online: http:// fowlpox.tk/
Я представляю эти Shaluwala и фотографии Татьяна Петровна Николаева. 4 мая 1924 - 22 ноября 1993
Excerpts from TERRESTRIAL ILLUMINATIONS, SECOND SERIES, Duane Locke
TERRESTRIAL ILLUMINATION NO. 662 I look from a raw wood platform on a pond, see Protruding gallantly above the water surface, A dark green due to reflection of trees, a root. It looks like one of its land’s kinsmen, the cabbage palm, Slanting with the beginning of fronds projection, A young silverish gallinule is pecking on something That was mobile and caught by its apparent static position. Only part of the root is unconcealed, the remainder, Its long length, is concealed under the dark green water. The concealed part sends up, thick-textured, curled leaves To communicate with the invisible visible in wind. And its sends out a voice that through osmosis goes inside me. I love this root that all the fishermen hate because Its presence protects the fish from having mouths torn by hooks. TERRESTRIAL ILLLUMINATION NO. 665 The grottoes of air that our corporeality enters When observing intensely the movement of minnows Have walls of blue silk that flashes gold from wrinkles, Sometimes a luminous streak of cerise light Shines from mobile side fins to the mobile fins in back.
This grotto that encloses us and separates from fishermen Is not a prison like the prison the fisherman accepts as life, But an openness to the perfume of three wild scarlet flowers, A perfume that speaks a language of splendors and expands The few who are not deaf to terrestrial wonders, Like the fisherman testing his latest technological simulated fly, Of lifting with net minnows out of water to stick steel through their bellies. It is strange but I hear Anticulus inside the Trojan Horse try to speak, And is smoothed to death by Odysseus. Anticulus is covered with cape. TERRESTRIAL ILLUMINATION NO. 667 Once, in Victorian atmospheres, the phrase “roses flung” Aroused malevolence in the puritan and ecologists, This epater les bourgeois, increased middle class consumption.
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from isolation, from a lousy sense of humour, their timing off, their delivery awkward, the one joke they know older than the dawn of light. Galaxies gagging on superfluous atoms. Drawing the circles of themselves, their former lives. Coins, but not for spending. Clocks, but not for the telling of time.
A Small World (Bruce McRae)
The little planet thought it was an egg or a softball. It cried out for a mother, but no mother was there. Once or twice upon a time the little planet wandered off among the stars. Far from its sun it shuddered with the cold, and had only starlight to guide it. Soon it was lost, and again it spoke, attempting to be heard; again the little planet cried out and none came to its aid. No one was there to say to the little planet: There, there, little one; know that I love you .
P AGE 7
Челси – Манчестер Юнайтед.
Он – на угловом диване:
Chelsea – Manchester United.
курица из супермаркета,
He is on the corner sofa.
Roasted chicken from the Tops,
немецкий, с горчицей,
German style potato salad,
Челси – гол с углового.
Chelsea – an accidental goal
Абрамович заменит тренера –
served from the corner.
Abramovich will sack
Она в городе. Раньше в мотеле
the manager again – he thinks.
с любовником. Теперь -
She is in the city.
Way back – in the motel
Тишь и гладь. Пора – он думает -
by LaGuardia with her lover,
перекрасить веранду. Овертайм,
then lunch at the Sheraton.
еще банка пива. Она снова
Now – boutiques in Soho.
не отвечает. Мобильник в машине.
Dead calm. He thinks:
Не забыть лопрессор – ему.
time to treat the porch.
Она - в Бланик пока открыт.
Overtime, one more
Heineken. Calls her
изумруд под утро.
again and again. Phone’s
in the car. She remembers:
pick up lopressor for him,
Blahnik before close.
Leaves grow rusty.
пропадающий в пути
к невидимому острову.
Echo from Metro-North
dying in crisp autumn air. Dying on the way to the invisible island.
Dying on the way to the invisible island.
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Andrey Gritsman (Poems in English and Russian) continued
Trees at the front are dark arrows grown into the painting’ s Essence…
СЕНТЯБРЬ В НЬЮ-ЙОРКЕ
DOMINION OF LIGHT: MAGRITTE
Опадают пепельные лица
First comes the light, being
oсенью в Нью-Йорке.
the aperture of dark as the evening
Асбестовое солнце не гаснет ни днем, ни ночью.
stays still. One can guess
Многоглазая рыба на суше -
the trajectory of the night being
взорванный остров. Крыш чешуя
invisible, almost insensible.
Precision of the brushstroke penetrates
В гуде сирен безответное небо.
whatever waits behind two lit windows.
Сумерек астма -
Trees at the front are dark arrows
в аспидном кратере порта. Люди бредут на пожар.
grown into the painting’s
Рыбы плывут - где поглубже.
essence, which will last as long as it
Парки пусты на рассвете, и только колеблемо ветром Нежное поле
allows one not only to see, but to breathe it in.
проросших под утро сердец.
Even afterward, this will remain
a glass, infinitely transparent. The facade implies some sturdy, settled household. The trees are well tended but not trimmed. Beyond the fence
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an attempt to reach for something that it will never reach. The only link between the objects is the sky, as unassuming as the sky could be in its generously aimless
the garden rustles. One cannot hear a sound, feel a movement; yet one knows there must be a sound, since the light
evening lightness. Its axis is the streetlampâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; a counterpoise and the foundation of an ampleness of the abyss. We try to leave
and a sound are reflections of the same. There is no street sign, number, or a name. Only the signs of a human omniabsence: little silent pond, part of a bay, or else
it in itself-saving oblivion as we turn away from the visage of petrification, from the move into stillness. This is a dominion of light, the world where everyone is gone.
a strait that harbors quiet boats beyond the frame. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s an opaque memory of a family that nests behind the house, in the garden, insects paradise, the world of tireless rodents. Life still stirs in the back rooms. The walls hold reflections of the shadows, not moving anymore, but paused in their domestic eternity: holding a teacup, a knife, a hand
F OWLPOX P RES
http://fowlpox.tk/ You are here.
МНЕ НУЖНО ПРАКТИКОВАТЬСЯ В РУССКОМ
Contributors: Pushcart-nominee Bruce McRae is a Canadian musician with over 800 publications, including Poetry.com and The North American Review. His first book, ‘The So-Called Sonnets’ is available from the Silenced Press website or via Amazon books. To hear his music and view more poems visit his website: www.bpmcrae.com, or ‘TheBruceMcRaeChannel’ on Youtube. Russian artist Slava Fokk was born in 1976 in Krasnodar, Southern Russia and is representative of the fourth generation in his dynasty of artists that have been conveying its art views and professional skills through decades. Since his early childhood Slava has been captivated with painting and he soon attended art school. In 1997 he graduated from Krasnodar Art College in honour of Repin, one of the oldest art schools in Russia (in 2011, the college marked one century of its history). His diploma work “The Last Trolleybus” was recognised as the best art work for the last 20 years in the history of the school. Thanks to this Slava Fokk successfully entered the art market in 1998. http://www.slavafokk.com/
Donald Saaf generously contributed the painting of a scene from Brattleboro,Vermont as it appears on page 8. Graduating from the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Ma , his work has appeared in many solo exhibitions and is represented by the Clarke Gallery in Lincoln, MA. Additonally, he has illustrated many children’s books including The Skinny Brown Dog, published by Henry Holt and earning Saaf an Oppenheim Gold Toy Award. http://donaldsaaf.com/ Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in Renaissance Literature, Professor जैसे
and essays in Russian. His works have appeared in many magazines including Richmond Review (UK), Notre Dame Review, Manhattan Review, New Orleans Review, Denver Quarterly, Hawaii Review, Hunger Mountain, Poet Lore and were anthologized inModern Poetry in Translation (UK), in Crossing Centuries (New Generation in Russian in 2005, Pisces in 2008 by Numina Press, Live Landscape by Cervena Barva Press and Greatest Hits by invitation from Pudding House Press. Several times his work was nominated for the Pushcart Prize and received an Honorable Mention and was also short-listed for the American PEN Center Osterweil Prize for Poetry in 2005. Andrey runs Intercultural Poetry Series at Cornelia Street Café in New York City and edits international poetry magazine INTERPOEZIA (www.interpoezia.net). He lives in New York City and works as a physician.
Ali Znaidi (b. 1977) lives in Redeyef, Tunisia, where he teaches English. He graduated with a BA in Anglo-American Studies in 2002 from the University of Sfax for the South. He writes poetry and has an interest in literature, languages, and literary translation. His work has appeared in various magazines and journals worldwide. He authored four poetry chapbooks including Experimental Ruminations (Fowlpox Press, 2012), Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems (Origami Poems Project, 2012), Bye, Donna Summer! (Fowlpox Press, 2014), and Taste of the Edge (Kind of A Hurricane Press, 2014). iznaidi.blogspot.com.
Sushant Supriye was born on 28.03.1968 . Had his school education from St. Francis school, Amritsar( Punjab) and graduation from D.A.V. College, Amritsar .Topped in G.N.D. University , Amritsar, in Pre-University, B.A. ( English) Honours, and M.A.( English ) . Also topped in University of Delhi in M.A. ( Linguistics ) . Was lecturer in English for a few years in D.A.V. College, Jalandhar . Sushant's short-stories and poems have been published in several literary magazines and national newspapers in English. He has to his credit a poetryanthology titled " In Gandhi's Country " . His short story collection in English titled " The Fifth Direction" is in press. Sushant is also an acclaimed writer and poet in Hindi . Has to his credit two short-story collections in Hindi titled ' Hatyare ' ( 2010) and ' He Ram ' ( 2012 ) , and one poetrycollection in Hindi titled ' Ek Boond Yah Bhi " ( 2014 ) . Sushant presently works as a senior officer in a Government organisation. He lives with his wife Dr. Leena and two children Vinaayak and Aanya in Delhi ( India ) .
Alex Schröder is a Dutch photographer specializing in intense portraiture, documentary and stage-art. He started photographing when he was serving in the army, close to the Eastern European border … the Iron Curtain. Schröder is fascinated by the mysterious, surrealistic and unreachable “other world”, or one might say, the divided city of Berlin in grainy black and white. Following military service, he graduated as a mechanical engineer and worked for a long time in this discipline. Five years ago he changed his life to follow his real passion. Apart from throwing sweet girls in muddy waters he is always looking for the tormented soul and the deeper layer of a person or situation. Find more at www.alexschroder.nl
Receiving his education at Himachal Pradesh University Shimla, SR Harnot is a noted Hindi writer and freelance photographer with many published works to his credit. Born in a poor family at village Chanawog, Tehsil Sunni, District Shimla, Harnot has received recognition as a renowned writer not only in his own State, but National and International level also. He started his journey from Pahari poetry and write-ups and today more than a dozen books are in his credit. Some of these are-Panza, Aakashbel, Peeth Par Pahar, Darosh, Jeenkathi, Mitti Ke Log, Adhar Chayan Kahaniyaa (all short stories books), a famous Novel-Hidimb and four books on Himachal. The credit goes to Harnot for introducing almost all literary magazines among the readers and writers in HP. He has done tremendous job for promoting literature, culture, and tourism writing in the Pradesh. http://www.hanika.de/
Oliver Flecknell is a photo artist who specializes in alternative processes and silver based prints. His "delicately composed and brilliantly executed" work has been shown in numerous group exhibitions. A graduate of NBCCD and UNB, Oliver has worked at art galleries, taught photography classes, and grown his own artistic practice. Oliver is also a juried member of Emerge artist collective and Silverfish photography collective. http:// www.gallery78.com/oflecknell.htm
Cliff Turner was born in Virginia South Africa. He lives and paints in Fredericton, NB. http://www.gallery78.com/cturner.htm Paris Pâté is real.
VOICES FROM EXILE, a collection of poetry on Zimbabwe’s political situation and exile in South Africa was published by Lapwing publications, Northern Ireland in 2010. KEYS IN THE RIVER: Notes from a Modern Chimurenga, a novel of interlinked stories that deals with life in modern day Zimbabwe’s soul was published by Savant books and publications, USA 2012. A book of creative non-fiction pieces, ZIMBABWE: THE BLAME GAME, was published by Langaa RPCIG( Cameroon 2013) I was nominated for the Pushcart twice, 2008, 2010, commended for the Dalro prize 2008, work has been translated into French and Spanish. I was nominated and attended The Caine African writing workshop, 2012. From January- April 2014, I was a Mentor for 3 budding writers in CACE Africa Writivism. Published over 250 pieces of short stories, essays, memoirs, poems and photographic/visual art in over 150 magazines, journals, and anthologies in the following countries, the USA , UK , Canada , South Africa, Zimbabwe, India , Mexico, Kenya, Cameroon, Italy , Ghana, Uganda, France , Zambia, Nigeria, Spain , Romania, Cyprus, Australia and New Zealand. Andrey Gritsman is a poet and essayist, originally from Moscow, Russia. He writes in English and in his native Russian and is the author of five volumes of poetry . http:// andreygritsman.com/
Brandon McLean is an Orlando based mixed media artist who creates multi-layered paintings, collages and installation works rooted heavily in the realms of nostalgia. Much of the work uses appropriated imagery, text, logos and stories from both popular culture as well as more personal, auto-biographical sources. An emphasis on history and story telling is an important aspect in McLean's work. The nostalgic or retro feel to the work is not by accident. McLean has regularly stated he tends to gravitate towards images, people, and stories with a weathered worked over aesthetic. Elements that are a little wounded, damaged, or been beaten up somewhere along the way. The new sometimes awkward juxtapositions of the appropriated images found and placed together provides for continuation. Giving new life to dated cast offs. Maybe the works say something intimately personal, or maybe they're mute. McLean's overall work gives those that come across them a lot of personal discretion in deciphering the content. He often intentionally composes works that allow for the viewers to fabricate interpretations that outweigh his own intentions. Dawnell Harrison has been published in over 65 magazines and journals including The Endicott Review, Fowl Feathered Review, The Bitchin' Kitsch, Vox Poetica, Abbey, Iconoclast, Puckerbrush Review, Nerve Cowboy, Mobius, and many others.Also, he has had 3 books of poetry published through reputable publishers titled Voyager, The maverick posse, and The fire behind my eyes.
Brooke Weston started drawing and painting early in life. Her true passion for making mixed media sculptures came later and is now her primary focus. Her work is primarily made from old taxidermy and almost all recycled material. Almost all of her pieces share the concept of small worlds and dioramas situated in objects. She gathers inspiration from antique fairy tale illustrations, amusement parks and artists like Bosch and Joe Coleman. Originally from Monterey California she is currently residing in Portland Oregon, Brooke spends her days addictively gluing, sawing and sewing any one of her many projects. Brooke has had long term showings at local galleries and has regular shows in and around Portland as well as out of state. http:// artbybrookeweston.com/
Sabrina Peña Young is an award-winning composer and sought-after lecturer and writer on music, technology, social media, remote collaboration, contemporary music, and multimedia. http://artbybrookeweston.com/ Taliesin nowl Ég hef nokkrar statewide mikilvæg atriði sem les um fólk sem stuðla að getu rag. Ekkert af þeim meistari þeir reikna forseti segja og þeir blöð lykta einn fiskur. Hvar er hægt að fara í góða Sina þessa dagana? Hvergi, draga, hvergi. Brandon McLean is an Orlando based mixed media artist who creates multi-layered paintings and installation works rooted heavily in the realms of nostalgia. Much of the work uses appropriated imagery, text, logos and stories from both popular culture as well as more personal, auto-biographical sources. States McLean: “I find making art to be the perfect process for me to explore the meanings, and mysteries amongst life and it’s memory.” http://brandon-mclean.squarespace.com/ Robert Peake is an American poet in England. His newest short collection is The Silence Teacher (Poetry Salzburg, 2013). He created the Transatlantic Poetry on Air reading series. His full-length collection The Knowledge is due out in early 2015 from Nine Arches Press. http://www.robertpeake.com/ Some notes compiled regarding 1940 - Shostakovich - Symphony no 6 (Source: http://www.stokowski.org/index.htm)
Stokowski and the Philadelphia Orchestra had tried, unsuccessfully, to record Debussy's 'Prélude à l'après-midi d'un faune'. The re-try on December 8, 1940 recorded just after the Bach-Stokowski 'Es ist Vollbracht' was a success. This allowed Stokowski and the Philadelphians to make the world premiere recording of the Shostakovich Symphony no 6 in b minor, opus 54. Stokowski and the Philadelphia Orchestra had made the U.S. premiere of this Shostakovich symphony, and in fact the first performance outside the Soviet Union, on November 29, 1940. Shostakovich's Symphony no 6 in B minor opus 54 was completed by Shostakovich in 1939, and given its première later that year by Evgeny Mravinski and the Leningrad Philharmonic on November 21, 1939.
Then, on December 8, 1940, just nine days after Stokowski's premiere, and slightly more than one year after its Russian premiere, Stokowski and the Philadelphia Orchestra made this first recording , one of their last together for a twenty years. This rehttps://archive.org/details/Shostakovich_symphony6 cording was issued in Victor Red Seal disks 18391, 18392, 18393, 18394, and 19395 in Victor album M867. The final record side was blank in earlier albums, and McDonald's ' Legend of the Arkansas Traveler ' was the filler others) Matrices show nearly all sides were first takes: CS 057541-2A, CS 0575211A, CS 057543-1A, CS 057544-1A, CS 057545-1A, CS 057546-1A, CS 057547-1A, CS 057548-1A, CS 057549-2A.
Симфония № 6 си минор, соч. 54 Дмитрия Шостаковича
ÂŠ2014 SR Harnot
Hindi Poems of Sushant Supriye Translated by the poet सुश ांत सप्रु िय from Hindi ) Thus Spoke the Father When I will no longer be there I will still be there-thus spoke the father I will be alive in the writings of my eldest son ©2014 Sushant Supriye
I will peep out of the paintings of my youngest daughter I will breathe in the self-respect of my second son
( िक शन हे तु कप्रित एँ -----------------------------
I will survive in the steely resolve of my third son Just as my father lives in me and my children will live in their children so will I be saved in all of you o my children--
१. कह प्रित जी ने ----------------------- सुश ांत सुप्रिय जब मैं नह ां रहँ ग
said our father to us.
तब भी हँ ग मैं --
कह प्रित जी ने
I wake up one morning and find out that I have turned a stranger to myself from every angle My eyes seem so unknown to me My smile seems someone else's My hair has turned unrecognizable On my palms are etched someone else's fate-lines Psychologists say that It happens sometimes That we go on living someone else's life That someone else goes on living within us.
जजऊँग बड़के की क़लम में कप्रित -कह नी बन कर बबटिय की कची और िें टिांग्स में ज ांद रहँ ग मैं जीप्रित रहँ ग मैं मँझले के आत्म-सम्म न में छोिे के सांकल्ि में जजऊँग मैं
मेरे प्रित जीप्रित हैं मुझमें और अिने बच्चों में जजओगे तुम सब िैसे ह बच रहँ ग मैं भी तुम सब में ओ मेरे बच्चो -कह प्रित जी ने हम से
२. कोई और --- सुश ांत सुप्रिय
एक सब ु ह उठत हँ और हर कोण से खुद को ि त हँ अजनबी
अिनी आँखें लगती हैं अचीन्ह
अिनी मस् ु कन लगती है न ज ने ककसकी
ब ल हैं कक िहच ने नह ां ज ते
अिनी हथेललयों में ककसी और की रे ख एँ ि त हँ
मनोिैज्ञ ननक बत ते हैं कक ऐस भी होत है
हम जी रहे होते हैं ककसी और क जीिन
हम रे भीतर कोई और जी रह होत है
Wódka Luksusowa - czysta wódka produkowana ze spirytusu ziemniaczanego oraz wody ze studni głębinowych. Jedna z najstarszych, współcześnie produkowanych polskich wódek, należąca obecnie do międzynarodowej grupy Pernod Ricard. Jedna z nielicznych, której receptura wciąż opiera się o spirytus ziemniaczany. Luksusowa od początku swojego istnienia, czyli od 1928 roku, była najwyższej jakości wódką czystą, produkowaną z najbardziej oczyszczonego spirytusu, a przez to i najdroższą z wódek czystych w latach 20-tych http://www.luksusowavodka.com/pl/witaj http://www.grzegorzpedzich.com/blog/
Poems by Ali Znaidi Seen as a Ship Seen as a ship sailing against the sepulcher of time my dream vehemently moves in water which is no water but distilled dew of spring. & its flowers blossom in my mind’s sun-burnt fields where scarecrows are irrelevant. & its flowers are not just metaphors but vents to all [my] pent-up frustrations. Sweet Death A worm inside a ripe apple. Satiated. She died out of pleasure. An avalanche of worms came in succession to have also their share of sweet death. Nothing Remains It‘s almost time to say that the image of Sisyphus is winging through the mind. Patience is not but painstaking pathways toward recurrence. —Now, a flying firelight is tapering. In this shadowy light nothing remains but an ekphrasis.
IMPROVISE (2010) OLIVER FLECKNELL
WIRED (2011) OLIVER FLECKNELL
I GUESS WE'LL HAVE TO WALK (2011) OLIVER FLECKNELL
Mystic Pinkey, Taxidermy Goat/Mixed Media, 2010, $1,800. Brooke Weston
Welcome to M Avery Designs.
If you’re looking to learn how to Sew, Craft or just plain learn how to make cool stuff, you’re SEW in the right place!
road apartment in Hoboken NJ in the year 1999 by Megan Avery, owner & designer. After realizing that corporate America just wasn’t for her, her entrepreneurial spirit took over and she started making handmade handbags & her business was created. Soon after, she began selling her creations both online and at local craft fairs in the area.
We offer classes for Adults and Kids at all skill levels taught in our spacious and comfortable studio in the Monroe Cen- In 2003, M Avery moved ter in Hoboken, Designs out of the railroad NJ. apartment on Adams Street and A little history - M. into our first offiAvery Designs was cial location in the created in a rail- Monroe Center for
the Arts. The space was initially used for studio space to make our bags, but soon we realized how many people out there were interested in learning how to make their own bags. We started doing Make your Own Handbag Workshops to fill the demand for all the crafty ladies we encountered. Since then, we’ve added sewing & crafting classes for just about every interest and skill level. We absolutely love teaching other people
how to sew and get crafty! Address: 720 Monroe St, Hoboken, NJ 07030, United States Phone:+1 201876-1198 http:// www.maverydesign s.com/
IS THE REMAINDER OF THE WAY SO LONG TENDAI R MWANAKA
Darkness, ... dark, It’s too dark to see. I never know where I stand, Fall, ...all this tumultuous fall. Moving, Maybe all. For how long have I been holding onto? These circlesOn, odd and old, They grow! This dark night. This long nightNever ceasing! What day, What lifeThat no longer shines. Not so long, Some dayYears gone! All those gay playthings, Laughing, The sun shone. When there was so much light and love. Those days! What happened? For them to change, All of a sudden. Spring’s green hope, Summer’s rainsTheir care! All that faith! All the rains! And everything alive.
Was it on a cloudless autumn day? What..., with all that browning? Trees and grass frowning. Why canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t I reach that light? It canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t be far? Is it? How far? This haunting silence, SereneInsane. I tread along and carefully feel, For the pathways and ledges to hold onto. Until when will I be walking in this lane? I could feel a change not so far my reach. When will I reach that light once more? Is the remainder of the way so long?
This wine costs $625 in Atlantic Canada. What important event would compel you to buy this? You just paid your mortgage on your house? You just had hair plugs that not a single soul can detect? Your fifth grade teacher just got audited? You decide.
We love FleetFoxes, U2, Breakfast at Tiffany
soundtrack, BellaFleck, @thechieftains..” —The Von Trapps
COMPOSER, LECTURER, WRITER Sabrina PeĂąa Young is an award-winning composer and sought-after lecturer and writer on music, technology, social media, remote collaboration, contemporary music, and multimedia.
â&#x20AC;&#x153;My family is a musical family. My abuela was a Cuban opera singer, Mom played piano, and Dad's family was into photog-
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Of Bowling Pin Bottles and Men Let Us Praise Now Famous Sales Personnel
This sales rep put up with my nonsense in the most professional manner and seem not only professional but ethical at all times. You could do worse than to order from n o v e l t y bowlingstuff.com. Here is how I trolled and came to feel VERY SMALL in the presence of the unsinkable Shelly. —Virgil Kay, Editor From:
[mailto:email@example.com o m ] Sent: Tuesday, May 27, 2014 5:16 AM To: shelly@noveltybowli n g s t u f f . c o m Subject: Happy Retirement picture We have some employees we're throwing a little surprise early retirement party for at the local bowling alley. We're making the best of a layoff. We need 46 purple bowling pin bottles— one for each early retiree. Can you put the Alfred E. Neuman guy from Mad Magazine on each with the words "What, me worry" underneath? Also, can these bowling pin cups hold h o t s o u p ?
the bottles. The bottles are also not designed to hold hot liquid, they are only designed for cold beverages. If you would like me to design a logo using our “easy art” options (attached), let me know. Please also let me know if you have any other questions. Best regards, Shelly Berry Sierra Products, Inc. Toll Free Phone: 1-800900-7695 or Int'l: 626285-0008 Toll Free Fax: 1-888-900 -0329 or Int'l: 626-2853063 www.noveltybowlingstuf f.com & www.donkee.co m Shelly's Office Hours: Monday - Friday 8:00 am – 2:30 pm PT Follow us on Twitter & "Like" us on Facebook for special discounts! www.twitter.com/ noveltybowling & Facebook: http:// tinyurl.com/FBNBS
2014 9:26 AM To: Shelly Berry Subject: [PHISHING]: Re: RE: Happy Retirement picture
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Panda AV Pro 2013 has detected that this email could be spoofed
Take maximum precautions, as spoofed emails could be the sign of a fraud attempt. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hi Shelley. My team got together and decided on V i r g i l K a y using the artwork enFinancial Dept closed on the side with Dartmouth Rec Centre the words "Career as a hobo: Ask me how!" Can Shelly Berry we get a price on 45 <shelly@noveltybowling cups? We found out after stuff.com> wrote: your email that one of Virgil, the early retirees caught wind and had a heart at tack. So she won't be Thank you for your inable to go. Anyway, we're terest in our bowling pin headed out in two hours bottles. Due to tradefor some Tuesday Bluesmark and copyright laws From: Virgil Kay we cannot print the Al- [mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org day half price beers, so if you can sort if wrap this fred E. Neuman guy om] from Mad Magazine on Sent: Tuesday, May 27, up that would help a
great deal. Thanks. Shelly Berry <shelly@noveltybowling stuff.com> wrote: Virgil, We are only able to print in one color. Images must be in black and white. I do not have a hobo clown image to use at this time. Shelly Sierra Products, Inc. Toll Free Phone: 1-800900-7695 or Int'l: 626285-0008 Toll Free Fax: 1-888-900 -0329 or Int'l: 626-2853063 www.noveltybowlingstuf f.com & www.donkee.co m Shelly's Office Hours: Monday - Friday 8:00 am â&#x20AC;&#x201C; 2:30 pm PT Follow us on Twitter & "Like" us on Facebook for special discounts! www.twitter.com/ noveltybowling & Facebook: http:// tinyurl.com/FBNBS
make the grade? Say, "Aye" to the
to work up to it with brooding.
project of your mis-labelled life,
You can see how tough it is
and row your little boat forward
to master the art of self-loathing.
Curtains, napkins, tablecloth, dress
into the grey-backed drudgery
Don't take someone like Nietzsche
wicks up red wine, repels dripped wax.
we call "mankind", whipping the swirl
so lightly next time you see him.
of your gin with an impaled olive,
Be kind to Rimbaud, stop taking
What's good for the bridesmaid is good
jiving and tugging at your sleeves
those snapshots of Oscar and Britney.
for the rest. Candlemas, table grapes
like the crisp fold of a mislaid
They only like the attention
love-letter. Of course we drink.
for the way it hollows them out,
We forget. It takes only inches.
leaving a space for the poison,
crĂŞpe de chine best. Puffy-sleeved, hourglass, empire waist. Bustier,
a reason to ball saliva up under the tongue, and test the wind.
nosegay, v-line velvet vest. Sunset
Misquoting Samuel Johnson
over Vegas in an orange mini-dress.
Nothing focuses the mind. Nothing focuses like nothing.
Ritual, flirtation veil, awkward guest.
The mind, like a hanging.
Tissue held close to the bride's mum's chest.
Nothing focuses a hanging like those of sound mind. Focus the mind. Nothing.
In focus, nothing minds.
Of course we drink to forget.
Hang the focused mind.
And is not death the final amnesia?
Hang nothing. Hangnail.
Lap up the black water of Lethe, kiss
Nothing. Focus. Nothing.
away the dreamless hours, drowning
Three Poems by Dawnell Harrison
Orange glass sun Under a gun metal sky the turtle doves filter down filament by filament as dust falls from their wings and they land in the wheat fields where the orange glass sun glints its rays. The moon divorces the sky You brush me aside like leaves in the back yard as the white meat
two fingers at a time. It takes only inches, says the magician
That's Not Rain
behind the bar, who stops our heart
Well, here I am again, with myself
with a white bird in one sleeve,
ready to argue, or spit. Can you
diamond queen in the other. Is that
spit in your own eye? It takes
your trick, turning into another man's
some practice, no doubt, this much
invisible woman for awhile? Is that
self-disdain, not to mention
as if they breathe and live you are simply vanishing beneath a wordless night.
your joke, a chorister's drone,
a firm grasp on the law of gravity,
Pillars of my brain
the low, persistent energy of sound?
some understanding, even, of
Is this your plan, to heckle the
hydrodynamics, good aim, quick
peanuts and line the tip jar
reflexes, and plenty of time
like a canoe draped in otter pelts? Have you done the numbers? Can you
of the moon divorces the sky and lays its translucent light over a veil of purple fog. I cannot pick up thoughts of you
I have sewn the doors shut in the pillars of my brain as thoughts gather and drift off in a cloud of conflicting needs that spin in a vermillion wave off the corners of my mind.
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