Sunday, January 31, 2016
C. D. W R I G H T
Saturday, January 30, 2016
P A U L K A N T N E R
J A C Q U E S R I V E T T E
Friday, January 29, 2016
If you've cut trees for half a century as I have
made your income from the same
are still at it just the same
it doesn't matter
you will enjoy this read.
There are certain things you've missed
as I found, plus there is all that Norway.
If you have never cut down a tree in your life
this book may save your life.
[ BA ]
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Dear Longhouse Poetry,
I just like to share a little watercolor illustration I made with (if I’m not mistaken) a poem by Bob Arnold (see the attachment).
I’ve put the drawing on my Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/miekesmakes/) and hope I’ve referred to you correctly… :-)
Annemieke Spruijt (from the Netherlands)
some days arrive just like this. . .
thank you, Annemieke
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Monday, January 25, 2016
Way back in the 50s, re-released by 1966
Chester Himes was years ahead on the
story line of the white policeman
killing African American men
at their life and labor.
C H E S T E R H I M E S
Sunday, January 24, 2016
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Friday, January 22, 2016
GOSSIP IN THE VILLAGE
I told no one, but the snows came, anyway.
They weren't even serious about it, at first.
Then, they seemed to say, if nothing happened.
Snow could say that, & almost perfectly.
The village slept in the gunmetal of its evening.
And there, through a thin dress once, I touched
A body so alive & eager I thought it must be
Someone else's soul. And though I was mistaken.
And though we parted, & the roads kept thawing between snows
In the first spring sun, & it was all, like spring,
Irrevocable, irony has made me thinner. Someday, weeks
From now, I will wake alone. My fate, I will think,
Will be to have no fate. I will feel suddenly hungry.
The morning will be bright, & wrong.
L A R R Y L E V I S
The Darkening Trapeze
Last poems, edited with an afterword by David St. John
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
J O H N P H I L L I P S
New and available now from Longhouse 2016 ~
With collages by the author
Perfect bound softcover
Perfect bound softcover
Buy now through easy-to-use Paypal, US Orders, $21.95
International orders ~ complete $38 with Paypal payment
L O N G H O U S E
PO Box 2454
A selection of poems from Heretic by John Phillips ~
Today I made another mistake.
If I’m not careful, I’ll be caught.
What then? Years ago
they stopped burning heretics.
For me, they might bring it back.
I would almost want them to.
Only then might I forgive them.
This Floating World
along the Fuji River
came upon an abandoned child,
two years old, crying.
From out his sleeve,
threw it some food,
In a dark
in a darkened room there’s a music
a music playing there
a woman slowly no
quickly passes she
into the room behind
dark in shadow the
behind the music remains
doesn’t quite remain it stays by going
she stays now gone still lingers his
lips to her music
the music is not dark it is
in a darkened room it makes not dark
gives a certain light to
light to the lips saying dark saying
light is a woman in the dark
music of a woman
a woman in a dark room of
light a woman
each in the other being one each other
one is more than oneself or is not
woman is a man loving the woman is a
man and woman loving a newborn daughter in the dark
light loving a child sung to
in a room darkened by dark
lips on lips light
a certain music of
NEW: a review of Heretic ~
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Monday, January 18, 2016
( Farrar Straus Giroux 2015)
"One of Us is a book about belonging, a book about community. The three friends
from Troms all belonged in definite places, geographically, politically and with
their families. Bano belonged in both Kurdistan and Norway. Her greatest aspiration
was to become 'one of us.' There were no short cuts.
This is also a book about looking for a way to belong and not finding it. The
perpetrator ultimately decided to opt out of the community and strike at it in the most
As I worked on the book, it came to me that this was also a story about contemporary Norway.
It is a story about us.
To all of you who have told me drops or streams of stories, written to me or commented
on my work: we made this book together.
Through the book, I want to give something back to the community from which it
sprang. My royalties for this book in Norway are being donated in full to the 'En av oss'
(One of Us) foundation. The foundation's statues allow for the money to be distributed
to a wide range of causes nationally and internationally, in the areas of development,
education, sport, culture and environment.
I have chosen to let those who contributed most to the book to decide which causes will
I think that would be in the spirit of their children."
Olso, 20 January 2014
I hesitate not wishing to lift boughs off those lost but after reading this
shattering book and for whatever very good reason knowing now
many of the children and others lost, by name, character,
and even families, I went to see what these beautiful
children looked like, and sure enough,
quietly, there is a memorial film
in their names.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
J E S S I C A H O P P E R
The title of this book is not entirely accurate.
There's Ellen Willis' Beginning To See the Light,
though it wasn't all music writing, and then her
posthumous collection that was. Of course Lillian
Roxon's Rock Encyclopedia from 1969, Caroline
Coon's crucial 1988: The New Wave Punk Rock
Explosion and the collective, life-changing Rock
She Wrote. We should be able to list a few dozen
more — but those books don't exist.Yet.
The title of this book is about planting a flag; it
is for those whose dreams (and manuscripts) lan-
guished due to lack of formal precedence, support
and permission. This title is not meant to erase
our history but rather to help mark the path.
This book is dedicated to those that came before,
those that should of been first, and all the ones
that will come after.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Friday, January 15, 2016
Thursday, January 14, 2016
this the. this
how this is this
ramped up. yet. not, and this.
subtle transitional feelings.
away. subtle, satin.
here is this.
could function. This.
. . .you could.
Displaced Press, 2009
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
A Soul Made of Paper
Born in the dark hours,
I'm not concerned with what's waiting
for me after death.
I've already lived
a thousand years, long enough
to shock you.
There's always something surprising
in this world. The more magical a creature is,
the more it should display its strangeness.
I'm not a madwoman.
Everything is a sign.
A beam of light reflects off my hands,
then instantly disappears,
getting rid of what stands here,
the various mediocre details.
I observe symbols
and hear a voice in my ear —
The perpetual orphan,
the child who refused to be born,
he clings to my hands, tight.
Each time I try to push him away,
he twitches and curls
in my palm.
he stretches forcefully
and flies to the stars.
I indulge in singing absurd
and monotonous songs from childhood,
and my sadness numbs.
Mice return to their cave
and I discover a strange
phenomenon: people walk
toward the ground
They are turning into animals,
Ha ha! The human soul
is made of paper.
L I U X I A
translated from the Cinese by Ming Di and Jennifer Stern
E M P T Y C H A I R S
(Selected Poems 2015)
Liu Xia is a Chinese poet and artist. She has been living
under strict house arrest since her husband, poet and
activist Liu Xiaobo, was imprisoned in 2009 for "inciting
subversion of state power." and received the Nobel Peace
Prize in 2010. Empty Chairs is the first publication in both
English translation and the Chinese original. The book is
selected from thirty years of the poet's work, including some
of her haunting photography.