FRANK KUENSTLER ~

Choruses

The poem was beautiful.

Was the poem beautiful, or was the rain beautiful?

The rain was beautiful.

Was the rain beautiful, or was the room beautiful?

The room was beautiful.

The girl was beautiful. The music was beautiful.

The poem was beautiful. Was the poem beautiful, or was the rain

beautiful? The rain was beautiful. Was the rain beautiful, or was

the room beautiful? The room was beautiful.

The girl was beautiful. The music was beautiful. Music,

rain, room & poem. Beautiful.

The poem was beautiful. Beautiful.

The rain was beautiful. Beautiful.

The girl was beautiful. Beautiful.

The music was beautiful. Beautiful.

Music, rain, room, poem & girl.

Beautiful.

Was the poem beautiful, or was the rain beautiful?

The rain was beautiful. The poem was beautiful.

Was the rain beautiful, or was the room beautiful?

The room was beautiful.

Was the room beautiful, or was the girl beautiful?

The girl was beautiful. The rain was beautiful.

The room was beautiful.

The poem was beautiful.

Music, rain, room, girl & poem. Beautiful.

The Poem on the Wall

In 810 A.D. Yuan Chen wrote his friend the poet Po Chu-i

that on his way to exile he found one of his poems inscribed

on the walls of the Lo-k'ou Inn.

_____________________________________

     The clumsy poem I wrote on the wall

no one much cared to see.

    Birdshit & moss' growth obscured it,

     Letters & all. An exile came, a page

to the throne, travelling. He didn't

     mind using his fancy sleeve to wipe

     the dirt away so he could read.

______________________________

Frank Kuenstler

The Enormous Chorus

Pressed Wafer 2011

photo by Ira Cohen


R E A D      M O R E

LAURIE DUGGAN (Martial) ~

III |  XXVI



Real estate,  

                   you own it all.

Money,

             gold plate,

                               Josiah Wedgwood,

the Australian film industry,

                                             it's yours.

Your record collection,

                                      stunning,

and your books.

                            Genius?

Unquestionably yours.

But your wife?

                        A few drinks

and she's anybody's.




———————————

Laurie Duggan
The Epigrams of Mistral
Pressed Wafer 2010

DOUGLAS CRASE ~

The essays in this handsome collection are so toothsome, so vital, so nourishing I begin to feel while holding the book and reading, say about Niedecker, or immersing into Emerson or George Bradley's cosmos (so few have since heard of this poet) and then the author spotting Ursa Major "standing on her tail" over Times Square, as if I am holding a picnic basket, and the gingham cloth for over the spring grass, and I'm with the girl, or the boy, however you prefer, and we are tempting our meal to never end. There is the slope of the hill, the splendid view, and since when has a book of essays on poetry and poets felt this good to you? Or think of it as toolbox, and I can in my combined life of feasting and working hard, as you grab in the slot for hammer, cat's paw, nail-set, 12 point handsaw, just as exact and precise each tool for the job are these essays. You'd be a fool not to own this book for your poetry library. It could very well be the first book for your poetry library.

[ BA ]

PRESSED WAFER

375 Parkside Avenue

Brooklyn, NY 11226

www.pressedwafer.com

WILLIAM BENTON ~

Camera Obscura



A tiny catchlight of saliva
shows as she opens her mouth.

In the moment of recognition

details of the glitzy room
slip from focus: she stares

out of the shadow of her hat —
a wide-brimmed, red, feathery affair —

aware of what is rehearsed
in the encounter, undaunted,

prepared for that alone.






Winter Nights        
                  
                   For Sangmi



Too bad the waste
of these winter nights

can't be saved up, placed
inside the folds

of a counterpane —
a half-remembered thing,

kept in the linen closet —
cut perfectly to fit

by the knife of spring.






Backlit



A species of
survival
assembles its
colored wings.

Something something
in the lanced air.

The unforeseen branch
syntax flutter
of what wasn't
and then is.

They use it
like a meaning:
it means
they are alive.






Necessary Sorrows


Lorenzo died today. Or yesterday.
The obit was forwarded to me. Out
of the water small waves tent into
peaks of undulant light. All
you can see in Algeria is the green
immediacy, the mule and the wagon,
the war. Affection is a wandering
soul. A girl ends up being tall and
intelligent, with memories. If you
talk to yourself, don't forget her.



————————

WILLIAM BENTON
Backlit
Pressed Wafer, 2017