ANNA MALIHON ~

 

A Tale of Burnt Skin

carry me through the forest in your throat

there in the dark blue grass ants crawl over yellow bones

and bright sweet strawberries grow among corpses spilling a sweet smell

but let me collect the wild strawberries

God I really want to stay alive

don't breathe don't speak

you are the girl who tamed the Steppenwolf

didn't they tell you that you shouldn't burn skin

bitch where is your red scalp go remove his sticky promises

on the black twisted trunks by bygone trees

couldn't you wake him when he fell asleep with gum in his mouth

for it was already the apocalypse

now take a jar and strain your poisoned milk

over your cold first born

the one who doesn't know the way never gets lost

I carved maps on your back when I started to come

and kept the scars for myself

let them not judge those who were sentenced to death let them judge me

your venous arterial one . . .

lose me lost I am so tired of going back . . .

somewhere in a magical kingdom there lived a boy with a dimple in his chin

with a crater in his chest

with insects on his head: one half of the world — for mother

the other half — for father

he played the flute  put birds in a box

but from his music wild berries sprouted

something quiet and unnoticeable like the creation of dust

happens in the hours when you let me go

the rain finally becomes rain and happily soaks into the earth

the sand cleverly stirs and grasps shoes in its lips

a wolf embroidered in cross-stitch is nailed above the bed for protection

until the time I am jarred awake again

carry me through the forest

the music broke out beat rustled

better never-ending music came from birds' eyes

in the blockaded space

and the one who initiated it

couldn't stop the blood

_________________________

Anna Malihon

Girl With A Bullet

translated from Ukrainian by Olena Jennings

World Poetry 2025

ZANZIBARA TONIGHT ~

 

    2005

PETER HANDKE ~

R E A D   M E 

       Farrar, Straus, Giroux 

     2025

JOHNNY CASH ~ THE MAN IN BLACK ~

 

          HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHNNY CASH

Johnny Cash, A fly-on-the-wall account that follows the near-legendary singer on tour in the USA during the late sixties. Crammed with superb music footage the film also takes time out to relax with the man behind the most famous voice in Country music.

HISPANIC TRADITIONS TONIGHT ~

 

        Smithsonian Folkways 1992

MEMORIES THAT SMELL LIKE GASOLINE ~

 

R E A D   M E

       new edition ~

      Nightboat Books 2025

JOSEPHINE FOSTER TONIGHT ~

 

     Locust Music

      2006

FRANK STANFORD ~

 

R E A D   M E

      University of Arkansas Press

      2025

U. UTAH PHILLIPS TONIGHT ~

 

℗ 1992 AK Press

HANS MAGNUS ENZENSBERGER ~

 

s h a d o w  &  r e a l m

i

here even now i see a place,

a free place,

here in the shadow.

ii

this shadow

is not for sale.

iii

the sea too

casts a shadow perhaps,

and so does time.

iv

the wars of shadows

are games:

no shadow

stands in another's light.

v

those who live in the shadow

are difficult to kill.

vi

for awhile

i step out of my shadow,

for a while.

vii

those who want to see light

as it is

must retire

into the shadow.

viii

shadow

brighter than the sun:

cool shadow of freedom.

ix

completely in the shadow

my shadow disappears.

x

in the shadow

even now there is room.

____________________________________

HANS MAGNUS ENZENSBERGER

translated by Michael Hamburger

poems for people who don't read poems

Atheneum 1968

HEATHER MALONEY TONIGHT ~

 

   Signature Sounds

  2025

PATRICIA SMITH ~

 

A Poem for the Man Who Shot My Father

I don't know where you are now,

so for the purposes of this poem

I will imagine you are dead.

The circumstances of your death

should be ironic.  A bullet smashes into

the back of your skull. A bullet

smashes into the back

of your skull.  A bullet smashes

into the back

of your skull.

A coincidence.

For the purposes of this poem, but only

for the purposes

of this poem,

I will imagine you in a hell

where you are scraped and torched

each second, every second,

and you feel it all,

you feel everything.

For the purposes of this poem

I would like you to describe

my father's face

the moment he turned

and saw you

                wild-eyed and thirsty

the moment he knew

the moment before he turned away

to run

And for the purposes

of this poem, I hold

that picture in my head.  I will live

over

and

over

that look of an animal dazed

in the headlights

because, even though

I have imagined you dead,

you are probably not too dead to remember

that there is a hell

here too.

_____________________

Patricia Smith

The Intentions of Thunder

New and Selected Poems

Scribner, 2025