READING WARHOL ~

R E A D      M E










Hatje Cantz
2 0 1 3

POETS WHO SLEEP #8 ~

P O E T S     W H O     S L E E P

______________________

                                                     drawn & scribed by Bob Arnold

all drawings

copyright

Bob Arnold


The complete series to date ~ please link here

SLEEPING BEAUTY ~

ALAN CASLINE ~

Where White Goose Goes


white goose, white goose

fly away home

John found white feathers

up creek

the farmer not home



white goose, white goose

swim for your nest

John found white feathers

down creek

beseeched the preacher

to bless



white goose, white goose

walk the road to the right

John found bloody feathers

evidentially a fight



white goose, white goose

take the left turning path

away from fox's footprints

and the hungry hunter's wrath



white goose, white goose

stay where you are

food, shelter, and friends

though some may find

the company bizarre


January 5, 2009
Voorheesvlle, New York




_______________________

Alan Casline
Summergreen
FootHills Publishing
2019

CHRISTOPHER DICKEY ~

C H R I S T O P H E R      D I C K E Y

1951 ~ 2020

M O R E

TO BUILD A HOUSE ~

POETRY IS ~

Poetry is the shortest distance              between two humans.               — Lawrence Ferlinghetti                Poetry As Insurgent Art

BORN WITH ~

Born With





My painting will have no surface.

You will enter it by light.

But the sheet of color seems still

the moment refracted sun

twirls cloud mass and the petals,

dapple accidents on crabapples'

wet black trunks. Light enters, richly,

cow-green fields a lake rises to meet.

There's no distance, sundown finches

wash our street in the song of rain.

In the shades there's no tomorrow

but we let it fall on us uncreated.

I have had a canvas but never a brush.



_________________

MICHAEL DALY
BORN WITH
DOS MADRES PRESS
2020

BUILDER, GRANDA A MU ~

POETS WHO SLEEP # 7 ~

P O E T S     W H O     S L E E P

______________________

                                             

                                                     drawn & scribed by Bob Arnold

all drawings

copyright

Bob Arnold

THE PEACOCK'S EGG ~

Deep in love

cheek leaning on cheek we talked

of whatever came to our minds

just as it came

slowly oh

slowly

with our arms twined

tightly around us

and the hours passed and we

did not know it

still talking



`



Love-hut of reeds hidden in

thicket

birds flying up from it

clatter of wings

young wife at her housework

hears it

feels all her limbs melt at once



`



Her eyes in sleep

afterward



her body my love



sounds she uttered then

without meaning



yet not meaningless



my heartbeat even now

echoing them



`



Neighbor please

keep an eye on my house

my husband says the water from the well

is tasteless

so even when I'm alone

I have to go into the forest

where the Tamala trees

shade the river-bank

and maybe the thick reeds

will leave marks on my body



`



My husband

before leaving on a journey

is still in the house speaking

to the gods and already

separation is climbing like

bad monkeys to the windows



`




When he comes back

    to my arms

   

    I'll make him feel

    what nobody ever felt



    everywhere

    me

    vanishing into him



    like water

    into the clay of a new jar




_________________________________

translated by W.S. Merwin
and J. Moussaieff Masson
Love poems from Ancient India
The Peacock's Egg
North Point Press 1981

SUSAN BRIANTE ~

Yellow Finches Drop From A Plane Tree




Crosses of sunlight burn through the sugar maple

                each afternoon in little crucifixions.



Blue-black lake like an 8-mm film,

              its name means  "hig winds"

in a language not spoken by local Indians.



How does a tree move when it is angry?

I want to be angry like that.




___________________
Susan Briante
Utopian Minus
Ahsahta Press
2011

STORYTELLER ~

S T O R Y T E L L E R

New York Review of Books

2019

BIRTHDAY ~

As Robbie Robertson announced in The Last Waltz —

"Play Guitar? Eric Clapton!"

I announce —

"Love to write, read? Cesar Aira!"

[ BA ]

R E A D      O N

New Directions 

2019

GERRY LOOSE ~

days

drawn in

the watering can

upside down

against the

rain

strange

a moment

in darkness

a noise of

small rain.

To hold this

The slow

rise of

the bird in

the instant

before

landing.

from the deer path to my door

here doing what I do best

weeding reading drinking

*

tax bills deadlines work undone

I plan a seat around the sycamore

*

time spent with black parrot queen of the night tulip

bulbs why not working sitting

*

early bus to town for teachings better

follow the drumming woodpecker into the woods

*

woodpecker drumming lapwings

wings lapping all the way

*

the marble hall all suits & security

guards missing the rain in my garden

*

old lady scattering bread for birds

blossom stuck to her shoes all there is

*

daughter gone into the world

sometimes  leave her room light on

*

autumn leaves gather in corners

doing nothing most gets done

*

old cooking pot under sky where I wash my hands gardening stir up

little frogs carry them to the pond where geese now argue no

                                                                                               nothing

*

fell over drunk precepts

gone vow gone shin hurts palm hurts instep hurts

*

such a small beetle passes so

easily the written lines I labour over

*

stepping out for a piss I can't let the door

latch click listening to the owl's call

____________________

Gerry Loose

Printed On Water

Shearsman, 2007     

                           

THE FIELD ~

from The Field





One room, ten broken windows. No one comes

at nine, no one leaves at three.

At this school,

wild iris grows right to the door

and twenty birds, with sorrel and reeds,

return the field

to sky-blue eggs inside the eaves.



____________________

Robert Kusch
The Field
Red Moon Press
2003