14 October 2010 all the mornings of the worldI’m savedsocks are holy bee stings are not my tongue has drunkthe lust of yr race ———————————————–supreme lucidity: when the lightsdie down a camel ravishesa goat and in the encyclopedia ofyr brown eyes I find a no-moss mind—————————————————this is my Italian translation: Easter is marriedto Hades but…

friends made a nice wee chapbook of selected work called Primitive Pianos :-) flying from venice. staying 2 min from the old town in Prague. 6 nights of poetry. Prague here i come!!!

Cleaves issue 3

The 2010 Prague Microfestival features readings, music and film screenings, with performances by Irish-American poet Marcus Slease, Berlin poets Donna Stonecipher & Alistair Noon, and Prague writers Hana Androniková, Holly Tavel, Thor Garcia, Ken Nash, Laura Conway, Louis Armand, Joshua Mensch, Stephan Delbos, Sara Quiroga Navarro… Films by Stephanie Barber, Bill Mousoulis, Abigail Child, Henry…

heading to Prague to read some of my new work. check it: Prague Microfest

a newspaper soaked in bloodor oilor gluedto a balloonor fishedin vinegar she got fired upwe got fed he got listless chillsfrom the magnum opus there is proof in the half note in the not quitemagic of another spoof

living in Trieste Italia . . . James Joyce statue and bridge . . . white castle. . . . Rilke . . . prosciutto . . . strong short coffee . . real pizza . . . cheese that knocks off your _____, kickin it in another land!!!

DREAMS INSIDE A CUCUMBER i nay say i took and so we all must on this pre-dawn marriage bed in a trembling Turkish noon

my new chapbook Nerve Fibre: London has printed . . . yippie . . . hurrah . . .a bit of Dante . . . a bit of purgatory . . . poems written around tube stops while i lived in London . . . with some great old pictures of London transportation . .…

1. Eski Yeni Their bodies were made from a slice of toast, the kind you put under roast piegeons (Sartre, Nausea) I’m writing to you in this weather among buckets of bumble bees I’m with slow tonguethese leopard skins are not my people children squatters & shoe shinners sinners oh my sinnersthe little twirpssingA NAY…

Three weeks of not writing. No. perhaps four. And wondering if I can still write. That’s worst time. between projects. Just working long hours at a language school. now moving into friend’s house for a while until my paperwork is sorted out with the state university in Ankara. might not have internet for a week…

Hamam oh Cemal there are no candles on a navel stonea man grew me frightenedin the manner of chips I was friedand I became the method of sandpaperand I didn’t expect this from my facesloppy seconds from buckets of water an idiom of red spotsaspirations of presencein this way I was wiped clean

KARAMAN (Anatolia) the city is under construction. the newly planted trees provide no shade. students pack every morning into the dolmus with peasants and workers. In the centre new buildings go up and look old before they are finished. nothing matches. we sit at a table with Turkish tea. glass cups. redish tint. a gypsy…

AMASRA the dijinns are relativethis is affecting a lot of peoplenear youa good wonderfulkismettoss yr hairsqueeze meoffcheck that fish with lungs ***************************************** i met your moodsout to lunchspices of the black seafish with coca colaa tinkling of knivesthat mountainmade pregnantwith Zeusfog *****************************************you were an armfulslipping out the balconythe flies won’tleave me alonei’ve an inklingto becomea…

miss this fine fella in North Carolina!!! B. Howe’s Wax Wroth

A TONALIST WRITING

in response to a review of Tom Raworth in which the reviewer argues that so-called difficult poetry is anti-capitalist and difficult “modernist’ poetry carries more political weight than the movement/mainstream poetry in the UK with its easily summarised themes and conversational speech and so on . . ..the old language school argument . . .…

Mugla(Turkish wedding) born for the voiddry dolls fallaround methere are ikonsthere are ikons morehorrible than angels mangledin the trees the spermscentedgardens with goat’scheese the groom did the gorilla the bride pinedwith money the upchoke of sea scents the special chimneys what passesfor my mindballistic reportsas you disappearedeverything is not too ha ha melancholy wakings nowattack…

here comes the windthe blinds clacking like stuck penguins I’m sleeping with a flower venderon a moped with a bell from helllet’s part the hood and ride our Hegelian brides with the wicked smiles of those who jerkoff and off in solid white cloudy tissuesand the ashes of Irish mermaids, yep, them i clog alongin…

in this Karamandesert i’m beat beat there is a sweatstorm in my trousers and if you find yourselffalling apart there is a rain of mudand a lake of salt I’m posed and poppinglike a peacock what used to calmrips my life to ribbons my gut kicksmap it blind i can’t say it’s a sicknessbut a…

what was the fate of the turtle gripping the talons of the eagle?do you miss sauerkraut stew?do you miss the bubbles of Polish beer?before you fall asleepchronicles spray against the white walls ofyon minda pensioner of the voidbroccoli dust on the night sheetsto be like plums in an icebox lazy PUG!my family owned peaches and…

breakfast: white cheese, tomatoes, fresh bread, orange juice with a drop of wodka readings: A Marzipan Factory by Grzegorz WroblewskiSeoul Bus Poems by Jim GoarThe Story of England by Tom Beaumont JamesI Too Went to the Hunt of the Deer by Lale MulderSmall Gods by Terry PratchettNausea by SartreNadja by Andre BretonGangway 40 (expatriations): http://www.gangway.net/40/index.shtmlCleaves:…

ANTALYA I’m writing to you in this weatheramong buckets of bumble bees I am trying to write as ifsomething is happening to you these leopard skins are not my people I do not understand your way of turning an animal curls up in silencereality cannot be forced I bought a jacketeveryone kept calling us German…

The TURKISH/IRISH CONNECTION

some poems from Primitive Pianos (Polish section) in new issue of Gangway: Gangway #40 – Expatriations: The expatriat edition

art is recontextualization underwhelmed???? NO WAY MAN!!!

Barzakh

And I am always trying to think about how to write. As if starting over again. So that I am using different modes all the time and seem to resist doing what I know how to do, resist using modes I may think I have gotten good at. In some visceral way, my feeling is…

EDA (Istanbul) Adana kebab is sizzling behind me in Sultanahmeta man in an all-white suit gets his shoes shinnedI’m skinned he speaks of Kurdish and Armenian symbols animals & patternsSilk. Wool. Silk & wool. Crosses. the azan prayer booms from mosque to mosque in surround soundI move among the crowds of Taksim I run my…

MIND SORES eagles search for turtles to drop and crack upon the rocks this is a tangible instant of a pure orgasmcracks in the hands of a moviestreamthe body of a cracked doorsun crackles across this country of mosquesdirty scientists gather a genesis of lightcracked armies attack the honeycombshow fast the summer passes with drumspeons…

MIND SORES eagles search for turtles to drop and crack upon the rocks this is a tangible instant of a pure orgasmcracks in the hands of a moviestreamthe body of a cracked doorsun crackles across this country of mosquesdirty scientists gather a genesis of lightcracked armies attack the honeycombshow fast the summer passes with drumspeons…

dawn’s kingdommaketh me beside the rancidwaters swift with myantlers my tawny bride engorgeme

DETOUR(Karaman, Turkey) here comes the windthe blinds are clacking like stuck penguins in an Anatolian desert this plywood mouth moves the soul ala ala the soul in mouldy chariots and crumbling zeus bricks superstars of the civil wars

GOLDEN HANDCUFFS REVIEW

Andrei Voznesensky

Celestial Teabags(Karaman, Turkey) there is a sweatstorm in my trouserscelestial teabagsofficianadoswise onesthe sun whosesubjectis neurosisflames of disenchantmentthe blinds are rattling sexology sigh it is hard to keeptrack of my buttons reality is a sandwich stuckbetween my knuckles i’m in facta thing a thing in this mountain towncovered women & more goat cheese cross women slapping…

Artangel | Stranger in a strange city: Janet Cardiff on The Missing Voice (Case Study B)

think like this: “May all creatures be happy and safe,May they all have happy minds. Whatever living things there are –whether feeble or strong,long or short, whether stoutor of medium size, whether quick or green,whether big or little, whether seen or unseen whether those living near or far away,or those being born as well as…

Grzegorz Wróblewski’s A Marzipan Factory A Marzipan Factory is the most original and enticing book of poems I have read in years. It is Kafkaesque and yet tender, cynical and yet warm, elliptical and yet wholly immediate. GRZEGORZ WRÓBLEWSKI can take the most ordinary of phenomena and then give them the twist of a knife:…

Gluttons (original) It is 03.28 on the second day and my fridge is full of Pınar Doğal Yoğurt. There is a haze of lights outside my window. I’m at REAL shopping centre. Prayers crowned the air. I was a translated clam. This is where the world’s nuts are made. I’m waiting for the ruins of…

Gluttons Bu 03,28 ikinci günü ve benim buzdolabı Pınar Doğal Yoğurt doludur. Benim pencere dışında ışıkları bir pus olduğunu. Ben REAL alışveriş merkezi daha kötüyüm. Dualar hava taçlandırdı. Ben tercüme istiridye oldu. Burası dünyanın fındık yapılmış olmasıdır. Ben bir Roma hamamı kalıntıları bekliyorum. Ben Augustus tapınağı bekliyorum. Ben Secure Confident Geleceğe Anıt bekliyorum! Herkes sert…

Hamam(Ulus, Ankara) the upchoke of black crumbs thesemelancholy wakings nowattack the nipplesin the Hamam a manslapped mewith soap bubblesand scrubbed my face with sandpaperred dots spot my backwhat is raki without rhyme what is lion’s milk what are bluejays without Hermes my hymenamenthe peopleare still movingunassailed theyare free in their pussiesand crocks free to lovein…

REALLY LOVE THE POEMS IN HERE!! PAPER BAG

New Girls and Room Full of Surprises

Flying Bird Teahouse (Insadong) the sun on myfinches the feathersin my cup less plumbersmany electricians an evening performance of fruit sellers Utopia Spa cold poolsskating shakesheated floorwooden pillowsstrawsleather lumpsunsheathedpale drainagenever stop winking

fresh hot and bloody good: Jim Goar’s Seoul Bus Poems

Itaewon searching for nan and Russianspot-bellied smart and tartZen Blud lust dhar ma top-ped rice cake orange fish eggs & salmon slices oh boy as regards this meathole tonked up testy & smiling mind finds a home on the grounda beard between me & my mouth cramping at the knee swamp grass yogi-YO! the allegory…

Q. And have you any belief as to the purpose which the authors had in mind in writing the Ern Malley poems? A. They claimed to be hoaxing the members of a modernistic culturism. Q. Don’t you believe that Ern Malley’s poems were never intended to be serious work at all? A. I have no…

greed

MOVEMENT AND MOTION to get from the ship to the wave is a motion the movement is what happens my lover is movement what is a motion of a lover if not an apology for death? I has many notions movements take place inside the coalshed else inside a coal cooker a coalhead the paint…

PETER ORLOVSKY <a href="http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/2010/05/peter-orlovsky-namaste.html“>PETER ORLOVSKY 2 This is how I wanna go at the end . . . . . alas of course . . . we don’t have really have a choice . . . a life lived!!!

YOU KILL YOURSELF TO RAISE THE DEAD ——————————————————————the animals on a very bright day offer professions of good will. one month ago, near the shores of the Bosphorus, i slept on a park bench then ate a potato. the Bosphorus is not an empty background. this gut kicks or rather there is a stranger at…

PLAYING DRESS UP this gut kicks. this is a stranger and a strangler. i stain these curtains.——————————————————————i found grieving in the grass. I found a pervert in my throat. Don’t mistake the ships for the waves. If you suspect a voice do not employ it. the animals on a very bright day offer professions of…

PLAYING DRESS UP this gut kicks. this is a stranger and a strangler. i stain these curtains. a wave of ships.——————————————————————i found grieving in the grass. don’t you swallow.—————————————————————— you kill yourself to raise the dead. all the people that we’ve _______ and all the people that we’ve_______ you kill yourself to raise the dead.…

PLAYING DRESS UP this gut kicks. this is a stranger and a strangler. i stain these curtains. a wave of ships. i found grieving in the grass. don’t you swallow. all the people that we’ve _______ and all the people that we’ve_______ you kill yourself to raise the dead. the years flash. what goes thin…

ELBLAG POEMS

Modernism continues all over the world (Turkish Second New, NY School poetics, Flarf, conceptual poetics, Gnostic Poetics etc.) All is possible

DAMN I MISS THE LONDON COMMUNITY OF POETS: FIRST KLATCH MEETING IN LONDON MISSED THIS ONE :-( THIRD KLATCH MEETING IN LONDON

PAST SIMPLE KLATCH 2 FROM LONDON

I SWALLOW FLOWERS tikies tikiesi love you flashy waysI love your sparkles and bearded menyour Starbucks cupsand tee key wrists suck oh suckyour thin cigaretteoh whiff of fashionoh spray of dying daffydills

HOUSE VERSUS HOME my teeth have gone grimeythere is a baby chest inside me i turned in bed to repelthe ghosts this face slides away towards the morningforeign voices drift around me the house is more to die than to live in * * Ilhan Berk’s poem “Garden”

Grzegorz Wroblewski

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A student at Middle East Technical University translated a poem about uprooting. The transition from Poland to Turkey. Here is the Turkish translation: Yaklaşan Kök Kanal Tedavisini Duymanın Ardından bilmiyoruz nerede durduğumuzu ya da kiminle durduğumuzuya da neyin bizle durduğunuya da kimin bize karşı durabileceğiniya da neye karşı durabileceğimizi kedi tüylerini yalar vetitretir yaprakları telgraflar…

Some of my poetry from Godzenie in the new issue of Toxic Poetry. Check it out: Toxic Poetry

21st April 2010 everybody fooled me the evening foldedeverybody blushesand disappearsthe birds crawlon the branchesthe branches do not breakwhat is there to understandin the silence of this Turkish desert what is there tolisten to if not IstanbulI must carve something new in thisblind cellare my lips wet or dry we listen onlyto mutiply the mountainssing…

Antalya (2 March 2010) there was a Russian prostitutethere was Gypsy musicthere were gin and tonicsthere were struts and ruts & mock turtlenecksthere was a bumblingthere was an opening and closingthere was time time and a wish for more timewhat might have lubricated todaydoes not lubricate tomorrowthe sea was behind usthe sea continued the sea…

16th APRIL 2010 Bilkent East Campus on the burnt hillsthe light forms a cradle a pale song is cradleddusted eyebrowsearlobe and earstrobedark pupils gather lighttulip tulip alif alif alifI think always of hera green olive full of fire

Restlessness in Turkey

Cleaves2 is now live featuring 63 contributors from: Berlin, Brighton, Cambridge, Cork & Ireland, Denmark, Estonia, Iceland, Leeds, Lithuania, London, Moscow, North-West England, Paris, Poland, Romania, Scotland, South West England and finally, Switzerland. Available here: Cleaves 2

The search for truth is more precious than its possession I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious I believe in standardizing automobiles, not human beings I love to travel, But hate to arrive

blew my mind. some new poetry coming soon from the Istanbul notebook. Found great bookshop in Istanbul called Pandora. Picked up: 1) Selected poems of ILHAN BERK 2) Leave the Room to Itself by Graham Foust 3) I, Orhan Veli translated by Murat Nemet-Nejat 4) I too want to hunt a deer by Lale Mulder…

some work from my Korean manuscript in the new West Wind Review: West Wind REview

(26th March 2010) Bilkent Center REAL I’m writing to you in this weatheramong buckets of bumble bees it is better to know my peoplethese leopard skinsare not my people tumbling out warmwith the cosmic absurdistsa prophet’s ten minutes of satire when will you cool your heels? there’s a bird on your shoulderthat whispers goodbye donkey…

my Irish pores are breakinginto the cold green watersthe cold muddy froth father father I hearthe turnips preparingin their groundby the pale muddywaters waterswe sink like anyold stone

Olympos (1 March 2010) on the wet floors of the rocks of the rocks on the wet floors grayed steps lighting sheets stone steps stone steps boulders stone steps heat and oil a place of eternal torches we were coldwe were coldit was raining we were cold a place of stones and rocks and rain…

(24th March 2010) Kizilay gule gule guleevet evet evet I’m glued I’m glued to yourcurly wurly yr gay dancing late night in Kizilay the _______ is a bodyof a lover we have never loved there is space there are cellsthere is space there are patternsthere are many birds oh my freckled armsoh my nerve fibres…

Istanbul

check it out: London Writer’s Forum video

Primitive Pianos I dream this citythis city this cityof primitivepianosicy millions tell me sotell me tell me oh pulled toothpulled tooth that left a hole a hole my my myuncooked triala jig with Roman wrestlersa jig with Irish diplomatsmy Irish pores are breakinginto the cold green watersthe cold muddy froth father father I hearthe turnips…

17 March 2010 Monday I drifted awayTuesday I hung from a treemy tooth was pulledthere is a holeI dreamt that I was real

19 March 2010 hot hot hot underlings i love you flashy waysI love your punting cycles and riddles in the wingsand the whiffs of yonder phallus I’m yanking out your daffy dills imagine this: imagine thisI’ve opened up my lidsand this is what I seepawns and pawns and pawnsyawning in their faculties

This Thursday (3/18), the Duke Poetry Working Group will reconvene to discuss the work of J. H. Prynne, a poet whose influences and influence position him at the crux of poetry’s avant-garde milieu. Please join us as we set out to register the immensity of his utterance. You can access the readings we will be…

How are you? i hope all is well with you, i hope you may not know me, and i don’t know who you are, My Name is Miss T, i am just broswing now i just saw your profile it seams like some thing touches me all over my body, i started having some feelings…

Mark Linkous suicide

If Margaret Thatcher wins on Thursday– – I warn you not to be ordinary – I warn you not to be young – I warn you not to fall ill – I warn you not to get old.

coming uponly to show your own my boat has resurfaced I am not a careeristI am not your bunion the radiant dark is my new rehearsal oh honey turns to stone don’t fleefrom beingwhacked upsidethe head i’ve set out tonightto some new place

some terrific poems in the new Blackbox Manifold. Including poems from Jim Goar’s new ms The Dustbowl: Blackbox Manifold

1 March 2010 we reached the campsites at Olympos with modern hippies in this place of treehouses and roosters and backpackers MGMT playing on a mobile phone it rained and rained and lightning sheeted over the Med over the Roman ruins on the other side of the river we walked toward the rocks of eternal…