Poetry
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Four Poems by Andrea Jurjević Artwork by Kirstin Mitchell
She Floated Away
After Hüsker DüA mob of slam dancers hurls and shoves in the mosh pit of the park fountain—all this furor, thrust-riot, all this outage, the ridding
of the white corset. Under the cankered poplar a man rests his stiff leg across his lover’s knees, leans into her narrow shoulder and scratches a rough scratch in the V of her thighs—
the axis of her body, black as the tail of a swallow, forked as a dowsing rod.
Yet her gaze is fixed on the fountain,
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Two Poems by Martin Rock
Lines Written After a Party in New York
It isn’t sarcasm or sadness but the feeling
of having been left to die in the middle
of a rooftop filled with one’s attractive friends.
They look at me and I try to look at them.
My eyes remain fixed on the side of my head.
My tongue is a fist submerged in ice.
I try to make my way back to the surface
to bleat but I cannot. My eyes are glassy
& probing & panicky & -
Five Poems from “In the morning we are glass” by Andra Schwarz (translated from the German by Caroline Wilcox Reul) Artwork by Hannu Töyrylä
In the morning we are glass
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Am morgen sind wir aus glas
My hands reach into emptiness what is left under earth
I walk to the black mill at its edge the spring
nothing moves I still hear the grinding of wheels
the spray of water and how they revolve decades
in the millworks the building the dismantling the change
finally the child from then no one knows what might have been
every year another ring grows wolves prowl in the
forest now that I’m gone everything is large & -
Excerpts from the book length poem “Melismas” by Marlon Hacla (translated from the Filipino by Kristine Ong Muslim) Artwork by Tilde Acuña
Excerpts from
Melismas
Because I had been given healing salts, objects
that bring restoration, I shall brave the ripeness
of the week for you. I will sing about strengths
that seek loneliness but capable of saving
the world from impairment caused by its own
design. I have no more use
for you but each time I discard
the list that condones your utility,
a rice paddy’s hue turns pale, blankets are suddenly blown away
to reach every layer of the sky. -
“The Lake” (parts 1 to 3 of Dead Letter Office) and “After Objects” by Marko Pogačar (translated from the Croatian by Andrea Jurjević) Photography by Dora Held
Dead Letter Office is forthcoming in March 2020 by The Word Works.
The Lake
Again that tragic
Mixing up of things and folks.
— Novica Tadić1.
I am the lake, I set out
in the morning from the slow cocoon of the sun—
sink into myself as if into a silent room or despair.
plants nest in my chest
like wading birds nest in shrubs,
the eternal choir of grass blades. -
Two Poems by Lisa Boyce
Feathers and Silk
it used to be your chest was my pillow
temporarily of course – always temporarily –
you needed more space
said you couldn’t fall asleep
sweaty limbs tangled like sheets
while I – girl who sweats
through her shirts
when it’s 30 degrees out
– wanted
onlytobecloser
devised a way to get nearer to your heart
dreamed of cracking open your chest
so I could crawl inside
be at the center of it all
sometimes if I squeeze my eyes tight enough
the pillow I am holding
becomes your chest
– but softer –
it does not smell like you
– roast chicken and orchids –
I burrow deeper
