1.
lugar es una casa para poner un codo no deja de dañar la mesa también sobre los huesos un
palo sus balances
lugar es una puerta para esconder la carga perdura en la cabeza aislada el rastrillo de la
deuda tatúa las membranas
lugar es una ventana para poner un caballo un libro alguna cosa
place is a house to place an elbow the table never leaves off hurting it´s also a stick on
the bones balance sheets
place is a door to hide the burden on an isolated head the rake of debt lingers tattooing
membranes
place is a window to place a horse a book some thing
2.
un niño pasea por las orillas del légamo se parece a mi sombra tiene miedo pero no corre
tal vez sus pies han oído el acre perfume de la ova animales suaves se agitan en el cañizal
un ciervo tendido va confundiéndose con las hojas caídas su cuello muestra linfas secretas el
sol cruje con la intensidad de la corteza columpios oxidados anticipan la ruina de los juegos
juegos solitarios donde el niño me imagina soñando con orillas recordando carroñas sin volumen
el agua verdinegra que el verano va cociendo ambos somos un sueño compartido por el otro
observados bajo las cañas por los ojos feroces de nuestra madre
a child passes silted shores seeming like my shadow he's afraid but doesn't run perhaps his
feet have heard the acrid perfume of the ulva soft animals tremble in reed banks a deer
lying down mingles with fallen leaves his neck revealing a secret lymph sun crackles through
intensity of bark rusty swings herald a ruination of games solitary games where I'm imagined
by the child to be dreaming of these shores a massless memory of carrion the summer's
blackgreenish water is baking we are both a dream shared by the other watched under the
reeds by the fierce eyes of our mother
3.
Conferencia austro-húngara [apuntes]
antes de comenzar imaginemos
pensar en húngaro o escribir en alemán
alguien recoge lo que ama y lo corrige
alguien hubiera preferido someter a reconstrucción una pared escarpada
y ahora yo llevo bajo el brazo
el vínculo entre la fuerza y la risa
el caso es
de dónde procede este placer
después de qué aniquilación maduran los conceptos
por qué admiramos los átomos o la madrugada
queridos colegas
por) un agresor ha sido devorado
como) la frialdad de las madres es comparable a las máquinas zapadoras
en) lo que permanece dentro siempre resulta victorioso
en fin por) como) y en) prueban que una idea es lo más parecido a una cicatriz
o a un sueño que dura ya 51 años
en alemán los ahogados
beben hasta que les llega la muerte
en húngaro los mensajes indirectos acaban alojándose
en órganos e inervaciones habituales
buenas tardes y gracias a todos
por su aflicción
Austro-Hungarian Conference [Notes]
before we begin let us imagine
thinking in Hungarian or writing in German
someone picks up what they love and corrects it
someone would have preferred to rebuild a steep wall
and now I'm carrying under my arm
the link between strength and laughter
the case is
where does this pleasure come from
after what annihilation do concepts mature
why do we admire atoms or the dawn
dear colleagues
by) a foe has been devoured
as) the coldness of mothers is comparable to trenching machines
in) what remains inside is always victorious
hence by) as) and in) prove that an idea is the closest thing to a scar
or a dream that has already lasted for 51 years
in German the drowned
drink themselves to death
in Hungarian indirect messages end up occupying
the usual organs and innervations
good evening thank you all for listening
and thank you all for your suffering
4.
Apuntes catastróficos
contraimagen en el observador nace un estado de malestar o acantilado
contradicción la luz sobre el terraplén se degrada en movimiento
estímulos la vida es una erosión subterránea equivalente al plano inclinado de la
angustia
contragolpe un árbol despliega la tierra rota en dirección al sol blanco de la
analogía
contrapunto los dominios zoológicos se ramifican y expanden como nudos que se
persiguen
impresiones la caza y los territorios acumulan conglomerados de mapas y
desprendimientos
contrasentido un cono o pirámide de escombros pasa de la regularidad a la máxima
turbulencia
contraataque el observador es una trampa para frecuencias de lenta degradación
reducto un germen de catástrofe en favor de la excitación y el desorden
Catastrophic Notes
counter image a cliff state or discomfort is born in the observer
contradiction the light on the embankment degrades in movement
stimuli life is an underground erosion equivalent to the inclined plane of anguish
countercoup a tree displays broken earth towards the white sun of analogy
counterpoint zoological domains ramify their expansions pursued as knots
impressions hunting and territories accumulate clusters of maps and landslides
countermeaning the debris of a cone or pyramid goes from regularity to maximum turbulence
counterassault the observer is a trap for frequencies of slow degradation
stronghold a germ of catastrophe in favor of excitement and disorder
5.
Equivalencia en hueco
[nada] evento de la palabra que lo pronuncia [nunca] agujero o gusano de tiempo oscuro [nadie]
impensada extensión de una antinomia que se fue [nulo] valor absoluto del abandono [pérdida]
extravío en la dirección apropiada [mudez] propósito semántico del niño en silencio [se]
impersonal atavismo del aullido [cero] punto lógico del número a su saco [no] jaque a la
tercera persona oblicua [yo] identidad imaginaria de la cópula y la disyunción [negro] color
automático de las orillas en materia de movimiento [vacío] mensaje contracto del negativo de
los objetos [incógnita] conjunto dispar de soluciones y raíces antes del árbol [significado]
liquidar el poema de materia oscura
del doble tan raro
decirse no expresarse
aunque [yo] estuviera allí
GAP-IN EQUIVALENCE
[nothing] an event from the word that articulates it [never] a dark time or worm hole [nobody]
an unthought extension of a vanished antinomy [null] the absolute value of abandonment [loss]
a misplacement in the proper direction [muteness] the semantic intention of a child's silence
[self] an impersonal atavistic howl [zero] the number's logical point in its sac [not] the
oblique third person placed in check [i] imaginary identity of conjunction and disjunction
[black] the automatic color of edges in the materialisation of motion [vacuum] a message shrunk from the
negatives of photographic objects [unknown] a disparate set of solutions and roots preceding
their tree [meaning] to wipe dark matter out of the poem
by such a rare double
to tell oneself not to express oneself
even though as if [i] was there
6.
WCW 1963
amo las cosas esas cizañas que no dejan ver el mar el sabor oculto de las fresas perceptible
solo en su consumación el zorzal una danza leve en la luz amarilla
hoy una mano escribe y la otra me hace viva la muerte
en otro tiempo el día era el ascenso mis manos ayudaban a nacer palpaban el dolor y la noche
el descenso la medida variable de los huesos quebrados por la música
ahora el perro y la fiebre la oscuridad extensa donde nada tiene cura
van cayendo los ciegos los aros giran la espalda del desierto es la tortuga que sostiene el
mundo
WCW 1963
i love things those ryegrasses not letting you see the sea hidden taste of strawberries
perceptible only in their consummation a thrush a light dance in the yellow light
today one hand is writing and the other is making death alive for me
in another time a day was the ascent my hands helped to give birth they touched pain and night
the descent the variable measure of bones broken by music
Now the dog and the fever a vast darkness where nothing can be cured
the blind are falling rings are turning round the spine of the desert is the turtle supporting
the world
***
Translations from Spanish by Amparo Arróspide & Robin Ouzman Hislop
***
ANGEL MINAYA (Madrid, 1964), a Bachelor in Hispanic Philology by the Complutense University of
Madrid, was also awarded in PhD in Linguistics by the Autonomous University of Madrid.
A teacher of Literature and Language at a high school in that same Community, some of his poems
and critical reviews have been published by Nayagua literary e-zine. A few have also been
included in the anthology Voces del extremo: Poesía y desobediencia (Madrid, 2014).
Teorema de los lugares raros (Theorem of rare places) is his first published poetry collection
(El sastre de Apollinaire, Madrid, 2017).
http://www.elsastredeapollinaire.com/producto/teorema-de-los-lugares-raros/
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poetry
Press Release Virtual Living Collected Poems by Gary Beck
Poet Gary Beck’s new collection Virtual Living is a revealing glimpse of how our relationship with the world around us is an ever-evolving experience. Focusing on how humans relate to the world via artificial means, as well as self-imposed affected mechanisms. Beck looks at the concept of living virtually from all angles and tells his story with just enough abstractness to move readers to choose how to inhabit their own worlds. A peek into our world in ways most of us forget to see, these poems will shift any reader’s perspective of how they relate to others, technology and the world.
“Varied, inspiring and insightful – Nous Magazine
“We love your poems – Poetry Pacific
“Amazingly captivating and incredibly diverse – Kind of a Hurricane Press
Virtual Living is a 116 page poetry book. ISBN: 1945247134 Published through Thurston Howl Publications.
Available now through all major retailers
Amazon.com Virtual Living Gary Beck
Birdsong
The closer the highway
the closer to death,
so build your nest
as far as you can
from works of man.
Sports Fans
High school students cheer
at the top of their lungs
for their football team,
unaware of
the math student
ignored by all
who may build the future,
while former sport’s heroes
dwell in the past,
unable to forget
earlier glory.
College students root
for the home team,
eager to belong
to a bigger world,
paint their faces
in school colors,
identifying with
an institution
encouraging sports
more than science,
relegating the brightest
to unrequited dreams
of supple cheerleaders.
Many football fans
either yearn for the past,
or never grew up.
Some fear the future,
apprehensive of
the loss of function,
try to belong,
rooting for their team.
Others don’t realize
pros are as distant
as movie stars,
except they hurt each other
for large salaries,
while loyal fans
wear stupid hats,
wave witless signs,
scream for victory
for favorite teams.
Mindscape
Dreams shatter,
more fragile
than steel, brick, glass
man-made materials,
confining spaces
for the mental container
of hopes, fears, guilt,
unlike other animals
whose sleep exertions
re-enact feeding, flight.

Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director, and as an art dealer when he couldn’t make a living in theater. He has 11 published chapbooks and 2 more accepted for publication. His poetry collections include: Days of Destruction (Skive Press), Expectations (Rogue Scholars Press). Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays, Perceptions, Fault Lines & Tremors (Winter Goose Publishing). Perturbations, Rude Awakenings and The Remission of Order will be published by Winter Goose Publishing. Conditioned Response (Nazar Look). Resonance (Dreaming Big Publications). Virtual Living (Thurston Howl Publications). His novels include: Extreme Change (Cogwheel Press), Flawed Connections (Black Rose Writing), Call to Valor (Gnome on Pigs Productions) and Sudden Conflicts (Lillicat Publishers). State of Rage will be published by Rainy Day Reads Publishing. His short story collection, A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications). Now I Accuse and other stories will be published by Winter Goose Publishing. His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway. His poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines. He currently lives in New York City.
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Weeds. A Poem by Becca Menon
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AGarden_and_chimney_pot_-_DSC06780.JPG
Weeds
for David
-
Because they are seeing determined seeds
of nameable, nearing death in his body,
he goes in his garden to pull the weeds,
working tranquilly, editing God.

Known for her musical storytelling craft, Becca Menon’s works have been hailed internationally from the Middle East to the United Kingdom. This American translator and author of books of verse narrative has shorter works in print and online. Hear readings and discover other mischief at www.BeccaBooks.com ~
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Press Release Cartoon Molecules Collected Poems by Robin Ouzman Hislop
Cartoon Molecules is a new volume of collected poems by the poet Robin Ouzman Hislop, who is also editor of this Poetry Life & Times site at Artvilla.com. This volume attempts to engage its reader in the context of crisis the human race encounters in its struggle for survival, from both existential and surreal perspectives, as well as introducing themes innovated by its author as an exploration in poetics.
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Proem
Cartoon molecules Tweedledum & Tweedledee “What makes us human?” ditto - what does not add up dum what does not minus down ditto - we know not what we do dee that's what makes a story ditto - communications are a can of worms dum so sayeth the decree of the fates ditto - time's a gulping mocker dee as the crow flies ditto - entelechy is the dream of becoming dum in a kick ass belonging ditto - art arises out of our ignorance of materia dee dreaming us into existence ditto - a necessary illusion to dream ourself dum into existence ditto - a hegemony of symmetry invades dee once a wilderness Tweedledum & Tweedledee “Chaos becomes cartoon molecules”
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Vamp Queen Rocks Morbid Fandom. A Poem by Peter Magliocco
They do not bless the rose but the thorns
hanging over her portrait
tonight in your gallery of squalor,
your face hidden by chiaroscuro
blemishes from a performer’s life:
Oh those wrinkles & shriveled crevices
Now adorn the snake’s mottled skin
a thousand fingers brusquely trip
the malice of broken bones over
your elusive figure the drum sways
thinking of all those closeted skeletons
third world victims rise from gravestones
To dance at the Rock concert for peace
& a justice they never got living
in humanity’s truncated evolution.
Their dusty clothing reeks of decay,
little children hold noses watching
this massive dance of desperation
As Tove Lo sings them finally to sleep
the night watchman rubs his eyes
while cleaning crews grimly vacuum
the lost sounds of silent bodies,
the peaceful concert now
forever over, at last.

— Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where he occasionally edits the lit-zine ART:MAG. His speculative sci-fi novel The Burgher of Virtual Eden is now available in all the usual places.
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DINING WITH THE DEAD. A Poem by Eddie Awusi
This is where i have come to dine.
Postmortem hanging on the menu.
A plenipotentiary of the services of worms.
Hot chitter chatter
Of stern looking trolls, pervade the enclave.
They belched after a meal of death.
Yawned and belched again, a fever in Yiddish.
Gazed at me, a clandestine intruder.
No chatter of humans, but muted conversations
Of mouthless ghosts.
Gastric acid running at the guts.
Then I knew it was the wrong company.

Eddie Awusi is a published poet from Delta state of Nigeria. He has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies. The latest being Dandelion In A Vase of Roses.
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Holes. Poem by Michael Griffith
Rudderless boat
Butcher, Baker, Prostitute, LLC
Should a storm wash them ashore
Deserted island,
At least they’ll all have someone to eat.
The flies demand their lord,
Though a lady will do just as well
So long as her promi$e$
Ring true enough
And their multi-eyed glare she can meet.
The boat leaks
The three try to plug the holes
Try to keep it afloat
For this island Earth
Needs them powder-dry and smelling sweet.
The land they came from
Is the land of their fathers
And mother Liberty is growing smaller
As they float off in their Sea of Words
And fill the holes until one will die in the heat,
One will die of deceit,
And one will rule over the flies.

Bio: Michael Griffith began writing poetry after a life-changing injury as a way for his spirit to heal as his body recuperated. His poems have appeared in Haiku Journal, Dual Coast Poetry, and Ripen the Page, as well as other online journals. He resides in central NJ. https://michaelgriffithwordpress.wordpress.com/
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Key of Mist. Guadalupe Grande.Translated.Amparo Arróspide.Robin Ouzman Hislop
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SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL (i – iv) Poems by Lyn Lifshin.
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL ALMOST SUICIDAL
how it glazes,
seals what’s a stain
in like dirt under poly
so each foot print upstairs
glides over scars. The
cold drifts, makes a
maze of walks, tunnels
where knives could be
pointed like icicles over
the door way. No ballet
dancer with electric
pointed shoes, or a tutu
of fleece could warm
her. So slippery, her ankle
snaps while in the night
diesel trucks collide
with over turned 12
wheelers under her hair,
their undersides twitching
in smoke like zapped wasps
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
gerrymandering what’s slippery into space she can’t
avoid, every part of her’s a junkie going
cold turkey, starved for heat. She shakes, a
blue spreads over her. She dreams
of bougainvillea, gardenia, figs. White’s
the color bandages, diapers, feet of the dead.
She wants jades, tourmalines, sapphires, rubies
jags of flame and teal, a gypsy swirl, castanets.
No more colorless dirge of snow burying, disguising,
but heat, a jungle rain where skin smells like
skin and locusts hum toward dawn, a gladiolus
wind, thighs luminous as bones dipped in
tinsel and glitter
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
fangs of ice, too cold
for even blues to breathe.
White suffocates, a town
buried behind her wrists.
Roofs collapse, cars under
mounds like bodies the
ground was too hard to dig
into left on battlefields.
Ice crystals freeze in the air,
a halo of edges, a tilt to one
side, a falling into the daze,
into the flare of light as
glass splatters, could
blind her for good
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
possibilities, freeze dried,
zapped, trapped like crystals
poisonous as HIV virus twisted
to a halo. She moves and it
moves with her, a too heavy
cologne heavy as guilt. Ease,
already frayed, freezes in the
shape of splinters. She feels
that brittle, feels herself running
toward a fire only her feet are
glued to glass. She’s a spun glass
rose bud vase in the car for days
hot water is poured into and
she cracks
SNOW MAKES THE MAD GIRL SUICIDAL
isolates, a moat of
colorlessness, barb
wire of ice. She tried
to pull from the house
of cold, but the cold
seers, burns where
she’s pressed. Scars.
The snow terrifies.
Where she stands,
too slippery to hold
her and the roof’s
about to bury her in
bed, catch her screams
like lips in lava

Lyn Lifshin has published over 140 books and chapbooks and edited three anthologies of women’s writing including Tangled Vines that stayed in print 20 years. She has several books from Black Sparrow books. Her web site, www.lynlifshin.com shows the variety of her work from the equine books, The Licorice Daughter: My Year with Ruffian and Barbaro: Beyond Brokenness to recent books about dance: Ballroom, Knife Edge and Absinthe: The Tango Poems. Other new books include For the Roses, poems for Joni Mitchell, All The Poets Who Touched Me; A Girl goes Into The Woods; Malala, Tangled as the Alphabet: The Istanbul Poems. Also just out: Secretariat: The Red Freak, The Miracle; Malala and Luminous Women: Enheducanna, Scheherazade and Nefertiti. web site: www.lynlifshin.com
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