Salmon Poetry Events WASHINGTON DC, Pigment Art Studio - Salmon 30th Anniversary Gala Reading & Book Launch to celebrate Salmon’s 30th Anniversary:
WASHINGTON DC, Pigment Art Studio - Salmon 30th Anniversary Gala Reading & Book Launch to celebrate Salmon’s 30th Anniversary
Date: Friday, February 04, 2011
Time: 8 p.m.
Venue: Pigment Art Studio, 1848 Columbia Road Northwest, Washington D.C., DC 20009
To celebrate Salmon’s 30th Anniversary, we are hosting a poetry reading and book launch at the Pigment Art Studio in Washington D.C.
Readers include: Simmons B. Buntin, Andrea Cohen, Allan Peterson, Kevin Higgins, Susan Millar DuMars, Alan Jude Moore, Patrick Chapman, Drucilla Wall, Eamonn Wall, Michael S. Begnal, Patrick Hicks, Stephen Roger Powers, Drew Blanchard, Philip Fried, John Fitzgerald, Christopher Locke, Hélène Cardona, Devon McNamara, William Pitt Root, J.D. Smith, Pam Uschuk, Jeanne Wagner.
All are welcome to attend - please do come along!
Salmon Poetry has received financial support from
Culture Ireland to attend the 2011 AWP Conference
Contact: Jessie Lendennie
Phone: 065-7081941
Website: http://www.pigmentartstudio.com/
27.1.11
16.1.11
Commute # 1
rats run under the track
the tracks are rat riddled
we travel on skeleton trains
carting our bones over the river
like cells in blood pumped
around the body; falling leaves
and creaking voiced stations
wait for us
the shopping bags and boys
in nylon suits take up space
left by women of a certain age
encased in proteins and immunitas
wrapped in hope against decay
the throwaway brides fancying
fast affairs in warmer places;
dead flowers in October streams
in Polish the bank advertisement
is the same as the native –
only words have been reshaped
as if all language works one way
discrepancies eradicated
by keen interest rates or photographs
of a telephonist smiling
back through the grubby window
by the shaking of hands
the secrecy of backrooms
and done deals of dirty governments;
the rats run under the track
the tracks are rat riddled
we rattle through on skeleton trains
wait for autumn leaves to fall
for some sign of grace
the tracks are rat riddled
we travel on skeleton trains
carting our bones over the river
like cells in blood pumped
around the body; falling leaves
and creaking voiced stations
wait for us
the shopping bags and boys
in nylon suits take up space
left by women of a certain age
encased in proteins and immunitas
wrapped in hope against decay
the throwaway brides fancying
fast affairs in warmer places;
dead flowers in October streams
in Polish the bank advertisement
is the same as the native –
only words have been reshaped
as if all language works one way
discrepancies eradicated
by keen interest rates or photographs
of a telephonist smiling
back through the grubby window
by the shaking of hands
the secrecy of backrooms
and done deals of dirty governments;
the rats run under the track
the tracks are rat riddled
we rattle through on skeleton trains
wait for autumn leaves to fall
for some sign of grace
1.1.11
Refoundation
Shine light on the edge of the square
and there a clutch of the creatures
brass necks and ostrich eyes
guffaw grins and slapped sore thighs
walk without waking through the lanes
the baton charge and horseback riders
weighing up with pounds and ounces
how to stop these kilograms
from taking hold and spreading over
the marble halls and archways now
calculate in museums of science
the length and breadth of grotesques
the passing down of tiny charters
the illness of self delusion creeping
quicksand rising around
bonded children’s necks
shine a light on the square
illumination and refoundation
impossible words to comprehend
for old grey men with ostrich heads
and there a clutch of the creatures
brass necks and ostrich eyes
guffaw grins and slapped sore thighs
walk without waking through the lanes
the baton charge and horseback riders
weighing up with pounds and ounces
how to stop these kilograms
from taking hold and spreading over
the marble halls and archways now
calculate in museums of science
the length and breadth of grotesques
the passing down of tiny charters
the illness of self delusion creeping
quicksand rising around
bonded children’s necks
shine a light on the square
illumination and refoundation
impossible words to comprehend
for old grey men with ostrich heads
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