Selected Contemporary Poetry
Allow me to present the wonderful worlds of Amy Gerstler, Carolyn Forché, Alexandria Hall, Kazim Ali, Rosanna Warren, Diane Loue, Jane Hirshfield and Jan Beatty. These readings were recorded at the 2020 Miami Book Fair.
Shall I compare thee (for voice and mandolin)
A setting of Shakespeare's sonnet 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day' for soprano and mandolin
The Art of (Stationary) Travel
Although cliched, the metaphor of the “journey” never loses its shine no matter how many times it is used. Immersed in an existence based on constant motion, we are possessed of a deep psychic need to decipher and come to terms with our own “soul-journeys”. And so time again we are drawn to the resonance of the “travel” narrative.
Tales from Dublin Pubs: The Chancery Inn (O'Reilly Bros) of Inns Quay
On a good day this seemingly foreboding haunt is in fact a source of warmth and welcome. A rare quayside pub with a bleak band of militant raw-boned smoking sentinels offering up plumes of smoke and gawking ever downward, perhaps contemplating Plato, perhaps counting cigarette butts, who’s to know?
Crayon Poems
Crayon Poems is the poetic equivalent of a cat gifting its owner a dead bird, only it’s done with greasy, gentle colours on the page. It is a gift you don’t want but should be grateful for.
A Complicated Progress
Perhaps the popularity of the bildungsroman has less to do with a taste for accurate depictions of reality than a desire for a comprehensible structure amid the chaos of emotions.
All days are mine
All days are mine. Acrylic on canvas, 100 x 81 cm. 2020. Victor Manzanal.
Death in a Time of Coronavirus
It’s difficult to believe in death without first-hand experience. The loss of a loved one, or perhaps an illness, brings your own mortality into focus. The inhuman birth and death cycles carry on regardless of your absence. What appears steady, will change. If not now, then later. If not later, than now.
Solitude and a Meditation for Winter
This morning brought the first frost. The park was unrecognisable. An otherworldly scene. All washed with silver, save the outline of the deer and trees. Winter, the Earth’s contraction, was beginning.
Death
The best thing about this year of lockdown has been the sighting of so many animals one ordinarily never saw, or, if you did, they were already dead, victims of roadkill or industrial poisoning or sheer exposure.
The Sun and Moon Within
As the moon represents our mental energy, the sun represents our life force. Both the sun and the moon are always there, but the moon remains hidden until it is exposed to the sun's light. In that encounter, our spiritual powers ignite.
Five Latin American Poets
I want to share the poetry of five great Latin American poets: Darío Jaramillo Agudelo, Rafael Cadenas, Blanca Varela, Ida Vitale and Fina García Marruz. You can not only read them but hear their translations recited in English.
Federico García Lorca’s ‘Santiago’
An interpretation of Federico García Lorca’s poem “Santiago” (1918) for voice and guitar.
The Labyrinth of Human Culture
Like the dream of a mute, expressions of ultimate reality cannot be communicated. Thus we create labyrinths, in search of the Perfect Word that cannot be translated.
A labyrinth due for demolition
This shed had been habitable once. You could occupy it of a summer afternoon ten long years ago, with ample space at the table where one could read and write and sip one's slowly cooling green tea, the cup continually refilled from the ever-present steaming kettle.
Familia Hotel
a double bed & a flat-screen tv, undressed
stone walls, so much bad blood, banging around
as if it were mid-morning…
I will show you the life of the mind on prescription drugs
From the mysterious recesses of the mind (or is that brain?) comes the urge to fix our sadness! Drugs are the answer, allied with literature. Legal, prescribed drugs, by hurried doctors, which reroute synapses in millions of human beings consciousnesses.
book babel
book babel (2020) is a sculpture poem made of bio-resin
Confessions of a Distracted Mind
We each have our own crooked nook of Reality from which to make sense of life. Perhaps a little poison is necessary to make the flow self-aware.
The Poisoned Cup
It has been said that holding onto anger is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die. Anger can be a catalyst. The first lightning bolt arrives with purpose, sent from the firmament to clear a torpid sky.
The never-ending quest…
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