Tuesday, February 13, 2018

jim leftwich & steve dalachinsky - no one writes poems on Monday

no one writes poems on Monday

couple evacuated from a stunning time lapse
   then collapse within the hurricane's eye
        as the sugar cane went toothie on tootsie's sordid rol
double thin ash elevator coil lips The Foaming Wicca Inn.
sugar came from sunning in a sentence,
vol cane Oh--
                eye lap;
    eye aspic;
          eye sea:
         as pictured i see the entire flown
  crocked within the crane's neck wildly a-
    waiting transport to a much resisted spittle vat
      rest instead toe mulch sporting trains. baited tinge
        mildly wreckage
    brain within the crock pot
mowing the tireless seesaw sphincter past.
   like a dead worm in a pile of poodle excrement
        extremely porkchopped into obvious
             oblivion as the catchword
                  misscaught the fall-apart thing
O beautifulfuckingshit, i can barely bear the beauty!
   ah the shit is what comes to bare the shit away from
              the pot gotten off & crocked on cappuccino's
  & moz/art dekjekferrurr ippe902 dadaadadtataddddd-aaaaaaaaaaaa.
no one writes poems on Monday.

december 2017

steve dalachinsky & jim leftwich - 5 hams & an angel wink

5 hams & an angel wink

give five a room never ticks
which pillow describes the details
      away window from birds
      pigeons scalp the cough
over the wall they went barely missed
the autoexoplamsa nearly striking their glands
the long & short of it being feathers flewing
& yet still i try hard with the right foot not to divulge
my pigeon-toed xylophonic expressive soul/knotta  
without success (what a deal)
the unusual link between alzheimer's & the commune cold
 & what a deal we got spiritual disunity &
        memory repair protocol, total
recall, Stan Musial, the Wal-Mart of the Deal, memory
      sticks blink and despair, between
ritual robo-calling and senility-as-mutiny
 sensibility as drug addiction missing a face
a nose the eye socket blown out the shadow lost
   the insignificant molestation of DNA inside a so/what
solvent signifiers a rose is a nose is a hose is a rose
no sense of a mollusk in the pocket or on the rug
  as the beet (H) oven goes on tagine stinker rocket
        no tense of molest as the toes blows gloes s(o)not(a)
  eat the ghost and wink the sprocket, at the behest
            of Frank Sinatra, who blows his nose
      washes his clothes & strikes the classic sweat pose
                 gone solid amazing sore did the angle
 anquished ante bad poker/faced in side flush which faced with no tense
             eroica as hero(in) sheeps cloths washes down anti-dope
​       splashes bone in antique
      rinse​ squalid as antic heroic
         erotica sad stripes maze
  smoking traced the angel mush
               unplucketed stars cheer dodo mamarosa plummage
                                 plummeted off the washboard bridge grap
                                      ate frankly birth life longing wee wee hours gulp
        the beast nose sweats and the angel face clots
        the beat toe swats and the angel mace slots
        the eat no watts and the angel ace lots
        eat no rats and the angel race rots
                     i munch on tate tots & realize my life has been shortened
   i am short & short of breath - my angles are getting more angular
               bottom bottom meets my top  the feast of brats commences
      the chamber of commerce snorts my lunch
  bratwurst, grits and Barney Fife smuggle in a knife in a cake
i am reading Bob Kaufman in the parking lot of a Burger King near Disputanta
where Kaufman Carpets once had their headquarters
   now dispersed amongst the bourgeouis duddlefuds cancerously
            punkdom punctum pendu lum or plain dumb
 lodged inside my referential body / lung / liver / bladder / hum / ham

december 2017

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

Jim Leftwich, Tres tresss trisss trieesss tril trilssss: Transmutations of César Vallejo

Luna Bisonte Prods

Jim Leftwich’s transmutations (not translations) of the poetry of César Vallejo are nothing short of brilliant. They feel more Vallejo in English than any previous translations ever have. Vallejo is certainly, bar none, among the greatest poets of the 20th century. Human, more than immediately human, tortured, both baroque and surreal, and lyrical beyond compare, his poetry defies translation, so difficult does it appear at times. This is especially the case with his early work Trilce (Tres tresss trisss treesss tril trilssss, Leftwich's title has it). Claimed by the surrealists as a master in that genre, Vallejo is that and more than that, opaque as Góngora or bittersweetly acerbic as Lorca, the complexity of his language and imagery find few parallels. Leftwich has created a Vallejo more Vallejo than Vallejo at times. These transmutations have all the speed, energy and enigmatic beauty of the originals on which they are based. - Ivan Argüelles

Sunday, December 24, 2017

jim leftwich and bill beamer, sound rituals

sound ritual number six

technicians of interior out
casts hammerwiggle openmindlanguage
martian expulsion
  HYperion at doh
doors dot perceptic...
at the window, looking in through his Reflection.

Histo from holyrollover                   boeuf/;k jerky
Hun gonto Fe/ormium mon lit
dada ona gig onagag ajag gedbredden,
                       looking in through his Intercon
                       nec []tion| Shun
at the marrow, tomorrow is only another
                               victory over the sun.

november 2017

sound ritual number seven

mirrorsuspended Texas bringing
coastlines resemble rivers re
semble blood vessels resemble
neurons resemble tree branches
twisting in the muddy pastry claw of it
resembling in mountains reflections of Texas
reassembling brooding vassals re tracing
neu tron stars,          powdermilk
up thru tree branches,
gross wink grinding disguises patched pitched
designs hbidden in plane vewe
hpiqqen hqippen enplained vu

november 2017

sound ritual number eight

stars twitch, rattle from
the futile anemic sky.
switch off the scratch'd
moon in the pooled liver,
sour favor of the botched

tars witch, battle from
inutile asemic thigh.
hitch off the ratchet
spoon mulled river,
flour savor of the notch

arse itch, twaddle not
the ant hill, pansemia nigh
rich off racket from scratch,
tune in the lone survivor,
our saviour's flavor of the catch

sparse niche
wading knots
thanatos pill
pansemic high school
rich golf
pocket form scats
tone in the lune
surf visor
our wavicle's labor
in the batch

november 2017

​sound ritual number nine

star stir stair stain
tain tin tine​ wine
fine fire fare far
tar star
tar star mar car
cane cain laid paid
cur blur fur pure
cure lure liar plier
Sam Patch never
jumped from the
Wasena bridge
into the Roanoke

november 2017

​sound ritual number ten
ten reduces to one-

burnt orange fall &   ten lady
bugs coagulate like so much blood
fat in the high corners of the workroom
mostly red    they soon
fall,       they drip blood
ten reduced to one
​multicavity klystron ​   a typical
hot-cathode thyratron    ​resonant
cavity magnetron    ​Puerto Rico
abandoned without power    ​rain is
a postcard from god    the ​hurricane
unearthed ancestral artifacts of the
​extinct Calusa tribe  shell indians
shellslady bugs       shells as home:
Puerto Rico
if we could be
reduced to one
we would get it
​sitting at my desk
staring through
my reflection
at the backyard
beside the alley
it is 8:13 p.m.
and one poem leads to another

november 2017

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

John M. Bennett -- départ


pawed away from the cl
iff your short shore n
ested in a smoke churned
the air embroiled the b
ridge past burning roof my
leg lept off, your storm it's
a luggage current's w
atch your step's aaa
nger page far below where
the rocks teethe up from the waves

John M. Bennett -- blisters


I crossed the hammer was
your throat's long name clu
ttered in the laundry smoke
across a field of corn :tossed
it was the stammered juice
you d rank re blended with
that dusty screw lost be
neath a bed a bed sunk
inside the snow your leg
forgot your leg uttered
what the shoe forgot ,for
got the sidewalk where your
lucked watch glimmered in the rain

mud and mind

John M. Bennett -- buried


the dream of Cuicuilco is the
dream of a circular pool of
inverted water ,seven chairs
float at the bottom the top
,the chairs the dream of leaves
falling upward from a tree
which might have been the
dream crawling in a sock
across the hard black lava
covered with mice

Jake Berry, 5 new visual poems from the Brambu Drezi notebook

Three Visual Poems by Marco Giovenale

 Marco Giovenale - IMG_20170516_153309
context is no more a problem, glitch variation

 Marco Giovenale - IMG_20170516_153309
context is no more a problem

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Eleven collages by Musicmaster












marco giovenale - 3 glitchasemics

Monday, May 15, 2017

Four visual poems from Dobricia Kamperelic

steve dalachinsky -- the psychic washing machine (1997)

the psychic washing machine  (for jeton ademaj)

the momentum of the
as the station closes
(in) & the
vehicle slows

                      a live soft process
hard look of wood on polished wood
     union of reflection on dark glass

therefore it is motion/picture
 as one thing moves within the other
          & again the question of the \ other /
  a balance of light & language

         i am naïve servant to both

a bar of broken minerals
chain to silkflesh secretions
a water
a singing branded body of meat
sack o’ ribs
vegetable skin of transient i deals

woman fanning herself
gentleman stretching his limbs

only animal that drinks beer by choice

the momentum of the reflection in the wood
                     this way that
live brown enters the black    ////    > motion
  / picture                   screen
           into relevance                  tolerance
    simply stated or not
there are 3 different 2’s spoken here.

                              8/8/97 nyc - the cooler

from THE MANTIS and other poems
1966 - 2009
(inspired by the music of Cecil Taylor)

pansemic playhouse 1464 - 05.15.2017

marco collab / jim leftwich - videotogif_2017.01.07

marco giovenale / jim leftwich - videotogif_2016.12.12

marco giovenale / jim leftwich - videotogif_2016.12.12

Sideburns zine, #1 Jan 1977

"Punk zines not only looked like DIY but also encouraged its ethic in all areas. 'Sideburns', another zine (1977), printed diagrams of guitar chords A, E and G ("This is a chord. This is another. This is a third. Now form a band.") and 'Sniffin' Glue' told its readers: "Don't be satisfied with what we write. Go out and start your own fanzine"."

steve dalachinsky - is there anyone in there

jim leftwich, useless writing fortune cookie slips / bookmarks (2014)

jim leftwich, useless writing,
pansemic playhouse 987 -- 08.29.2014

fortune cookie slips / bookmarks with "descriptions" from my Useless Writing facebook page (abandoned when I deleted my facebook account in November 2016)

Useless Writing

jim leftwich, notes for 3 collaborative videos with Matt Ames (2009)

jim leftwich, notes for 3 collaborative videos with Matt Ames (2009),
pansemic playhouse 989 -- 08.29.2014

banal footage
1. glossary of semiotics
2. dict of alchemy
3. encylo A britannica

Amer Hist
finger giving at 20 paces

putting out paper bag fires

Amer(ican) Hist(ory) was the only one of these we actually made, under the title of "Simple Gifts"

two from bill beamer - pansemic playhouse 1463 - 05.12.2017

 unttld4758z em mei tew to   war n  seedspin

Untitled1100-worddustconversation with kyle4 x 4
inkmarker collage watercolor paper coll jim leftwich

John M. Bennett - edge of

edge of

l'etoil des rats !  )R. Char(
star deboiled sat 'n g rilled
,pulmonía dans un can of corn
replied a head re nom brado ¿quién
n'es? :sumiso fulsintúnel sin foco
“l'espace de ses pattes” )R. Char(
face of a the a time  .plenty slumbers
open la por te un wakens river ine
sonambule sans nom mi nombre
ing  yr itch hy's comb draft the
louder than soap refusalade ,saw
me off end door retachment
seems to me b rang entorche
mutaliza que te abre detención
de defuego ta bulboter  )de bridged(
sin corcho buque de carbón de
peces ni ffuerza tengo ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
bees blizzard burst s log a head a
wave of air the gravel trembles
was yr foot cloud dead with sock
cage of steam de boiled yr fork the
laddered laundry ,brink of steps
floppy down a River's dog neck's
bread fish towel & smoke uh
face returns ah boils sans tooth
blind shirt por menores de la
colina mi hombro de tallarines
casita de mi boca ni árbol del culo
ccliff narigón qque ssoy llumbre
gargantona que me lee la pipiedra
mise en seen lo coacal por
puert A infundible tu Cumbre  .I sat
my shiRt on you ate lens Ate c Loud
,bBloom BblOm meat an fork yr
fface eyen endrunk detimed Reburned
slot tooth ,useless rug mind dooR
's Lost Footerr bleedy cheese nor
neck Lint's ccllocKkkkk round
sewage formmortal a pedra orgánica's
gull talks the water  ...soon s hot was
shuts or e moom f lace re drained thin
plug  ...concrete water foam P y eye
yr pee e a boat

John M. Bennett - visual poem

John M. Bennett - escape from Versailles

escape from Versailles

I was shitting in Versailles as the
dust rose from thousands' feet
in a hall of mirrors I was coughing
and blowing my nose in Versailles
where the wall burst with faces and
my silky belly was torn with glass in
Versailles I was eating my hand as
I stared at a bloody stone surrounded
with spittle and a crumpled ticket I
was crawling hands and knees in
Versailles searching the sky which
was water and sand the sky was smoke
was refracted eyes drifting across the