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Jim Culleny
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Crazy Horse Speaks 1. I discovered the evidence in a vault of the Mormon Church 3,000 skeletons of my cousins in a silence so great I built four walls around it and gave it a name. I called it Custer... Continue reading
Posted 16 hours ago at 3quarksdaily
What Have I Learned What have I learned but the proper use for several tools? The moments between hard pleasant tasks To sit silent, drink wine, and think my own kind of dry crusty thoughts. —the first Calochortus flowers and... Continue reading
Posted 3 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Chaos A Venetian critic named Bruno Alfieri saw: (in Jackson Pollock’s work) —chaos —absolute lack of harmony —complete lack of structural organization —total absence of technique, however rudimentary —once again, chaos from Art In America, February 1994 1. Chaos Being... Continue reading
Posted 7 days ago at 3quarksdaily
Woman Skating A lake sunken among cedar and black spruce hills: late afternoon. On the ice a woman skating, jacket sudden red against the white, concentrating on moving in perfect circles. (actually she is my mother, she is over at... Continue reading
Posted Apr 21, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
"Such a nasty woman." —The Imminent President of the United States, Oct. 2016 . In Mind There's in my mind a woman of innocence, unadorned but fair-featured, and smelling of apples and grass. She wears a utopian smock or shift,... Continue reading
Posted Apr 20, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
People Like Us —for James Wright There are more like us. All over the world There are confused people, who can’t remember The name of their dog when they wake up, and people Who love God but can’t remember where... Continue reading
Posted Apr 19, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Belfast Confetti Suddenly as the riot squad moved in it was raining marks, Nuts, bolts, nails, car-keys. A fount of broken type. And the explosion Itself – an asterisk on the map. This hyphenated line, a burst of rapid fire... Continue reading
Posted Apr 18, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Easter, when doubt becomes hope, because all hope is of doubt, I think. ................ —Roshi Bob my dream about the poet . a man I think it is a man. I think he’s holding wood. he carves. he is making... Continue reading
Posted Apr 16, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Far Memory —part 1 my knees recall the pockets worn into the stone floor, my hands, tracing against the wall their original name, remember the cold brush of brick, and the smell of the brick powdery and wet and the... Continue reading
Posted Apr 12, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
My Father Holds the Door for Yoko Ono In New York City for a conference on weed control, leaving the hotel in a cluster of horticulturalists, he alone stops, midwestern, crewcut, narrow blue tie, cufflinks, wingtips, holds the door for... Continue reading
Posted Apr 9, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Bleecker Street, Summer . Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor, for the eternal idleness of the imagined return, for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom of tangled sheets and the Sunday salt, ah violin!... Continue reading
Posted Apr 8, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Abandoning the Mechanical —for my friends, the professors It is sometimes this business of having to keep talking I hear myself making painful sounds spinning and splattering like a car caught in the slush I just want to walk away,... Continue reading
Posted Apr 7, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
First Lesson in Alchemy Rabbit, swan, deer, butterfly . . . Out of nowhere, and with empty hands, my father brought the shadow world to life. Usually it happened late at night: he’d light a candle, fix it on the... Continue reading
Posted Apr 6, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
. Yet I know you watch me as I live, waiting for my useless verb, for the stones I throw at appearance, you inhabited inhabitants, you, turned into ghosts, into ghostly ancestors. Of you, bodiless now, I know nothing, I... Continue reading
Posted Apr 5, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Memory A little bookstore used to call to me. Eagerly I would go to it hungry for the news and the sure friendship. It never failed to provide me with whatever I needed. Bookstore with a donkey in its heart,... Continue reading
Posted Apr 4, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
I See You Dancing, Father . No sooner downstairs after the night’s rest In the middle of the kitchen floor. And as you danced You whistled. You made your own music Always in tune with yourself. Well, nearly always, anyway.... Continue reading
Posted Apr 1, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
—The Chinese micro-carver Chen Zhongen can inscribe poems on a single strand of hair . The Stylist I asked for a headful of sonnets (Petrarchan) from scalp to split end. Short-haired one, said he, the most I can do for... Continue reading
Posted Mar 31, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Above Pate Valley We finished clearing the last Section of trail by noon, High on the ridge-side Two thousand feet above the creek Reached the pass, went on Beyond the white pine groves, Granite shoulders, to a small Green meadow... Continue reading
Posted Mar 29, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
In Broken Images He is quick, thinking in clear images; I am slow, thinking in broken images. He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images; I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images, Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance; Mistrusting... Continue reading
Posted Mar 26, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Barbarians They do not come with furred caps, Smelling of maresmilk, scimitared, Dour, as tellable as kites. They live quietly next door, Speak almost the same language, Wear almost the same clothes. Inside the walls. But Do not think they... Continue reading
Posted Mar 25, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
From Blossoms From blossoms comes this brown paper bag of peaches we bought from the boy at the bend in the road where we turned toward signs painted Peaches. From laden boughs, from hands, from sweet fellowship in the bins,... Continue reading
Posted Mar 24, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Freud, 1938, Vienna “...men are not gentle creatures who want to be loved...; they are on the contrary, creatures among whose instinctual endowments is to be reckoned a powerful share of aggressiveness.” —Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents Vienna, 1938,... Continue reading
Posted Mar 23, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Why the Poets always Read First and the Fiction-writers Second at the Sunday Afternoon Readings at the Art School in Carrboro, NC . The reason is that poetry was present at the poorly advertized first audition of the Universe when... Continue reading
Posted Mar 21, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
Lint Beneath the brushed wing of the mallard an awkward loveliness Under the cedar lid a mirror and a box in a box Blue is all around like an overturned bowl. What to do with this noise and persistent lint.... Continue reading
Posted Mar 19, 2017 at 3quarksdaily
On the Freedom of the Press While free from Force the Press remains, Virtue and Freedom chear our Plains, And Learning Largesses bestows, And keeps unlicens’d open House. We to the Nation’s publick Mart Our Works of Wit, and Schemes... Continue reading
Posted Mar 18, 2017 at 3quarksdaily