Steve Dalachinsky
Jesse Auchter
George Kerr
Bruce Stater
Colin Van Der Woude
Jonathan
Mark Phillips
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Steve Dalachinsky
so profoundly made…..
a scramble after a lecture by kristeva @ nyu added/subtractions
(& mischa mengelberg @ tonic)
so profoundly influenced by
monk (s with habit)
body is met a - ( things & words )
valse valse valse - sad-o-mask kit sic
dreamless dream (only signs sounds sensations)
so round the tick(le) tock on flat wall
disruptive (non-narrative)
remembrances
divine taps - subject/object asthma //\\ ham sat
this is a ruin & who's to say's not the first time
potter has messed with the pot
to authenticate history
before it had barely be-
come a part of it
suffocated anal(y sis) is/is sissie issue
i-mage = game geni(e)us
that part of sheet that is covered w/music
covers me this somewhat cold night
monitors my rhythms
strings my breath to reflectives
it's impossible to re/lie
integrity exhal(t)ed on the gritty plane
substitutes sorrow immediate
(3x) dada rula dada rula
genius co-lapse other rehto(ld) < art aud >
subs sorrow sub subsumed and tuted "'"""" thoughts ->
\ > immediate source for joy i mediate sauce for joy
celram celram lose their shape
holding the divine w/in an eclipse of magnificence
( cathedral ) narrative = women's dress
i.e. fashion excess(ories)
( stained glass ) zohar hazard i.e. topsy pts 1&2 as in
autopsy/biopsy
one unity bursting polytheisms ellingtonias
monstrous signs ( search ) protean forms subject trials
i.e.
to beat
to eat
to be it
to eat shit
exploring exploding <-> UNITY shatt'ring cont(r)acts avechectic tool
preserved
tattered phallus perversed a tale of illusions cat as trophy
co-presence coversion / spacial / temporal
( o rary ) celeste fresh as a rose w/out matter
tho matter is absorbed & merges as in floating I-dents
into a fleshy fol-roost
he is in the world
the world is in him ( a fowl roast - a foul roast )
SELF & OTHER other/self suggest sub/ject you jest
flesh of patient transformed transference of identity
transference & counter transference
conch-et-conch complicated economy censured and sensor/ships
sensing non-sense (ing) the body trans/parent
the body polit(e)ic
body of language
body of businessman conclusions moments interpretive theory-peutics
freud as be-bop doubt fraud as
benev(i)olence permanence of S&M
the max of cruelty & delicacy to mobilize the men struals min strels one
& all
ficial tact gently cutting the endless war of trumphs
I conclude cruelty is a recourse to the words of life the dimension
Men tion MEN MEN MEN men shun
persistence renewed w/in violence when all there is
when all there is is the is itself in ex-is- tence in a
cruel cruel world in a cruel cruel time
where faith & delicacy dwell like a flower
carved into a restless soul.
dada rula dada rula dada rula
steve dalachinsky kristeva at nyu icp orchestra @ tonic 10/04
de kooning ( morton feldman - 1963 )
tis form
an empty sell/out
these chairs from rumbling a morph
created & why a hang tix over
the foreground
when no film's presented
only thin flim
& a counter top immersed in standing
a shallow shadow not unlike a window
that shows the theme red - hem
this count
that reminds one
of choice
of mistake
of the renegade shot in the head
well he's dead now you say
as my leg's start moving away from me
these bodies
they are so vicious &
fragmented
surely they cannot all be
his women
(this is what the silence tells me)
& of all the things i could tell you now
only this:
it is not as song appears
it is only the time between
spaces.
steve dalachinsky nyc carnegie hall - zankel hall 11/17/04
eros denied (after a painting by jaxson )
he
hung sharply crossed
bone white squared
the mirky forms of Joseph & Madonna
molded against his body
in mourning.
he
hang across stretcher
sharp......end.....in pain
the glassflat ghosts of Judas & Magdelene
shaped against his structure
for redemption.
light & infinite fading
his bones of flesh
the backbone of light
his milky head sharply squared off
against the denial of his Wisdom &
Love
weeping & crossing the visions
with kingdom
Come
the green leaf turned to autumn.
the paling shadows of man & woman
brother & whore
mother & thief
Jesus Joseph & Mary
Jesus Judas & Mary
all denied
eternally misunderstood
shamefully ironically misinterpreted
broken light in morning
in need of redemption & care
in need of uniting the bones with the ghosts..
steve dalachinsky was born in brooklyn some time after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of useless little wars. his work appears in many journals on and off line around the globe. he has several books and cds of which the latest are, trial and error in paris, i thought it was the end of the world, st. lucie eyes on a plate, and the forthcoming chapbook in glorious black and white and the e-chap arivin' in the okidoke.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
a scramble after a lecture by kristeva @ nyu added/subtractions
(& mischa mengelberg @ tonic)
so profoundly influenced by
monk (s with habit)
body is met a - ( things & words )
valse valse valse - sad-o-mask kit sic
dreamless dream (only signs sounds sensations)
so round the tick(le) tock on flat wall
disruptive (non-narrative)
remembrances
divine taps - subject/object asthma //\\ ham sat
this is a ruin & who's to say's not the first time
potter has messed with the pot
to authenticate history
before it had barely be-
come a part of it
suffocated anal(y sis) is/is sissie issue
i-mage = game geni(e)us
that part of sheet that is covered w/music
covers me this somewhat cold night
monitors my rhythms
strings my breath to reflectives
it's impossible to re/lie
integrity exhal(t)ed on the gritty plane
substitutes sorrow immediate
(3x) dada rula dada rula
genius co-lapse other rehto(ld) < art aud >
subs sorrow sub subsumed and tuted "'"""" thoughts ->
\ > immediate source for joy i mediate sauce for joy
celram celram lose their shape
holding the divine w/in an eclipse of magnificence
( cathedral ) narrative = women's dress
i.e. fashion excess(ories)
( stained glass ) zohar hazard i.e. topsy pts 1&2 as in
autopsy/biopsy
one unity bursting polytheisms ellingtonias
monstrous signs ( search ) protean forms subject trials
i.e.
to beat
to eat
to be it
to eat shit
exploring exploding <-> UNITY shatt'ring cont(r)acts avechectic tool
preserved
tattered phallus perversed a tale of illusions cat as trophy
co-presence coversion / spacial / temporal
( o rary ) celeste fresh as a rose w/out matter
tho matter is absorbed & merges as in floating I-dents
into a fleshy fol-roost
he is in the world
the world is in him ( a fowl roast - a foul roast )
SELF & OTHER other/self suggest sub/ject you jest
flesh of patient transformed transference of identity
transference & counter transference
conch-et-conch complicated economy censured and sensor/ships
sensing non-sense (ing) the body trans/parent
the body polit(e)ic
body of language
body of businessman conclusions moments interpretive theory-peutics
freud as be-bop doubt fraud as
benev(i)olence permanence of S&M
the max of cruelty & delicacy to mobilize the men struals min strels one
& all
ficial tact gently cutting the endless war of trumphs
I conclude cruelty is a recourse to the words of life the dimension
Men tion MEN MEN MEN men shun
persistence renewed w/in violence when all there is
when all there is is the is itself in ex-is- tence in a
cruel cruel world in a cruel cruel time
where faith & delicacy dwell like a flower
carved into a restless soul.
dada rula dada rula dada rula
steve dalachinsky kristeva at nyu icp orchestra @ tonic 10/04
de kooning ( morton feldman - 1963 )
tis form
an empty sell/out
these chairs from rumbling a morph
created & why a hang tix over
the foreground
when no film's presented
only thin flim
& a counter top immersed in standing
a shallow shadow not unlike a window
that shows the theme red - hem
this count
that reminds one
of choice
of mistake
of the renegade shot in the head
well he's dead now you say
as my leg's start moving away from me
these bodies
they are so vicious &
fragmented
surely they cannot all be
his women
(this is what the silence tells me)
& of all the things i could tell you now
only this:
it is not as song appears
it is only the time between
spaces.
steve dalachinsky nyc carnegie hall - zankel hall 11/17/04
eros denied (after a painting by jaxson )
he
hung sharply crossed
bone white squared
the mirky forms of Joseph & Madonna
molded against his body
in mourning.
he
hang across stretcher
sharp......end.....in pain
the glassflat ghosts of Judas & Magdelene
shaped against his structure
for redemption.
light & infinite fading
his bones of flesh
the backbone of light
his milky head sharply squared off
against the denial of his Wisdom &
Love
weeping & crossing the visions
with kingdom
Come
the green leaf turned to autumn.
the paling shadows of man & woman
brother & whore
mother & thief
Jesus Joseph & Mary
Jesus Judas & Mary
all denied
eternally misunderstood
shamefully ironically misinterpreted
broken light in morning
in need of redemption & care
in need of uniting the bones with the ghosts..
steve dalachinsky was born in brooklyn some time after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of useless little wars. his work appears in many journals on and off line around the globe. he has several books and cds of which the latest are, trial and error in paris, i thought it was the end of the world, st. lucie eyes on a plate, and the forthcoming chapbook in glorious black and white and the e-chap arivin' in the okidoke.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
Jesse Auchter
Persona: Weirdo
No one understands
the strawberries I have for eyes.
Point and cackle and defame.
I see strawberries in their eyes!
It Is Time To
They've been calling me
from the depths with a
lulling telephone
since the depths pried my
eyes wide. Now, I grasp
the gold receiver
like it's a dagger
shimmering, crying
out my worthless name.
Voices pierce my drum.
I hear the garble,
yet it is quite clear.
It is time to hang
it up and me up
so I can lift up
beyond this dirty
atmosphere.
Jesse Auchter's poetry and writings have appeared in Locust Magazine, POETHIA, Concrete Wolf, Morpo Review, etc. He loves poetic darkness and cats. His ambition is to be an underground deity, and maybe a decent painter.
I'm a Manic-Depressive with Alcoholism in full remission. I've been sober for well over a year. Wellness is slowly returning.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
No one understands
the strawberries I have for eyes.
Point and cackle and defame.
I see strawberries in their eyes!
It Is Time To
They've been calling me
from the depths with a
lulling telephone
since the depths pried my
eyes wide. Now, I grasp
the gold receiver
like it's a dagger
shimmering, crying
out my worthless name.
Voices pierce my drum.
I hear the garble,
yet it is quite clear.
It is time to hang
it up and me up
so I can lift up
beyond this dirty
atmosphere.
Jesse Auchter's poetry and writings have appeared in Locust Magazine, POETHIA, Concrete Wolf, Morpo Review, etc. He loves poetic darkness and cats. His ambition is to be an underground deity, and maybe a decent painter.
I'm a Manic-Depressive with Alcoholism in full remission. I've been sober for well over a year. Wellness is slowly returning.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
George Kerr
Calaveres
(for Anita Cochrane)
I got swallowed by a sugar
skull on the Day of the Dead.
A treacled cavern of candled
marigolds where Coatlique danced
in a serpent skirt and kissed me
her last
peyote.
We sat by Lake Texcoco
and toked on zest of Aztec and time
near a puma with an eagle in its eye,
my ears caught fire.
The lake was sand
and I was afloat on the earth.
Paris passed
then all of Ireland and I waved to
Liberty before I drowned.
After I drowned I stay in the skull
and lollipop the brule like a bee.
And when the jawbone sets the sun,
ambered glops toffy slow and candy me.
George Kerr is from Belfast, Northern Ireland and works as a jazz writer and musician.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
(for Anita Cochrane)
I got swallowed by a sugar
skull on the Day of the Dead.
A treacled cavern of candled
marigolds where Coatlique danced
in a serpent skirt and kissed me
her last
peyote.
We sat by Lake Texcoco
and toked on zest of Aztec and time
near a puma with an eagle in its eye,
my ears caught fire.
The lake was sand
and I was afloat on the earth.
Paris passed
then all of Ireland and I waved to
Liberty before I drowned.
After I drowned I stay in the skull
and lollipop the brule like a bee.
And when the jawbone sets the sun,
ambered glops toffy slow and candy me.
George Kerr is from Belfast, Northern Ireland and works as a jazz writer and musician.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
Bruce Stater
A House of Porifera
There is a temple of Porifera, a house in the ocean
composed entirely of living sponges
left to dry in the air when the waves receed
and fill with brine at high tide.
It is a simple structure, designed in the form of a tower
with a supporting structure of wooden beams
visible only from the interior when one passes through a window
made available at the monument's base.
From the dandelion covered cliff
it appears to tower as a beacon of lichen encrusted bricks
marking the uncertainty between sea and shore.
Entering its cavern, one feels the call of becoming,
the lure to return to the water encompassed in the warm bath
of amphibiotic memories of the womb.
Inside one feels the breath of the living walls, a change
in atmospheric pressure excerted upon the tympanum
and the resulting congestion of the inner ear.
The crash of the breakers lulls in the muted cavity
like the hollow music of the conch which fascinates children
with its mimetic echo of the sea. The scent of sweaty moss and kelp
left drying in the sand overwhelms oneas nostrils
with the infussion of its pelagic wine.
Returning through the window which opens space and time
to the transforming in-between, one feels that he has been
reborn, remade, reformed, regiven and regifted to life.
In addition to writing poetry, Bruce Stater spends a considerable amount of his free time creating art. He still suffers from occasional episodes of psychosis, but no longer considers mental illness an obstacle in his spiritual journey. He lives in Astoria, Queens with his wife Lori.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
There is a temple of Porifera, a house in the ocean
composed entirely of living sponges
left to dry in the air when the waves receed
and fill with brine at high tide.
It is a simple structure, designed in the form of a tower
with a supporting structure of wooden beams
visible only from the interior when one passes through a window
made available at the monument's base.
From the dandelion covered cliff
it appears to tower as a beacon of lichen encrusted bricks
marking the uncertainty between sea and shore.
Entering its cavern, one feels the call of becoming,
the lure to return to the water encompassed in the warm bath
of amphibiotic memories of the womb.
Inside one feels the breath of the living walls, a change
in atmospheric pressure excerted upon the tympanum
and the resulting congestion of the inner ear.
The crash of the breakers lulls in the muted cavity
like the hollow music of the conch which fascinates children
with its mimetic echo of the sea. The scent of sweaty moss and kelp
left drying in the sand overwhelms oneas nostrils
with the infussion of its pelagic wine.
Returning through the window which opens space and time
to the transforming in-between, one feels that he has been
reborn, remade, reformed, regiven and regifted to life.
In addition to writing poetry, Bruce Stater spends a considerable amount of his free time creating art. He still suffers from occasional episodes of psychosis, but no longer considers mental illness an obstacle in his spiritual journey. He lives in Astoria, Queens with his wife Lori.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
Colin Van Der Woude
Untitled
Shifted minds burglars snitch
never again eyes watching twitch
come and go with everything I owe
she said my writing was good,
but widely misunderstood.
Untitled
I want you to see beyond my body this time
to be female like you I don't know why
just you in a theatre you mime to cry
I don't want all this undenied attention
to talk of thoughts is to unduly mention
Stealing love from the rich to give to the poor
what's left for the thieves?
nothing to add a tally or score winter's leaves.
Colin Van Der Woude: I'm a 28 year old from Australia who is living with schizophrenia and I use poetry as a creative outlet. I love using words to convey memories and feelings, emotions… I hope to one day have some work published and I'm on a mission to dispel any myths of mental illness.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
Shifted minds burglars snitch
never again eyes watching twitch
come and go with everything I owe
she said my writing was good,
but widely misunderstood.
Untitled
I want you to see beyond my body this time
to be female like you I don't know why
just you in a theatre you mime to cry
I don't want all this undenied attention
to talk of thoughts is to unduly mention
Stealing love from the rich to give to the poor
what's left for the thieves?
nothing to add a tally or score winter's leaves.
Colin Van Der Woude: I'm a 28 year old from Australia who is living with schizophrenia and I use poetry as a creative outlet. I love using words to convey memories and feelings, emotions… I hope to one day have some work published and I'm on a mission to dispel any myths of mental illness.
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
Jonathan
Seeds in the Bag
there are two reasons
for me
to write
when
I have something to say
and
when
You do
by grace for grace
I beg
thank
or scream
maybe at once
or more
now my mind
Your easel and mine
is the white silence
of
all the colors of light
my children home
( the easier three)
the oldest okay
and no new pain
shrieking and stabbing
through the old
I simply am
(not waiting)
and You
paint as You will
wanting the flames to hurt
as I slowly pull away
from what
temptation
fools
me
into
believing I want
toward
what
You want
beginning to feel
aware
of the wrongness of sin
of the hurt
increasing in my body
(that I can manage
though
not very well
it is not unholy)
I sit
wondering
how long
until
my will
wil help
with the struggle
to follow Yours
and emotion
will pull me
too
as I lie
at Your feet
and know that
eventually
I will also be aware
that You
are
trying
to pull me up
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
there are two reasons
for me
to write
when
I have something to say
and
when
You do
by grace for grace
I beg
thank
or scream
maybe at once
or more
now my mind
Your easel and mine
is the white silence
of
all the colors of light
my children home
( the easier three)
the oldest okay
and no new pain
shrieking and stabbing
through the old
I simply am
(not waiting)
and You
paint as You will
wanting the flames to hurt
as I slowly pull away
from what
temptation
fools
me
into
believing I want
toward
what
You want
beginning to feel
aware
of the wrongness of sin
of the hurt
increasing in my body
(that I can manage
though
not very well
it is not unholy)
I sit
wondering
how long
until
my will
wil help
with the struggle
to follow Yours
and emotion
will pull me
too
as I lie
at Your feet
and know that
eventually
I will also be aware
that You
are
trying
to pull me up
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
Mark Phillips
the Voice on-the-tape
"The brothers were seated facing Joseph…they looked at one another
wide-eyed, wondering what would happen next." Genesis 43:33 [The
Message]
In what can only be described as a reality-denying maneuver
he still insisted it was not-my-voice on his answering machine
though I knew it was and had left him the message to encourage
him after life took a merciless left turn down a dead end
alley.
He left me his longhand affidavit cataloguing every reason why the
voice
on-the-tape
that left him the encouragement about
new prospects,
new opportunities,
a job where he might tickle or clap his hands again,
why the voice on-the-tape could not
have been mine.
For sixty days he painted black the chipper waves from the
little box by his phone.
It must have been a taunt that summer from another someone
haunting him down like ghosts through the cornfields.
The voice was-too-friendly to be real, it couldn't have been mine,
and the demon he created pulled his teeth out by the roots,
tied his hair back in knots and wouldn't let go until
the pain was all that remained of sunset walks and
cabin-side suppers.
But still, the voice on-the-tape was mine.
If I buy you dinner, grill some burgers,
invite you to wine and cheese,
will you then believe the voice is-a-friend's
and not the apparition of daggers in your dreams?
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips
"The brothers were seated facing Joseph…they looked at one another
wide-eyed, wondering what would happen next." Genesis 43:33 [The
Message]
In what can only be described as a reality-denying maneuver
he still insisted it was not-my-voice on his answering machine
though I knew it was and had left him the message to encourage
him after life took a merciless left turn down a dead end
alley.
He left me his longhand affidavit cataloguing every reason why the
voice
on-the-tape
that left him the encouragement about
new prospects,
new opportunities,
a job where he might tickle or clap his hands again,
why the voice on-the-tape could not
have been mine.
For sixty days he painted black the chipper waves from the
little box by his phone.
It must have been a taunt that summer from another someone
haunting him down like ghosts through the cornfields.
The voice was-too-friendly to be real, it couldn't have been mine,
and the demon he created pulled his teeth out by the roots,
tied his hair back in knots and wouldn't let go until
the pain was all that remained of sunset walks and
cabin-side suppers.
But still, the voice on-the-tape was mine.
If I buy you dinner, grill some burgers,
invite you to wine and cheese,
will you then believe the voice is-a-friend's
and not the apparition of daggers in your dreams?
Steve Dalachinsky Jesse Auchter George Kerr Bruce Stater Colin Van Der Woude Jonathan Mark Phillips