I am not interested in the line as much as where it breaks. I am interested in drama.
Dana Levin on the poetic line (via poetsorg)
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@danalevinpoet
I am not interested in the line as much as where it breaks. I am interested in drama.
Dana Levin on the poetic line (via poetsorg)
Six monarch butterfly cocoons clinging to the back of your throat— you could feel their gold wings trembling. You were alarmed. You felt infested. In the downstairs bathroom of the family home, gagging to spit them out— and a voice saying Don’t, don’t—
Dana Levin, “Ars Poetica." (via literarymiscellany)
Location: Among wintering succulents waiting for May, including hens and chicks, stonecrop, golden barrel cactus, and Echevaria “holy gate”
poetry book: Poem-a-Day: 365 Poems for Every Occasion (Academy of American Poets)
recommended by: Dana Levin
#poetry #npm16
—spring wind with its train of spoons kidney-bean shaped pools, Floridian humus, cicadas with their electric appliance hum, cricket pulse of dusk under the pixilate gold of the trees, fall’s finish, snow’s white afterlife, death’s breath finishing the monologue Phenomena, The Most Beautiful Girl you carved the word because you craved the world—
Dana Levin, “My Sentence” (via apoemforyourdash)
White space is an incredibly dramatic tool.
Dana Levin (via literarymiscellany)
The Gods Are in the Valley by Dana Levin
The mind sports god-extensions. It’s the mountain from which the tributaries spring: self, self, self, self– rivering up on curling plumes from his elaborate head-piece of smoke. His head’s on fire. Like a paleolithic shaman working now in the realm of air, he folds his hands– No more casting bones for the consulting seeker, this gesture seems to mean. Your business, his flaming head suggests, is with your thought-machine. How it churns and churns. Lord Should and Not-Enough, Mute the Gigantor, looming dumb with her stringy hair– Deadalive Mom-n-Dad (in the sarcophagi of parentheses you’ve placed them)– He’s a yogi, your man with a hat of smoke. Serene, chugging out streams of constructed air… Mind’s an accident of bio-wiring, is one line of thinking. We’re animals that shit out consciousness, is another. The yogi says: you must understand yourself as projected vapor. Thus achieve your superpower.
To return to the idea of the avant-garde, real avant-garde writing today would frame and reflect our misuse of the world, our destruction of its beauties and wonders. Nobody seems to be taking this on in the literary covens. We are all just messing with ourselves, cherishing ourselves… We live and spawn and want—always there is this ghastly wanting—and we have done irredeemable harm to so much. Perhaps the novel will die and even the short story because we’ll become so damn sick of talking about ourselves.
Joy Williams (via mttbll)
Murray the Cat
http://www.berfrois.com/2015/06/murray-my-dana-levin/
'My Sentence' by Dana Levin
—spring wind with its train of spoons, kidney-bean shaped pools, Floridian humus, cicadas with their electric appliance hum, cricket pulse of dusk under the pixilate gold of the trees, fall’s finish, snow’s white afterlife, death’s breath finishing the monologue Phenomena, The Most Beautiful Girl you carved the word because you craved the world—
I am not interested in the line as much as where it breaks. I am interested in drama.
Dana Levin on the poetic line (via poetsorg)
Ghosts that Need Reminding
Through shattered glass and sheeted furniture, chicken wire and piled dishes, sheared-off doors stacked five to a wall, you’re walking like cripples. Toward a dirty window, obstructed by stacks of chairs. And once you move them, one by one, palm circles through the grime and cup your hands round your faces, finally able to see through— Charged night. Sheet-flashes of green, threaded with sparks, the pale orange pan of the moon— Finally, what turns the wheel: the moon ghosting a hole through a rainbow, the rainbow’s rage to efface the moon, which the moon sails through slow as a ship, in the shape of cross-legged Buddha... Lotus-folded, a figurine. The kind you once found in the Chinatown markets, for a dollar and a dime— Saying you’re dying, you’re dead. You can withdraw from this orbit of mirrors.
–Dana Levin (2011)
Mothership
One day, from morning to dream (10 quick snaps) -- http://thevolta.org/heirapparent-mainpage.html
Mad Max: Fury Road (2015)
FEED ME caterwauler―a meat-sack with another meat-sack for a pet, I