Charm A Sacred Nun @sandrasimonds - Tumblr Blog

Letter to a Young Nonprivileged Poet: Sometimes younger poets come to me and they want to know how to get his or her voice out there in poetry. I’m not sure why they ask me, but whatever. I’ll take it for what it is. Let me first say, if you are a rich poet or poet who went to an Ivy League school or probably both, or a tenured white male professor, stop reading now.

Sandra Simmons gives some great advice and reminds writers that their work is a political act, and it if isn’t, it probably isn’t all that interesting.

poetsorg

I once thought of myself as the poet who would save the ordinary from oblivion. Now I think poetry will save nothing from oblivion, but I keep writing about the ordinary because for me it’s the home of the extraordinary, the only home.

Philip Levine (via poetsorg)

First Post-Flarf Poem from 2010

I do not know what I am going to Ralph for a snack.

It is an opportunity I find flamingo.

It is an opportunity I find familiar.

It is an opportunity I find flamingo.

There were beds for Origami loot, Ludgwig.

No, I'm not going to Iraq, Ludwig, but you are still my servant get me some knife.

Three bells rang out in the dong.

We were a pair wishing you well, like a whale or more stock exchange powder

in the Persian Gulf? Blasting from a farm choir.

Finally, someone says something...wrist...

or smoking Hanukahs.

That's what it was: white chicken meat with flakes of LUMEN or something Ralph.

Do you know where the corrections

officer put my laptop?

Don't you wish your roommate was

horn like me? Don't cha? Still have an open

veggie for those interested.

Post-Flarf Poem

I randomly found this “poem” that I wrote for the postflarf list in 2011....

Snail Questions

What do snails eat?

What do they want?

Who are their sex partners?

What do snails consistently eat in a meadow or farm?

What do snails do?

What do snails eat with worthy knives and fingers?

How are they formed?

Are snails god gifts or eaters?

Do they house farms?

What do snails want?

What do they crave in meadows?

How many snails consume other snails in succession?

How was your snail raised?

Were manners are important on your snail farm?

How well-behaved is your snail pot?

Do snails love you?

Do they love gravity?

Are they interesting? Oh what do snails eat when it snows?

Do they gravitate towards other snail-forms or are they more solitary in the soil?

Do they grave rob other shells?

Do they promote themselves to other snails?

Are they honest?

taviacw

Memorial for our fallen soldiers #BlackLivesMatter

lupreme

and many more

Welcome to our annual list of the Top 40 Poetry Books of the Year. It took a little...

Sandra Simonds is the author of four books of poetry: Warsaw Bikini (Bloof Books, 2009), Mother Was a Tragic Girl (Cleveland State University, 2012), The Sonnets (Bloof Books, 2014) and Ventura Highway in the Sunshine (Saturnalia, 2015). You will find ...

tracydimond

Khadijah Queen reads Harryette Mullen’s “We Are Not Responsible”

probablycryingreview

THE SONNETS - SANDRA SIMONDS

WHO REALLY CREATED THE SONNET?

REMNANTS OF ORIGINAL SPACE (NOTES)

The captain realized the ship was going down. The raft. He ordered the rope be cut. Only fifteen survived. The moment they see the ship will save them on the horizon. And yet it is not a history paining. To replicate. To go to the morgue. To study everything to make it as precise as possible. For all of his efforts to be accurate. Going to the trial. As you said going to the morgue. Amputated arms and limbs. A mixture of the real and the unreal. Man and man. Man and nature. It's about feeling. It's about the physical body. A terrible despair. Apex of hope. Flag down that distant ship. A crescendo of optimism. Look at the

bodies. A receding diagonal. It was a horse riding accident. Critics call it the massacre of painting. You notice the sky. How it's ugly. The whole landscape is vast emptiness. Against the seascape. It's like you know an endless chasm of hell. Still fighting going on. Cities burning in the background. Men, women and children were all killed. This happened in the past. Studying older events and making it contemporary. The death of uh.

You know very emotional. Use of uh. An Assyrian king. He knew he was going to be overthrown so he took all his concubines and burned them. And the dogs. Yup he burned the dogs too. Cause you know he didn't want anyone to errrr take anything. Photography. The dramatic. The naturalistic. The turbulent or fantastic nature of storms and avalanches. Closely observed images of tranquil nature. An English fellow. You see the ruins of this abbey. The trees are dead. Silhouette. Kinda has that feel. Very sparse. The dead of winter. Perhaps sunset. Remnants of original space. The futility of man. Nature is eternal but man is transient. Yup a gothic. Ancient rituals. Surrounded by snow. Fallen into disrepair.

Older than that are the oak trees. Terrifying. Beyond that the crescent moon! Oh it's transhistorical. The cosmos even beyond earth! If there's any optimism, it is the faintest crescent. The possibility of rebirth but spring will come! Bleak twilight. The cycles of the moon. I focus on the moon here. Yeah the moon. A very serious meaning. Transhistorical human feelings. Layers of time. The moon. Finding a new way to represent these eternal issues. A fashionable culture. It was just be implausible. Looking toward the very extreme north. Expressing the eternal. This very foreboding landscape. Very hash. Emotional moment. Isolated person out on a cliff looking out and contemplating the vastness he sees before him. The mist. Uncertainty. Cloak of emotional tension. The artist is so solitary. A little crazy. More raw than the other guy. Slave ship. Bodies rising up in the water.

Using the sea as a palate of emotional turmoil. You could say that the sky is on fire. The reproduction is always better than the projection. Boiling up in the storm. Bleeding up in the water. Harsh light. Another parallel. Typhoon coming on. Typical sunset. Thick sensuality. In a moment of horror, I see a foot! All of the sudden, there's real carnage! Collecting insurance. Parts of their bodies. The power of nature and this horrific human act. This sense of divine retribution. The punishment of nature. The indifference of nature.

Nature is completely indifferent to the human endeavors. The British had outlawed slavery. This idea that human beings could do this to each other. Just for the sake of money. Hideous act. Mist of night. Death upon the guilty ship. Lines of blood.

Sandra Simonds is the author of four books of poetry, most recently The Sonnets (Bloof Books).Her...

if you are feeling the need to "like" me :)

My 3rd book, The Sonnets, available in November from Bloof Books!

Sandra Simonds September/October 2014 The one trick I’ve always fallen back on is to make a man think he’s the one rejecting me But it was so quiet in your room

Ode to Country Music

http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/ode-country-music

"In fact many romantic artists and other hardy pioneers in subsequent generations conceived of the condition (the condition of alienation) as a source of pride, a chance to hurl a haughty defiance, titanic and Promethean, against man, history and God. Forced to live in the desert of his own surrender or on the mountain of his own solitude, the artist found compensation in that heroic doom which Baudelaire called both his curse and his blessing. Using terms suggested by Nietzsche, we might say that the artist believed himself capable of sublimating that fatal and fateful malady into an almost superhuman creative energy, which the German philosopher supposed to be the basis for all mental and spiritual health. The artist hoped to succeed in realizing his self and his work by the way of sin and transgression. He hoped to get a taste of the FRUIT OF THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE through disobedience and revolt. He thus seemed to become, as Rimbaud wrote, "le grand malade, le grand criminel, le grand maudit, et let supreme savant."

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