nomopoetry

by Daniel A. Nicholls. Poetry, art, and related problems.
Twitter: @nomopoetry.

May 28

Today’s reading recreation is Ink Brick, seeing what gamut poetry comics can run.

A few samples. Artist-poets:
* L. Nichols,
* Paul K. Tunis, and
* Simon Moreton.


May 27
thehonestulsterman:

New issue of The Honest Ulsterman featuring poetry, prose and literary features from Ireland & beyond
http://www.humag.co/

it’s a good issue. read it.makes me excited about being in the HU this summer. (spoiler alert: i will be in the HU this summer!)

thehonestulsterman:

New issue of The Honest Ulsterman featuring poetry, prose and literary features from Ireland & beyond

http://www.humag.co/

it’s a good issue. read it.

makes me excited about being in the HU this summer. (spoiler alert: i will be in the HU this summer!)


May 6
writersnoonereads:

Some quotes from The Guardian’s obituary for Rosemary Tonks (1928 – 2014) via ayjay.tumblr.com. 

The poet Rosemary Tonks, who has died aged 85, famously “disappeared” in the 1970s. The author of two poetry collections and six published novels, she turned her back on the literary world after a series of personal tragedies and medical crises which made her question the value of literature and embark on a restless, self-torturing spiritual quest.
[…]
Living for the next four decades as the reclusive Mrs Lightband in an anonymous-looking old house tucked away behind Bournemouth seafront, she cut herself off from her former life, refusing to see relatives, old friends, or publishers like me who hoped she might change her mind and allow her poetry to be reissued. As far as the literary world was concerned, she “evaporated into air like the Cheshire cat”, as Brian Patten put it in a BBC Lost Voices half-hour feature, The Poet Who Vanished, broadcast on Radio 4 in 2009.

[…]
Moving into the Bournemouth house in 1980, she completed the obliteration of the person she had been, consigning an unpublished novel to the garden incinerator…


From The Sofas, Fogs and Cinemas via:
On my bad days (and I’m being brokenAt this very moment) I speak of my ambitions…and heBecomes intensely gloomy, with the look of something jugged,Morose, sour, mouldering away, with lockjaw….
I grow coarser: and more modern (I, who am driven madBy my ideas; who go nowhere;Who dare not leave my front door, lest an idea…)All right. I admit everything, everything!
Oh yes, the opera (Ah, but the cinema)He particularly enjoys it, enjoys it horribly, when someone’s illAt the last minute; and they specially fly inA new, gigantic, Dutch soprano. He wants to help herWith her arias. Old goat! Blasphemer!He wants to help her with her arias!
No, I…go to the cinema,I particularly like it when the fog is thick, the streetIs like a hole in an old coat, and the light is brown as laudanum…
***
Some links: one, two, three, four.
Photo: “Rosemary Tonks in the 1960s…Photograph: Jane Bown”

writersnoonereads:

Some quotes from The Guardian’s obituary for Rosemary Tonks (1928 – 2014) via ayjay.tumblr.com

The poet Rosemary Tonks, who has died aged 85, famously “disappeared” in the 1970s. The author of two poetry collections and six published novels, she turned her back on the literary world after a series of personal tragedies and medical crises which made her question the value of literature and embark on a restless, self-torturing spiritual quest.

[…]

Living for the next four decades as the reclusive Mrs Lightband in an anonymous-looking old house tucked away behind Bournemouth seafront, she cut herself off from her former life, refusing to see relatives, old friends, or publishers like me who hoped she might change her mind and allow her poetry to be reissued. As far as the literary world was concerned, she “evaporated into air like the Cheshire cat”, as Brian Patten put it in a BBC Lost Voices half-hour feature, The Poet Who Vanished, broadcast on Radio 4 in 2009.

[…]

Moving into the Bournemouth house in 1980, she completed the obliteration of the person she had been, consigning an unpublished novel to the garden incinerator…

From The Sofas, Fogs and Cinemas via:

On my bad days (and I’m being broken
At this very moment) I speak of my ambitions…and he
Becomes intensely gloomy, with the look of something jugged,
Morose, sour, mouldering away, with lockjaw….

I grow coarser: and more modern (I, who am driven mad
By my ideas; who go nowhere;
Who dare not leave my front door, lest an idea…)
All right. I admit everything, everything!

Oh yes, the opera (Ah, but the cinema)
He particularly enjoys it, enjoys it horribly, when someone’s ill
At the last minute; and they specially fly in
A new, gigantic, Dutch soprano. He wants to help her
With her arias. Old goat! Blasphemer!
He wants to help her with her arias!

No, I…go to the cinema,
I particularly like it when the fog is thick, the street
Is like a hole in an old coat, and the light is brown as laudanum…

***

Some links: one, two, three, four.

Photo: “Rosemary Tonks in the 1960s…Photograph: Jane Bown”


Apr 18

friday was good

nomopoetry:

the bottom of the well the top of the water
the sky the sky as signified
the looking in the flowing through
the bucket down the welling up
the drawing up the dry—
and should the child plunging in
pull apart the parents’ cry
from every bond of lung—
the townsmen’s hands the tiny flailing limbs
the short commands the sputter
the stone from stone from stone below the wailing forth
the shovels and picks and grandad’s voice the wet echo whimper
the dusk mounting to see the grime-slick slip
the rope gone slack the water sleep
the night spent at an open grave
the moon giving no comfort
the screams of father down empty earth
the mute upgaze of mother
the filling in and sealing up
the few words of a bridled priest
the moving to another town
the adoption of nothing new with breath
the rye instead of water
the little spirit in packed dirt-down
    and all this goddamn silence.

Apr 1
the-uncomfortable:

uncomfortable rainboots
© 2012 Katerina Kamprani - all rights reserved

the-uncomfortable:

uncomfortable rainboots

© 2012 Katerina Kamprani - all rights reserved


Mar 31

Mar 25

unfollow stupid tumblrrs


Mar 20
bothkindsofmusic:

Grass root stuff.

bothkindsofmusic:

Grass root stuff.

(via ianfitzgerald)


Mar 15

Consumer Alert - Trojan Fire & Ice Condoms

condomdepot:

CondomDepot-News-HI-consumer-alert-trojan-fire-and-ice

Upon examining a Trojan Fire & Ice condom, I immediately noticed something was very wrong.

Read More

Ahem. Take it from a man named Frost.
—————


Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Frost, “Fire and Ice”


Feb 19

I did start by trying to make it lovely for you,
I swear. I turned my father into a great black bird
and his life into a river lit by a basket lamp burning
fragrant splits of pine. Look, I even turned
my mother into a noble fisherman, face
shielded by a snow-white hat’s brim.
But my father was really nothing like a cormorant,
his death nothing like noble work, and not even
1300 years of history could explain away his silence
or my mother’s cruel collar and wet, heavy ropes.

—from "Death Is Not a Cormorant", by Amy Tudor. (Amended to reflect the final version in her book, The Secret Museum.)