Steve Dalachinsky
as collage
disparate lives
papar thin
requiring little or no care
just a bit of imagination in time
where fancy is gone
hand on chin
prepared for a flow of apatite
apathetically tapping ones foot as the trio of short
mexicans plays mariachi music in the train
earlier that week at 53rd & lex
i saw a young near-armless man
playing the drums
drumsticks tied just above his elbows
. . . absently i scratched my head
new slim telepathy
into the future where one can
only predict the present
a prophecy of sustainable happiness
perhaps
the lower edge of the lp definitely
eaten by a mouse
selling live clappers to an near-empty car
yet mother host to this layered island
remaining inside the margins
of taste
& i remain dead in or out of water
when it comes to creating poems
no better or worse than
this long unending ride uptown
on the WRONG train
no temptation
no vice
just a pickle
a mouth of a pickle
a mouthful of inebriated language
pickled tongue always in a pickle
tailess trabajo olympusly scissored
@ the table crowded with paper
faithless glue & bread crumbs
my disappearance & occasional
re-emerge into & from the endless sources of images
peopling the pages with post & pre-linear narratives
no need to dance
twice as likely as to train
for kindness
but what did i ever train for??
only those things which i can no longer
remember
(where family was required)
holding the fork or the right handed scissor
in my left hand
both arms tied to my memory
or was that my throat??
speaking
writing
no less free admission
was always likely to occur
& me ungraduated to the point
where little or NO family was required
nor tie nor tact
no participation of any sort
just the pasting together of images
to create an image as required by my
own unique bewildered & bewildering
FANCY…
…& in the end as he so aptly put it
the THINGS themselves are left to TESTIFY.
Poet/collagist Steve Dalachinsky was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of little wars. His book The Final Nite (Ugly Duckling Presse) won the PEN Oakland National Book Award. His most recent books are Fools Gold (2014 feral press), a superintendent's eyes (revised and expanded 2013 - unbearable/ autonomedia) and flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015). His latest cd is The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014). His poem “Particle Fever” was nominated for a 2015 Pushcart Prize. Forthcoming from Overpass Press The Invisible Ray, with artwork by Shalom Neuman.
The subsequent 72 parts of as collage appeared in Otoliths issue forty.
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transfixed posture fissure retsen half-sisters clipp(l)ings stein lit cards the trained tongue toy yot wheat wired in the furnace rem (ember) ed sleepwalking sekans the insomniac’s gambling debts natural blistered turbines nrub turban rug sleeves treading obliteration stitched backwards trouble rocking deterioration perhaps serious dirt beneath nails palms open pattern unidentifiable shiny disaster writing over frame ‘s rusty breath bitter voice it’s precise tendency to sketch a difficult showposture transfix oxygen sway evil steps farther steel locks piano in basement thrus(h)t portions pudding tour resist good hctocs paused felt cheek adjusted harm junket amends martinis dailys rewop lisp grudge hard spot mesh the old sewn cliff flow diesel cleaner wolf license stumble foot whose vacuum peaanti - krieg ( summits of the pit ) you wear your guilt like a uniform vincible yag the soft bigotry of low expectations seeping visible thru the normal ado as/cant broke(n) mar i pole hystorical distraction surmountable fabric comparable comprehensible dribble conceivable union in action doctors he is on fire shik the rod gem upper d(o)ublin choked w/prayer questions lighting up the sky like birds flew little flew love (r) murder (er) of what is for history (in) vasion speech b.c. agri-dominoes (ance) sq’d. better off in fashion tracture of lucretius hystericol short p(h)ra(i)se unsilenced silence solid lienavarycal hung. lengthened. haunted passed im mortal im port ant im pu d ant im poverished cell(ink) hues hughes hews rowers outside its pts shrusht measured rung golden in ter fe(a)r ence call mikre a bloomin moun tain. of pits.8/04 nyc random reading words (scrambles)Cincinnatius waiting for the jubilee 1. admira(b)l(y) strung shuttle twisted inventory from head beads blow lieutenants capta(i) \n drapery always water sows dancing fish’s out of water nori hunger massive skruts supreme mole s tation govners of the universe cut rain coil habit shells & like a one-eyed devi(l) bows rain law under 2 extremes of white hierarchy proof / broken colors full - / catholic tag art (end(s) fisted -> lin(e) (up) parties pre-us a probate the rite liftarms cleanse shaping beads pro/anti #’d as deal ajongdrnj dealer or prisoner she’s his wife beaded shadows. 2. it seems still light no one squirrel/screen up a tree it seems shadow waternyc poetry project anti-war reading 9/04 scrambles - random reading wordswindy shadow is a mover door closed by accident a foot ornament should stay open he panics hits his head w/his palm fate steps in i am shitting in the men’s room bottom floor of philosophy hall the lights go out it seems that no one hears me scream HELP HELP HELPPPPPPP i cannot find the EXIT/ENTRANCE i scream HELP HELP HELPPPPPPP too many voices falling on themselves upstairs inside on a perfectly clear day trapped in the dark by my fears again as always the turn missed so easily a turn of a phrase time turned inwardleatherette luncheonette chainsmoked & sucoff put in neat see-thru envelopes of all sizespitchforked ashtrayed & emptied trans-tricked donk donk & less a thinker & less a doer windy shadow a mover a point of ornament.nyc zukofsky conference @ columbia 9/19/04 partial scramble
as collage
disparate lives
papar thin
requiring little or no care
just a bit of imagination in time
where fancy is gone
hand on chin
prepared for a flow of apatite
apathetically tapping ones foot as the trio of short
mexicans plays mariachi music in the train
earlier that week at 53rd & lex
i saw a young near-armless man
playing the drums
drumsticks tied just above his elbows
. . . absently i scratched my head
new slim telepathy
into the future where one can
only predict the present
a prophecy of sustainable happiness
perhaps
the lower edge of the lp definitely
eaten by a mouse
selling live clappers to an near-empty car
yet mother host to this layered island
remaining inside the margins
of taste
& i remain dead in or out of water
when it comes to creating poems
no better or worse than
this long unending ride uptown
on the WRONG train
no temptation
no vice
just a pickle
a mouth of a pickle
a mouthful of inebriated language
pickled tongue always in a pickle
tailess trabajo olympusly scissored
@ the table crowded with paper
faithless glue & bread crumbs
my disappearance & occasional
re-emerge into & from the endless sources of images
peopling the pages with post & pre-linear narratives
no need to dance
twice as likely as to train
for kindness
but what did i ever train for??
only those things which i can no longer
remember
(where family was required)
holding the fork or the right handed scissor
in my left hand
both arms tied to my memory
or was that my throat??
speaking
writing
no less free admission
was always likely to occur
& me ungraduated to the point
where little or NO family was required
nor tie nor tact
no participation of any sort
just the pasting together of images
to create an image as required by my
own unique bewildered & bewildering
FANCY…
…& in the end as he so aptly put it
the THINGS themselves are left to TESTIFY.
Poet/collagist Steve Dalachinsky was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of little wars. His book The Final Nite (Ugly Duckling Presse) won the PEN Oakland National Book Award. His most recent books are Fools Gold (2014 feral press), a superintendent's eyes (revised and expanded 2013 - unbearable/ autonomedia) and flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015). His latest cd is The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014). His poem “Particle Fever” was nominated for a 2015 Pushcart Prize. Forthcoming from Overpass Press The Invisible Ray, with artwork by Shalom Neuman.
The subsequent 72 parts of as collage appeared in Otoliths issue forty.
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