Tuesday, June 22, 2021

Tuesday poem #429 : David Buuck : Curfew and Far Between

 

 

Night in the city
is now owned
by the police
 

the cover charge
is our obedience
til day breaks &
 

real estate realism
resumes its crime-
data-mining /
 

the risk-assessers
crafting riot
insurance policies
 

hedge funding
the counter
revolution as
 

the porch pirates
expand the gift
economy at the pot-
 

latch down at the
sideshow / I watched
the helicopter feed
 

the Oakland docks
lit and lit up,
surrounded by cops
 

called in from the
suburbs to kettle
the protest downtown
 

trick’d out donuts,
burnt trash cans
vs. burnt rubber.
 

*

Inside a para-
tactical multitude
not all things

aside one another

touch — or are
touched, but perhaps
in those epic gaps

some spark alights

forged in disparate
elements, newly
charged by heat

of purpose and

forward-moving
in common fre-
quencies that

resonate through

glitch-rhythm’d
idioms across
the shattered

vocabularies

*

To under
stand space
as a given

fluidity

structured
by the eye
of the police

or landlord

thus becoming
territory —
contestable

by bodies

aligned
in negation
of that ideal

they call civic

harmony —
instead a
confluence of

disharmonic

resonance /
each shield
a mobile

placard

each placard
a shield
against the

hammer-beat

of batons
each splinter
a glitch

in time’s gap

between
the clock
and the count-

er rhythms

of revolt. Be
like water,
the sigil read,

spray painted

on the trash
bin, a barricade
made of ballot

boxes lights it up—

 

 

  

David Buuck lives in Oakland, CA. He is the co-founder and editor of Tripwire, a journal of poetics (tripwirejournal.com), and founder of BARGE, the Bay Area Research Group in Enviro-aesthetics. Recent books include The Riotous Outside (Commune Editions, 2018), Noise in the Face of (Roof Books 2016), SITE CITE CITY (Futurepoem, 2015) and An Army of Lovers, co-written with Juliana Spahr (City Lights, 2013). He teaches at Mills College, where he is the chief steward of the adjunct faculty union, and at San Quentin's Prison University Program.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, June 15, 2021

Tuesday poem #428 : Christina Shah : fettuccine all‘uovo No 94 (the carbonara poem)

 

 

our pasts lay dessicated
tangled pasta nests
in glassine windows
 

waiting to be saline,
salient, pliable grist

as coal miners we emerge from black dust;
you add the rendered events

rough-cut jowl
and the pecorino romano
of umami’s imperfect memory
 

and make fat silk threads


 

 

Christina Shah was born in Ottawa, lives in Vancouver, and works in heavy industry. Her poetry has appeared in various journals– including Arc, Vallum, The Fiddlehead, Grain, EVENT, and PRISM international. She recently completed her first full-length manuscript. On hot days, you’ll find her at a good swimming hole.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan

Tuesday, June 08, 2021

Tuesday poem #427 : Emily Brandt : I still live t\here

 

 

 

I live for a decade
near the six-unit building
where my antecessors
(bisnonna, bisnonno) live
upon arrival    at the turn
of the 20th century.
Sicilian cafe nearby
perpetually empty   evidence
of some Italian    in what’s now
the 83rd Precinct  (note:
English)   is once
the 18th Ward    of Brooklyn,
is earlier     little town
in the woods 
  or   heavy woods
depending on your source
is before land of the Lenape
and before, glacial.
Do my antecessors know   
that the 83rd Precinct
grants them whiteness within
one generation? Can they even
imagine, when they leave Regalbuto?
The great wooden horse
becomes flesh in the new world.

 

 

 

 

Emily Brandt is the author of the poetry collection Falsehood (After Hours Editions), as well as three chapbooks. She's a co-founding editor of No, Dear, curator of the LINEAGE reading series at Wendy’s Subway, and visionary at landscape.fm. She’s of Sicilian, Polish & Ukrainian descent, and lives in Brooklyn.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan