9.26 (SATURDAY): Natalie Knight & Christophe Casamassima

 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Natalie

Natalie Knight’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Try! H_NGM_N, Octopus, moria, 3by3by3 and Slightly West. Her chapbooks Xenia (Furniture Press: Baltimore, MD) and prairies (Scantily Clas Press: Madison, WI) were published in 2009. Archipelagos is forthcoming from Punch Press: Buffalo, NY. Originally from Western Washington, she lives in Albany, New York and works toward a PhD at University at Albany, SUNY. Her review of Rodrigo Toscano’s Collapsible Poetics Theater is here: http://jacketmagazine.com/38/r-toscano-rb-knight.shtml

 

nuclear

 

that nuclear power plant

near the coastline or an

oil drill mars the Montana plains

 

is not true

 

“at the end of time the sky will burn like a sheet of paper”

 

she said

 

and i’m saying

keep the metal plate in your back

you were born with –

for posterity

and just in case we turn out to be

made of magnets, after all

 

spinal registers of

the coastal spine landscape of

registered development –

oil sand silt

register my development

 

register her development, gaia

do something with yourself

for once

 

so that a consolidation of species isn’t that

bad so that where

species don’t

exist my capitalicity will create them

 

 

that nuclear power plant
near the coastline or an
oil drill mars the Montana plains 
is not true 
“at the end of time the sky will burn like a sheet of paper” 
she said 
and i’m saying
keep the metal plate in your back
you were born with –
for posterity
and just in case we turn out to be
made of magnets, after all 
spinal registers of
the coastal spine landscape of
registered development –
oil sand silt
register my development 
register her development, gaia
do something with yourself
for once 
so that a consolidation of species isn’t that
bad so that where
species don’t
exist my capitalicity will create them 

 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 

christophe

Christophe Casamassima is a founder of Towson ARTS Collective, where he is the Director of Literary Arts and editor of Furniture Press. He also teaches in the English department at Towson University. He has recently completed the Proteus Cycle, which includes The Proteus (Moria Books, 2008), Joys: A Catalogue of Disappointments (BlazeVOX, 2008), and Ore (twentythreebooks, 2009). His new books, UNTILTED and Being/Time, will be published by Moria Books and Xerolage in late 2009 and 2010, respectively. In his spare time he repurposes unwanted books and promotes creative literacy through poetry writing and bookmaking workshops. He lives and works in Baltimore, MD.

from Ore.

 

8
and when we come back we’re floating on
the brilliance of the going on, the loneliness
climbing or falling no one would say
which happiness is? do you hear
What was in my way I cut down.
now we’re senseless
in half a second a sphere a hundred-eighty-six
This new pen hardly works at all
That singing in the streets or was it screams
when I meant fault
is he watching? Is it expired space
and what is I, I love for my I
and what is the word that stands for these things
Or lines on oneself as a pissed off William Blake, the wryness
the harmed who will not harm.
but war, too, is dead as the lotus is dead
and this is the poem I have chosen
and the wildness of it all context. Siam
asleep next to music which renders the mind
from its lone eye a voice sobsinging,
the way the saved look down at the damned,
calling attention, calling. You recall, “Nothing
and the end of loneliness,
the loop meaning safety, meaning me too,
Two breaths, two patterns of echoes.

from Ore.

8

and when we come back we’re floating on

the brilliance of the going on, the loneliness

climbing or falling no one would say

which happiness is? do you hear

What was in my way I cut down.

now we’re senseless

in half a second a sphere a hundred-eighty-six

This new pen hardly works at all

That singing in the streets or was it screams

when I meant fault

is he watching? Is it expired space

and what is I, I love for my I

and what is the word that stands for these things

Or lines on oneself as a pissed off William Blake, the wryness

the harmed who will not harm.

 

but war, too, is dead as the lotus is dead

and this is the poem I have chosen

and the wildness of it all context. Siam

asleep next to music which renders the mind

from its lone eye a voice sobsinging,

the way the saved look down at the damned,

calling attention, calling. You recall, “Nothing

and the end of loneliness,

the loop meaning safety, meaning me too,

Two breaths, two patterns of echoes.

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