From the magazine:성락
By Kim Ok
울려 나오는 악성의
느리고도 짧은
애닯은 곡조에
나의 사라진 옛 꿈은
그윽하게 살아
내 가슴 아파라.
설움 가득한 악성의
빠르고도 더딘
애닯은 곡조에
뒤숭숭한 그 생각은
고요하…
느리고도 짧은
애닯은 곡조에
나의 사라진 옛 꿈은
그윽하게 살아
내 가슴 아파라.
설움 가득한 악성의
빠르고도 더딘
애닯은 곡조에
뒤숭숭한 그 생각은
고요하…
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From the magazine:Music for Voice
By Kim OkTranslated By Ryan Choii
Sonorous music for voice— I hear
a short but elegiac,
pained
melody— for long discarded
dreams of a simple…- By Jim Corythis messenger in quicksilver cape
sneaks past speakerbanks the band in mid-tune
his carefully coiffed… - By Jim CoryWhat god does he
pray to, swaying
like that, muttering
orange chords
at the clouds
drifting by
inside his … From the magazine:Orfeo
By Dan Beachy-QuickI created more loss where I meant to make less.
Created more debt where I meant to make depth.
Created…- By Carole Boston WeatherfordIt was written in the stars:
A child is born.
From that moment on,
I only had eyes for you.
What a … From the magazine:How Long Has Trane Been Gone
By Jayne CortezTell me about the good things
you clappin & laughin
Will you remember
or will you forget
Forget about…From the magazine:Blown Away by “Blues” from Bish at the Bank
By George KalamarasEven the earth dies sometimes
when it is most alive.
Walter Bishop Jr. slaying the keys,
Harold Vick…From the magazine:GUITARRA
By Nicolás GuillénFueron a cazar guitarras,
bajo la luna llena.
Y trajeron ésta,
pálida, fina, esbelta,
ojos de inagotable…From the magazine:GUITAR
By Nicolás GuillénTranslated By Aaron ColemanThey went out hunting for guitars,
underneath the full moon.
And they brought back her:
pale, fine, lithe…- By Cornelius EadySome folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell… From the magazine:
Kitchen Table, or When Mildred Bailey Sings:
By Kinsale DrakeGramophones were weapons, swallowing
the dying songs—
voices
are still muted
in the dust bowl
of those English libraries.
But her voice is clear
as the Chattahoochee,
wide and glittering,
breaching the shadows of the Blue Angel.
Oh, winged music,
red-tongued
notes on 55th where
red boys in strange cities once stopped dead
and...- By Pat MoraBuenos dias and hasta lue$o in boardrooms and strategy sessions, Where are your grateful holiday smiles bilinguals? I've given you a voice, let you in
to hear old friends tell old jokes,
Stop flinching, Drink eggnog, Hum alon,
Not carols we hear
whimpering
children too... From the magazine:
dramatic monologue as Beatriz Ferreyra
By Stella Wongthis is some decomposed music. this
is some double. o great
and terrible pressing! submerged
in the memoriam swamps
I want to catch your thin neck full
bodied breath in the blue
funeral vase, your death
masked. this is like that
satanist music where they
play it backwards. so...From the magazine:
Michael Receives Advice from Marceline the Vampire, the Queen of the Deadbeat Daddy Issues, on How to Cope with an Absent Father
By Michael FrazierJust cause he’s your blood
you can’t expect him to stay.
The wet red of men will abandon a body
if offered the opportunity
of a gash.
This is vampire one-o-one
dude. You think you’re the only one with a phantom
for...From the magazine:
At Church, I Tell My Mom She’s Singing Off-Key and She Says,
By Michael FrazierI ain’t off-key. I just stepped out the key
so when I return,
you can understand the key a little bit better.
The preacher isn’t the only
teacher. Why hit a note on the head
when I can kill it? You mean to tell me
you...From the magazine:
Ode to a Dolly Parton Drag Queen
By Bruce SniderShe lip-syncs “Hello God,” then “9 to 5.”
She struts. Or does she fly? Like the soul,
a rhinestone, she tells us, will never die.
She’s a blush-pink Bible. Patched together,
she’s a cosmic doll. Mirror of a mirror,
she winks, her face the only...From the magazine:
Charlie Parker
By Frank Marshall DavisWho named him Yard Bird?
He was a homing pigeon
With no home to fly to
Sky unlimited
Route uncharted
Eagle strong
He scorched his wings
Haunting the heavens
Buzzing the sun
As the feebler fowl
Looked up in awe
But played it safe
In the rambling sky
He lived!
Here he rendezvoused
With freedom
Flashing...From the magazine:
Lady Day
By Frank Marshall DavisHer rum-brown rope of a voice
Fastens flannel strands
Around soft sides of staid notes
Sitting properly
On their oh so proper scale
She pulls
And the notes fall
Into her molten mold
Of flaming soundFrom the magazine:
Bill Frisell
By Bruce BondI played a folk song once
so long into the night
it came apart.
...