Crg Hill's poetry scorecard

Stripped Text 4

closed the windows tight on fingertips

completes an original consideration

of writing

leitmotif

in a vacuum

Stripped Text 3

small but necessary

each time with its concomitant space

a nuclear comedy

remembering to excavate

yawn of a trapeze

mostly standing water

now seems more evident

sundry

delay of synapse

book slid across a carpetted floor

native tongues

slow and seemingly random

absolutes

Stripped Text 2

with hope of things

two knuckle widths

rain's falling

at any rate, onward

off the line

some sort of epic flatulence

picked up some pointers

as if the rocks themselves were creaking

urging the water to boil

as transpires in any cranium

perception is circular

as inclusive as writing could be

our processed image of food

co-existent with the habitual use

Stripped Text 1

the exercise

you would think

the elemental

too nearly

rudimentary

aperture

an unusual effort

her guise

on the water as it were

kissed each toe

caused a series of depressions

such scenarios

another pass through

quality of being real

fragments

manipulate

enough's enough

there ever being more to come

lines of a buttock

after shutting off all the nights

could scarcely be more timely

it would be many years before

the color blue underneath

we each have our days

another is there later to drink from

swinging door of the kitchen where other

thereof

vivisection

A New Book from Aldon Nielsen

Thanks, Tom, for pointing me toward Mixage. Time to go get it now!

Linh Dinh, 2005 New York School Poet of the Year

What do you get when conversational Frank O' Hara reincarnates to travel to Vietnam pre- and post-Vietnam war? When plain-dictioned Ron Padgett meets pre-AIDS sexual ecstacy? When benign Kenneth Koch meets 2000s cynicism? When Joe Brainard, Ted Berrigan, Bernadette Mayer, Tony Towle and others skip and bop and belch off a curb in Greenwich Village into Ho Chi Minh City? When these N.Y.C.-center-of-the-world poets shoulder an international political edge without losing their irrepressible, city-wracked sense of humor?

You get Linh Dinh, in American Tatts, the 2005 flag-bearer of the New York School of Poetry.

A Graceful Whorl Of

earth

and stone

snakes, day's myths,

and

today's hammer.

Intimacy is something.

Such clarity, one could

look awkward in a gallery

turning to snow turning back

that, yes, I think I can

glance, a gesture

red figure running

you faceless, you nameless, you

thrown into combat in order

No one paints the contemporary

by a sure ear for slant

Writer As Norse God

au ! thor

              -- found micro-poem

Miltonic Battles in Me Feverish Head

Last night, fifth night with a fever, as I lay down to try to get more sleep than I did the night before, the phrase "Glorious sleep" popped into my head. I closed my eyes and watched a battle of images Blake and Milton would have been in awe of: blunt dark-blue shapes pounding down, on dull, ground-down coals, which coughed up balls of fire as there only, futile defense. I don't know how long I watched this battle on the back of my eyelids. I woke this morning thinking that Blake just may have had a low-grade fever for decades.