Jerome Rothenberg

Poems and poetics

Peter Valente: From 'The Artaud Variations,' with commentary by Cole Heinowitz

Drawing with text by Antonin Artaud
Drawing with text by Antonin Artaud

There is a Hole in things
that resists classification
and cannot be understood in the terms
that explain it 

Jerome Rothenberg: From 'A Further Witness,' a poem in progress

AS THE SKY GOES BLACK

 

fixed in place

or running

half a man

& half

a crazed

machine

 

he feels himself

becoming

what he ran from

Jeffrey C. Robinson: 'Poems for the Millennium, Volume Four,' as 'Subversive Orientalism'

Pierre Joris & Habib Tengour, co-editors of 'Poems for the Millennium, volume 4'
Pierre Joris & Habib Tengour, co-editors of 'Poems for the Millennium, volume 4'

From Robinson’s  introduction to a reading by Pierre Joris at Glasgow's Centre for Contemporary Arts on 22 May 2013: a consideration of Poems for the Millennium, volume 4, The University of California Press Book of North African Literature.

Mario Santiago Papasquiaro: 'Already Far from the Road'

Translation from Spanish by Cole Heinowitz

                                                 To the memory of Infraín                                                       

                                                          Vibrations
                                                   Vibrations - whips
                                           1 sound comes from the shadow
                                                  quickly forms 1 sphere
                                                            1 farm
                                                            1 group
                                                          1 armada
                                                1 universe of Universe 

Diane Wakoski: Three new poems from a work in progress

Diane Wakoski and Jerome Rothenberg: A Joint Portrait
Diane Wakoski and Jerome Rothenberg: A Joint Portrait

Diane’s Personal Ghost Ranch

I imagine riding a ghost-stallion, my
hair in braids, pinned on top on my head,
just like it was when I was seven, and sitting on the
school bus, with yellow ribbon-bows on a comb,
tucked under the braids to make a little crown. 

I imagine that on the Ghost Ranch I
will meet the Bluemoon Cowboy,
his silver-toed boots, glinting
under my bed.  Read me a story.
Read me one with poetry.  Please.