Jerome Rothenberg

Poems and poetics

Rocío Cerón: 13 Ways to Inhabit a Corner

Translated from Spanish by Anna Rosen Guercio

I
Ostriches in flight —there are women whose words are ash trees. Shadows
stitch together harbors of air. In the midst of the stampede, a hand rests on the
arc of a kneecap. Cigar and smoke. Rosy cypress sleep. The scent reaches far
beyond the border. From the bureau — power, smile destroyed/ ocher
temptation, strophic enjambed body. Vestibule.

Doings & Happenings: Notes on a Performance of the Seneca Indian Eagle Dance, with the Scenario for Gift Event III, Based on Its Orders

 Seneca Prophet Handsome Lake Preaching in the Longhouse.  Watercolor.  Ernest S
Seneca Prophet Handsome Lake Preaching in the Longhouse. Watercolor. Ernest Smith. 1936.

[Reprinted from the original edition of Technicians of the Sacred (1968) but removed from the revised edition (1985) still in print.

From Éric Suchère’s Mystérieuse (after Hergé), translated by Sandra Doller

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. Éric Suchère’s Mystérieuse is an image-to-word “translation” of collaged pages from Hergé’s TinTin comic books, rendered in painstakingly conceptual detail: each frame of each comic, and even each stroke of each drawing inside each frame, are accounted for linguistically, from TinTin’s unforgettable drops of sweat to Snowy’s emoticon-esque reactions, to the broad stroke backgrounds of the comic squares.

John Martone: A suite of poems from Molecular Lament

Cecilia Vicuña quipu menstrual 2006
Cecilia Vicuña quipu menstrual 2006

thread
bare

for Cecilia Vicuña

                Their books were loose bundles of string.
                                                -- Charles Mann

just
about
done

here

dressed in
rags


~


story
of

yr life
string

all
balled up


~


in
the end

Amish Trivedi: opening strophes from “Untitled Project”

At an edge of my severed sense, the only overwhelming
breath is not mine. Another sentence to cover this one and
another eye that

begins to heal. Normal is erasing but with
no dust left to trace through, fingers make

no more arcs. In the debutante’s crying room,

the body revolts against its housing, unwelcome
wherever it exists. There are memories of stoplights
in the places
we used to go.                I didn’t know