May 15, 2008
Thursday Poem
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Translating Apollinaire
bpNichol
Icharrus winging up
Simon the Magician from Judea high in a tree,
everyone reaching for the sun
great towers of stone
built by the Aztecs, tearing their hearts out
to offer them, wet and beating
mountains,
cold wind, Macchu Piccu hiding in the sun
unfound for centuries
cars whizzing by, sun
thru trees passing, a dozen
new wave films, flickering
on drivers' glasses
flat on their backs in the grass
a dozen bodies slowly turning brown
sun glares off the pages, "soleil
cou coupé", rolls in my window
flat on my back on the floor
becoming aware of it
for an instant
Nichol's series: Translating Tranlating Apollinair
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Posted by Jim Culleny at 07:01 AM | Permalink





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