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Poetry of Issue #1
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About Us
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In the Region of Ghosts In the region of ghosts tomorrow is a winter coat draped carelessly upon a chair. You pick it up to put it on when suddenly it is gone, a thin skein of mist left in its place floating through the open window to halt in air in a place where your flesh holds its memories, the child struggling in his innocence, while the leaf rake leans where you left it, and yesterday's broken shoes still lie near newly shinned boots on the rug by the door. Walter Worden Illegal Dreams The border is fixed, but wavers in his sleep. Lives move beyond it like storm clouds above continents. He dreams sometimes of his dark hands sinking into soil, into blood. He dreams of having no hands. He dreams despite the cold of the desert nights. He lives a whole life in his sleep. He visits his family back home, those who scrabble each day in the hard dirt. He sees his brother and his sister who would no longer know him. He sees his father and his mother in their unfulfilled deaths that made them free. He feels the form and weight of his wife beside him. He kisses his children goodnight. The border is distant. He is patient. Toward dawn, he closes his eyes and crosses over. Walter Worden |
Step Right This Way: The Photographs of Edward J. Kelty An exhibit at The International Center of Photography, 2002 I scoured those circus photos. forty or more. Edward J. Kelty shot hundreds of performers, in dozens of circuses, from the nineteen teens to the nineteen forties: they included horses, the late great original cowboy hero, Tom Mix; a man named Agee, a human cannonball bariing his chest and standing on his cannon; elephants, lions, tigers, gorgeous autos, not old timey then. but no black folk. Of all the high wirers, animal tamers, ticket takers, fancy tie wearers, plain tie wearers, and wearers of razzledazzle epaulets; of cowgirls, clowns, and dancing girls, there were two asian women, among the white thighs, and one lone woman who looked spanish, which may mean passing, but no black folk.
one unbelievable mass photo stretching to a distance
in nineteen thirty six, new deal democrats funded a WPA Too bad negroes didn't like the circus more.
rd coleman |
The Great American Dream Machine The camera pans hills, Undulate, beautiful Spreading out softly, Green carpets Touched with brown, Valleys and orchards Rich under California sun, Offering them to kike spic Colored wop and mic Sitting in darkened theaters Off the gritty sidewalks Of our own urban landscapes.
And Pancho says:
Do you remember the Cisco Kid
oh, Cisco, management goon,
Êooh, Pancho, peasant, don't kiss this man's ass. rd coleman ~~~ |
