Poet and Writer
BY REFAAT ALAREER
If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself—
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale
Excepts from Complete Thought I – XXV
by Barrett Watten
I
The world is complete.
Books demand limits.
VIII
Worn-out words are invented.
We read daylight in books.
XII
False notes on a staircase.
The hammer is as large as the sun.
XIX
Nothing touches the surface.
The arbitrary is meant to be sensed.
XXIV
Thought remains in the animal.
Each island steals teeth.
Letter to Her Brother
In the tombs orgies go on by themselves
if the white images are alone,
I with
my parenthesis that was not supposed to last
the notebooks
of my minds wrapped up in your winter coat
exploitation
at its peak: to you I send
these brief charges, no
explanation can make you keep your time
if the dance tune is this extinguished crater.
*
I do not want
to write in the far away mountain
anything but works about me:
come with me and I’ll map hell for you.
Amelia Rosselli (1930 – 1996)