Eros of Heroines

Sunset backlights some pine to...a caped sponge
and though I throw my gasp after a monarch there is no hitch,
no hitching either to its serape or the echoing orange
drawing a rope, horizon's doubledutch.
Mina Loy + Arthur Cravan



As blood hits the air & goes red, so I burst outside exhilarated.
He has thrown a tippet on the double-bass, which rests on its end-pin
the way a singer rests on a glittering stiletto
while the other foot slips on a banan—piano. The strings
are not the electrified wires of a prison camp, but she's the instrument
of his escape, leaving me to educate my feelings,
subtracting the red from night til a winebottle dawns green.
Leonora Carrington + Max Ernst



I saw the chessplayers over their griddles, all the furor of thinking
swallowed like a song in a furred flute; so it must seem
when a small daughter disappears with a wife,
morning reabsorbed into a lambent priori.
Jacqueline Lamba + André Breton


by Ange Mlinko

Popular posts from this blog

Caurapâñcâśikâ

Swan Song of the Thief       an adaptation of Bilhana’s Caurapâñcâśikâ     by  Dawn Corrigan   1. Still I remember her, the white magnolia of her body, the line of hair down her belly a stamen trembling beneath my hand. I’ve lost that body like a forgotten science.   2. Still I see her light increased by love— below the stars and moon, with face aglow, her body burned as though it might catch fire until I cooled her limbs and she could sleep.   3. And still if she would come to me again with love-smeared eyes and breasts that bent thin shoulders with their weight, I’d drink her mouth— the bee, that connoisseur of nature, at a bud.   4. Still I bring her back, wearied so with love she couldn’t lift her body from the bed, black hair against her cheeks, her guilty arms wound round my neck and left their scent on me.   5. Still I remember glittering eyes that d...
Read more

Maxim Gorky : Her Lover

n acquaintance of mine once told me the following story. When I was a student at Moscow I happened to live alongside one of those ladies whose repute is questionable. She was a Pole, and they called her Teresa. She was a tallish, powerfully-built brunette, with black, bushy eyebrows and a large coarse face as if carved out by a hatchet--the bestial gleam of her dark eyes, her thick bass voice, her cabman-like gait and her immense muscular vigour, worthy of a fishwife, inspired me with horror. I lived on the top flight and her garret was opposite to mine. I never left my door open when I knew her to be at home. But this, after all, was a very rare occurrence. Sometimes I chanced to meet her on the staircase or in the yard, and she would smile upon me with a smile which seemed to me to be sly and cynical. Occasionally, I saw her drunk, with bleary eyes, tousled hair, and a particularly hideous grin. On such occasions she would speak to me. "How d'ye do, Mr. Student!" and he...
Read more

THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QVEENE. Contayning THE LEGENDE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CROSSE, OR OF HOLINESSE.

LO I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds, Am now enforst a far vnfitter taske, For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds, And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds; Whose prayses hauing slept in silence long, Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broad emongst her learned throng: Fierce warres and faithfull loues shall moralize my song. Helpe then, ™ holy Virgin chiefe of nine, Thy weaker Nouice to performe thy will, Lay forth out of thine euerlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights and fairest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his vndeserued wrong: O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong. And thou most dreaded impe of highest Ioue, Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart At that good knight so cunningly didst r...
Read more