Daily Archives: November 30, 2015

A Ten Question Interview with the Artist…Reuben Woolley

Your One Phone Call

Why do you write?

I write because I feel a need to communicate even my weird self. Curiously, when I write people accept what I have to say better than if I went round just talking about it in conversation. It seems a writer is expected to be strange.

What books do you read?

Poetry:

TS Eliot, Dylan Thomas, Paul Celan, Jerome Rothenberg, the Ted Hughes of Crow, Philip Gross, John Burnside, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Mallarmé, David Pollard, Charles Olson, JH Prynne, Denise Levertov, James Schuyler, Jack Spicer, Kenneth Koch, Robert Creeley, Paul Blackburn, ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Amiri Baraka, Gary Snyder, Anselm Hollo, Adrian Henri, Jaynae Cortez, Sylvia Plath, Kathleen Fraser, Ron Padgett, Ray DiPalma, Alice Notley, Wanda Coleman, Ron Silliman, Bob Perelman, David Shapiro, Rae Armentrout, Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge, Charles Bernstein, Federíco García Lorca, Vasko Popa, Antony Owen.

Fiction:

Dystopian and fantasy novels especially Neil Gaiman, Phillip Pullman, Terry…

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Moving Through Walls by Paul Point

I am not a silent poet

Ronald Turner stubbed out a smoke in a plant pot caked in stale

ash. Choked, the cactus that lived there was haggard and greyed

bare by the stash of dog ends and toxic cinders, knowing only a

life of dim light and locked windows.

..

He was the kind of guy who hadn’t earned his environment – he

inherited it. In the same way an inmate inherits a ball and chain

it clung to him like a picture frame. Call him the product of it –

a victim of impositions – he would call you a fool and drill

down into your decisions that he sees as highlighting his

abandoned ambitions, not as the tools that make bricks, in the

walls of cathedrals.

..

No plans today; he got up anyway.

..

He wasn’t without skill recalling odd facts and information at

will, though often strained by tradition, dull and…

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Drone by Hafsah Aneela Bashir Mua

I am not a silent poet

The sound of your soft padded feet in the night come closer to me
You nestle your body into mine
I squeeze you like a hot water bottle to my stomach
My arms wrap around you anchoring your fears till they disappear
I feel your heat seep through my skin
My muscles, my bones and my heart and you warm me
And I bury my face into your hair
Kiss the nape of your little neck and I see the apple of your left cheek rise
Your smile is comfort in the night
I slip my fingers into yours,
Your hand is tiny but you help close mine over your own until they look like a new species of starfish
We giggle
We are warm and loved and solid
And you whisper through your tiny perfect teeth , our little secrets

But I hear the sound of low humming in…

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