Galina Rymbu | Devoid of signs (fragments)

DEVOID OF SIGNS (FRAGMENTS) devoid of signs, not men not women beyond categories and tribesdesolate landscapes devoid of the power of recognition their memories are short and remembering matter impregnating spaces disconnected from the bodies that inhabit the disaster zone ( . . .) this is the book of decay, it loads the limits of memory, a plane bearing the shards of creation, devoid of signs, that are swept by the winds of transfiguration. devoid of signs – a mother and the vein that pulses in her neck. a small, cramped bar. its walls are painted black. drowsing while he takes…

Sergio Raimondi | Poems

  When the world changes, literature must as well. This is the credo motivating the thinking and writing of Argentine poet Sergio Raimondi, born in 1968 in Bahia Blanca. A somewhat gruff genius loci inhabits this place: the nearby port of Ingeniero White is one of Argentina’s main seaports; the nation’s most important petrochemical complexes is also located here. But Sergio Raimondi draws his very inspiration from this genius loci: even in his early work Poesía civil (published in German as Zivilpoesie in 2005), Raimondi—who teaches contemporary literature at the Universidad del Sur in Bahia Blanca—examines in depth Argentina’s changing…

Antonin Artaud : Years of Incarceration | by Stephen Barber

The asylum incarceration which Artaud underwent in the years from 1937 to 1946 has as much contradiction and productivity as the other phases of his life. But it was certainly the most deeply painful phase. The internment began with a period of self-preoccupation which Artaud broke only to berate his doctors and to demand external confirmation for the hallucinations he was experiencing. During the early part of Artaud’s internment, at Rouen and Sainte-Anne, his behaviour gives the impression of great austerity and of a profound, self-sufficient calm. Although he spent his time in the company of the many different kinds…

Arthur Rimbaud | Illuminations (1872-1874)

AFTER THE FLOOD After the idea of the Flood had receded, A rabbit rested within swaying clover and bellflowers, saying his prayers to a rainbow spied through a spider’s web. Oh what precious stones sunk out of sight, what flowers suddenly stared. On the dirty main drag it was back to business; ships went to sea, piled on the water like a postcard. Blood flowed—at Bluebeard’s, in slaughterhouses, in circuses— wherever God’s mark marred windows. Milk and blood flowed. Beavers dammed. Steam rose from coffee cups in small cafés. The mansion’s windows were still streaming, mourning children within contemplating amazing…

Raúl Zurita | The Sea

  Strange baits rain from the sky. Surprising bait falls upon the sea. Down below the ocean, up above unusual clouds on a clear day. Surprising baits rain on the sea. There was a love raining, there was a clear day that’s raining now on the sea.   They are shadows, bait for fishes. A clear day is raining, a love that was never said. Love, ah yes, love, amazing baits are raining from the sky on the shadow of fishes in the sea.   Clear days fall. Some strange baits with clear days stuck to them, with loves that…

Roger Gilbert-Lecomte | Necessity of Revolt: The Power of Renunciation

  That’s agreed then. Tabula rasa: everything is true — there is nothing else. The great vertigo of Revolt has sent the phantasmagoria of appearances reeling and tumbling. Illusion shredded, the material world deforms, reforms, appears and disappears at the mercy of the rebel. A black gulf now swirls in place of what was the self, consciousness, the autonomy of the individual. His rolled-back eyes look between strained temples to where a vast, empty steppe stretches out, barred at the horizon by the floes of the old, bleached senses. He who has renounced everything outside himself just as he has…

Nanni Balestrini | “I close my eyes and start to sing”

NANNI BALESTRINI (1935-2019)     I close my eyes and start to sing threads are entangled and transformed into spots whose dance moves ever more slowly I sang my repertoire then I started monologues with my eyes closed I walked back and forth in the cell four steps forward four steps back I invented dialogues for two characters that spoke different languages like at the cinema when the film ends there are those who make love who smoke there are those who merely exist   Nanni Balestrini, the radical Italian experimental visual artist, poet, and novelist known for recombinatory, revolutionary…