Pier Paolo Pasolini | A Desperate Vitality

  I (Draft, in a cursus in present-day jargon, of what has just transpired: Fiumicino, the old castle, and a first real idea of death.) As in a film by Godard: alone in a car speeding down the motorways of Latin neo-capitalism — returning from the airport — [where Moravia stayed behind, a pure soul with his bags] alone, “racing his Alfa Romeo“ in sunlight so heavenly it cannot be put into rhymes not elegiac — the finest sun we’ve had all year — as in a film by Godard: under a sun bleeding motionless unique, the canal of the…

Athena Farrokhzad | White Blight

    My family arrived here in a Marxist tradition   My mother immediately filled the house with Santa knick-knacks Weighed the pros and cons of the plastic Christmas tree as if the problem were hers   During the day she distinguished between long and short vowels as if the sounds that came out of her mouth could wash the olive oil from her skin   My mother let bleach run through her syntax On the other side of punctuation her syllables became whiter than a winter in Norrland   My mother built us a future consisting of quantity of…

Athena Farrokhzad | A Letter to Europe

    A Letter to Europe   Europe, I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing. Europe, 260 Euro and 76 cents January, 2018. I can’t stand my own mind. Europe, when will you end the human war? Go fuck yourself with your Christ complex. I don’t feel good, don’t bother me. I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind. Europe, when will you retire? When will you take off your clothes? When will you look at yourself through the grave? When will you be worthy of your millions of guest workers? Europe, why are your libraries…

Danielle Collobert | It Then

      I met Danielle Collobert in a cafe on the boulevard Saint-Germain in March or April 1958, at which time she was not yet eighteen. We immediately spoke of the essentials: writing, death. Theses two things—or is it one single thing—seemed to occupy her exclusively and with such rigor that one felt from the outset she would proceed in this single and unique direction, that no one could divert her or deceive her as to its end. At most, out of love for her, one could hope, idiotically of course, that sooner or later she would lose track, that her…

Jerome Rothenberg | Revolutionary Propositions & A Personal Manifesto

1) I will change your mind;
2) any means (=methods) to that end;
3) to oppose the “devourers” = bureaucrats, system-makers, priests, etc (W. Blake);
4) “& if thou wdst understand that wch is me, know this: all that I have sd I have uttered playfully—& I was by no means ashamed of it.” (J. C. to disciples, The Acts of St. John)

Notes on Events ((Lamentation))

  Published by: Burning House Press (Guest Editor: Johannes Göransson)   “The language of tragedy for the Greeks is lethally factive, because the body it seizes hold of does really kill” — Friedrich Hölderlin   Without a doubt this is the most repulsive of repulsive moments :: it’s no longer enough to say :: the goal is the abolition of capitalist realism or to hammer verses on the door of a cell the way you drive a nail into a wall / when disinhibition is rampant among the elite / they engineer new humiliations daily/ & the crumbs left over…

Jazra Khaleed | Poems (“Smashing Fascist Heads”)

    REFRAIN My name is J-A-Z-R-A Here I’m illegal, in spite of the Left I was born in the dusk of the West And this evening is just splendid For smashing fascist heads TRANSLATED BY SARAH MCCANN       SOMEWHERE IN ATHENS Somewhere in Athens December the Sixth The kid will kill the cop before sunup Somewhere in Athens December the Seventh On the streets the banks are burnt one by one Somewhere in Athens December the Eighth Let’s cut a rug in Parliament’s rubble Somewhere in Athens December the Ninth The poets in the streets eulogize fires…