#philip nikolayev

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

I Write Only Poems

I am working on a book of fiction. Oh yeah, in what genre? It’s a memoir.

I am a painter. Oh yeah, what’s your medium? Collage.

My essays are philosophical meditations. Oh yeah, what are they about? My body.

I am a musician. Oh yeah, what kind of musician? A DJ.

And you are…? Oh yeah, a poet. So you write fiction too? No, only poems.

Oh yeah? And how do you make a living? I don’t.

Philip Nikolayev

#Philip Nikolayev

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of june

chase twichell the snow watcher: "hunger for something"

hester knibbe hungerpots (tr. jacquelyn pope)

jan beatty an eater, or swallowhole, is a reach of stream

sally wen mao the toll of the sea

peter everwine rain

rebecca lindenberg the logan notebooks: "poetic subjects"

john kinsella native cut wood deflects colonial hunger

katie peterson permission: "the truth is concrete"

linda hogan dark. sweet.: "innocence"

jános pilinszky (tr. george gömöri & clive wilmer) van gogh's prayer

david sullivan the day the beekeeper died: sulaymaniyah

sandra simonds you can't build a child

kari edwards bharat jiva: "ready to receive remains..."

george kalogeris rilke rereading hölderlin

philip nikolayev letters from aldenderry: "a midsummer's night stroll"

franz wright the raising of lazarus

erin belieu black box: "i heart your dog's head"

joseph brodsky collected poems in english, 1972-1999: "the hawk's cry in autumn"

jonathan galassi north street and other poems: "may"

stanley kunitz the collected poems of stanley kunitz: "end of summer"

robin blaser the holy forest: collected poems of robin blaser: "a bird in the house"

liu xia (tr. jennifer stern & ming di) empty chairs

wilfred owen exposure

mahogany l. browne this is the honey

diane lockward the uneaten carrots of atonement: "for the love of avocados"

peter balakian ozone journal: "here and now"

(tw: miscarriage) kathryn nuernberger rag & bone: "translations"

ailbhe ní ghearbhuigh conriocht ["werewolf"] (tr. billy ramsell)

craig arnold meditation on a grapefruit

anzhelina polonskaya (tr. andrew wachtel) to the ashes: "a few words about van gogh"

support me

#tbr #tbr list #poetry #list #june #poems #poem #chase twichell #the snow watcher #hunger for something #hester knibbe #hungerpots #jacquelyn pope #sandra simonds #you can't build a child #katie peterson #the truth is concrete #permission #john kinsella #native cut wood deflects colonial hunger #sally wen mao #the toll of the sea #may #north street #north street and other poems #jonathan galassi #peter everwine #rain #philip nikolayev #letters from aldenderry

[old-glory]

– Let’s walk, my friend, along an empty street Where frozen clementines of streetlamps hover and snow covers the distance like a sheet and all the stores have shut their doors forever. Show windows, neon glow, ditches and pipes. – It’s all so gruesome, hopeless, literal. And what do you, my friend, expect from life? – Sadness: it’s in the nature of the beautiful!” All that being quite so, we pass black walls. – What do you figure will happen to us tomorrow? A monstrous and eternal mannequin follows us with two perfect eyeballs free of sorrow. – Suppose he knows that storefront rose is dead, or his own ugliness, or the world’s fears? – He knows that there is happiness, my friend, yet you and I can’t see it for our tears.” - Boris Ryzhy, Let’s Walk, My Friend, Along an Empty Street, January 1995 (Trans. Philip Nikolayev)

#Boris Ryzhy #Poetry #Russia

[mournfulroses]

And I, with no premeditation, returned the Shelley to the shelf, unwound sublimely on the sofa, lit up a cig and shot myself.

Philip Nikolayev, from Dusk Raga: Poems; “Bohemian Blues,”

#poetry #lit #philip nikolayev #bohemian blues #quotes

[forsoothsayer]

The Art Of Forgetting by Philip Nikolayev

Last night I cooked my socks in the microwave by mistake. What to do when you’re so absent minded? As well, I have frequently refrigerated my poems in the freezer to the point of having to thaw them later, and poetry’s what emerges in defrosting. I have also lost to nature generations of galoshes, coats, scarves, umbrellas, even once an Egyptian skullcap, whose individual names I forget. The name of the czar escapes my mind on whom was meant to be my dissertation, or was it thesis. Water, all kinds of water under the all-purpose bridge. If I’ve forgotten so much via absentmindedness mostly, then how much have we forgotten as a species? One day we learn, another forget everything, including this fact. It’s possible given enough time and effort to forget anything, which’s why we like to reminisce sometimes on those even who’ve decided they don’t like us. We’ll fight for our memories, the truth as it appeared once. But to remember something we need to forget something, a different truth. My grandmother believed that if you dab any convenient spot on your body with iodine daily it will help you keep your memory in old age. Head of the Marxism-Leninism chair at the Ivanovo Energy Institute, where she taught philosophy and scientific atheism, she was the kindest soul, loved and spoiled me to distraction, and her blueberry cakes were of course the best in this world. Baptized as a child, on her retirement to a small apartment in the Crimea she read the Bible, perestroika raging all around. Everyone wrote, thought and talked of Stalin, Stalin, Stalin, Beria, Stalin. She read the Bible, both the Testaments. Thus dialectical materialism was forgotten and an ancient faith recovered. I too would like to forget a few things, keep trying, but tend to forget instead all the wrong ones, like submitting payments by the due date, the need to tie my shoestrings. Mnemosyne, and her daughters the Muses, and her grandsons the museums… Literature too is a museum, as well as Lenin’s mausoleum, which is essentially a tomb. As you must of course know I’ve forgotten the remote control on the bathroom sink where my reflection in the crooked mirror distracted me with its scowl. This is earth life, but like hailing from outer space. When my daughter was born, I spent the night with her and my wife at the hospital and went home the next day to clean the apartment. I vacuumed the floor very thoroughly, my thoughts soaring far and wide. Little did I notice that the vacuum was running in blow out mode so the condition of the floor changed hardly at all. This still makes my wife laugh and may indeed be worth remembering against all death. While stress, duress and strain, the painful neck crane and other stuff rotten are best forgotten.

#philip nikolayev #russian poetry

[0rdinarythoughts]

The great Russian poet Alexander Eremenko passed away yesterday. Here is a poem of his .

Freedom

You may plunge us in flames or in water

or apply your deformative tricks:

our essential nature won’t alter,

nor this structural shape of the lips.

You could take us apart and could then

tack us blindly together again

where we stood — and we’ll stand there again,

with a barely detectable bend.

I suppose, and why not, that you could

deftly cut up this flesh into five

parts, yet surely I too will contrive,

spitting out a good length of black blood,

to revive like a snake can revive,

flexing into an arc, the cold body

coalescing and rising again.

We are free,

we have always been free,

and as free as the air we remain.

Translated from the Russian by Philip Nikolayev

#poem #freedom

[whalespiel]

A dramatic reading of Samuel Beckett’s ‘bon bon il est un pays’

English translation by Philip Nikolayev

POEM TEXT all right all right there’s a land where forgetting where forgetting weighs gently upon worlds unnamed there the head we shush it the head is mute and one knows no but one knows nothing the song of dead mouths dies on the shore it has made its voyage there is nothing to mourn my loneliness I know it oh well I know it badly I have the time is what I tell myself I have time but what time famished bone the time of the dog of a sky incessantly paling my grain of sky of the climbing ray ocellate trembling of microns of years of darkness you want me to go from A to B I cannot I cannot come out I’m in a traceless land yes yes it’s a fine thing you’ve got there a mighty fine thing what is that ask me no more questions spiral dust of instants what is this the same the calm the love the hate the calm the calm

#spoken word #performance poetry #poetry #poem #poetry reading #dramatic reading #Samuel Beckett #whalespiel

[thomasbradyscarriet]

PHILIP NIKOLAYEV AND THE POETRY OF PERSONAL RELIGION

PHILIP NIKOLAYEV AND THE POETRY OF PERSONAL RELIGION

Radical individualism is the only dignity there is.

There are only two types of people: the conformist and the non-conformist—the drudge and the peacock—the square and the hip—the cowardly prig and the brave sensualist—the dullard and the dandy—the meddler and the artist—the ones who don’t get it, or don’t quite get it, and the ones who do.

The true artist, the truly different, the truly…

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#Philip Nikolayev

[finita-la-commedia]

well, I have frequently refrigerated my poems in the freezer to the point of having to thaw them later, and poetry’s what emerges in defrosting.

Philip Nikolayev (Russian, born 1966), from “The Art Of Forgetting” (2006)

#poetry #Russian poet #Russian poetry

[liveindiatimes]

Jeet Thayil on his new novel, The Book of Chocolate Saints - books guest writers

https://liveindiatimes.com/jeet-thayil-on-his-new-novel-the-book-of-chocolate-saints-books-guest-writers/

Jeet Thayil was born in 1959 in Kerala at his mother’s ancestral tharavad on the banks of the Muhattupuzha River. He was educated at Jesuit schools in Bombay, Hongkong, and New York, and worked as a journalist for twenty-three years before writing his first novel, Narcopolis. This interview was recorded over the course of two afternoons at the writer’s family home in Bangalore. Getting Thayil to speak was, in this interviewer’s opinion, akin to pulling teeth without anesthesia. The writer left the room several times, for long stretches, to make coffee, to answer the door, and for other mysterious and unexplained reasons. The only time he expressed any enthusiasm was when he was told that the interview was at an end.

INTERVIEWER: I’d like to start by asking whether living in India, in the midst of a multi-religious society, has had an affect on the way you look at faith. For instance, a writer brought up in Bombay will have a very different set of responses toward Islamophobia than a writer brought up in Brooklyn. I find there is a calibrated awareness of religious difference in your poetry and fiction, a response that appears to be democratic in its belligerence. Do you agree that this kind of syncretic allusiveness is a result of having been brought up in India?

THAYIL: I have no idea.

The author’s bio in your book states that you were a journalist for twenty-three years. In that case wouldn’t your style be profoundly affected by the practice and discipline of writing on deadline? What I mean to ask is: Has your background in non-fiction been a vital resource in the writing of this novel? The chapters set in New York following Sept. 11 seem to be ripped from the headlines, and there are set pieces of pure non-fiction, for instance the trial scene of Frank Roque in the courtroom in Mesa, Arizona. Would it be accurate to say that you have mixed fiction and non-fiction in a way that makes it difficult to know where one ends and the other begins?

Maybe.

What do you mean by “vengeful or bewildered or helpless nostalgia”? Is it similar to the feeling you get when you realize you had the lyrics of a song wrong all along? For example, I always thought the words of Elton John’s ‘Your Song’ were how wonderful life is alone in the world. When I realized it was in fact how wonderful life is when you’re in the world the discovery filled me with, I suppose, a kind of bewildered nostalgia. Is that what the phrase means?

Not really.

I notice also that some of the characters in your novel are real-life personalities, for instance, the poet Philip Nikolayev, and your father, the author and journalist, T.J.S.George, who are both quoted at length. How true to life are those passages? Is it a kind of fictionalized journalism, or a kind of true fiction?

I’m not sure.

Also, much of the book seems to be a thinly disguised version of the life of the poet Dom Moraes, with allusions to the painter FN Souza. I notice that you have retained the first names of Moraes’s parents, Beryl and Frank. Does this make the novel a kind of roman à cléf?

It’s certainly a possibility.

Jeet Thayil ( © BASSO CANNARSA )

Part oral history, part road movie and travel journal, part 9/11 memoir, part discovery of India, The Book of Chocolate Saints seems like an unclassifiable beast of a novel. The oral history, in particular, in which you have named the Bombay poets of the seventies, eighties, and nineties, with particular emphasis to Nissim Ezekiel, Adil Jussawalla, Arun Kolatkar, and so on—is it an attempt to present actual slices of history under the rubric of ‘A Novel’?

Yes, thank you.

Would you agree that this is an extremely literary novel? I mean there is a monologue by Goody Lol during the act of sex that ends with the words yes I said yes I will yes and of course those are the seven words with which Joyce ends Nora Bloom’s monologue in Ulysses. There are allusions to Baudelaire, Allen Ginsberg, the Hungryalists and Auden. At one point V.S. Naipaul makes a kind of cameo appearance as God, and Indira Gandhi makes a cameo, not to mention Van Gogh and Rothko and a parade of real and made-up saints. It all seems terribly literary, and art-obsessive. Didn’t you worry this would make the novel hard to sell?

Of course I did.

Could you describe the book for us?

The Book of Chocolate Saints is the story of Newton Francis Xavier, blocked poet, serial seducer of young women, reformed alcoholic (but only just), philosopher, recluse, all-round wild man and India’s greatest living painter. At the age of sixty-six, Xavier, who has been living in New York, is getting ready to return to the land of his birth to stage one final show of his work (accompanied by a mad bacchanal). As we accompany Xavier and his partner and muse Goody on their unsteady and frequently sidetracked journey from New York to New Delhi, the venue of the final show, we meet a host of memorable characters—the Bombay poets of the seventies and eighties, ‘poets who sprouted from the soil like weeds or mushrooms or carnivorous new flowers, who arrived like meteors, burned bright for a season or two and vanished without a trace’, journalists, conmen, murderers, alcoholics, addicts, artists, whores, society ladies, thugs—and are also given unforgettable (and sometimes unbearable) insights into love, madness, poetry, sex, painting, saints, death, God and the savagery that fuels all great art. Narrated in a huge variety of voices and styles, all of which blend seamlessly into a novel of remarkable accomplishment, The Book of Chocolate Saints is the sort of literary masterpiece that only comes along once in a very long time.

READ MORE: Book Review: Collected Poems by Jeet Thayil

But isn’t that your publisher’s blurb?

Yes. I doubt if I could do better. Besides, I feel I’ve said everything there is to say. It’s all in the book; I’m talked out.

Fair enough. Anything you’d like to add?

No.

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[aristotlemcdonald]

bon bon il est un pays

all right all right there’s a land where forgetting where forgetting weighs gently upon worlds unnamed there the head we shush it the head is mute and one knows no but one knows nothing the song of dead mouths dies on the shore it has made its voyage there is nothing to mourn

my loneliness I know it oh well I know it badly I have the time is what I tell myself I have time but what time famished bone the time of the dog of a sky incessantly paling my grain of sky of the climbing ray ocellate trembling of microns of years of darkness

you want me to go from A to B I cannot I cannot come out I’m in a traceless land yes yes it’s a fine thing you’ve got there a mighty fine thing what is that ask me no more questions spiral dust of instants what is this the same the calm the love the hate the calm the calm

#Samuel Beckett #Translated by Philip Nikolayev

[uglyducklingpresse]

17 Years of 6x6 Poets

#1. Edmund Berrigan, Filip Marinovich, Sheila E. Murphy, Julien Poirier, Lev Rubinstein (tr. Matvei Yankelevich), Kathrine Sowerby   #2. John M. Bennett, Joel Dailey, Arkadii Dragomoshchenko (tr. Evgeny Pavlov with Benjamin Friedlander), Michael Ford, R. Cole Heinowitz, Genya Turovskaya   #3. John Coletti, Nathaniel Farrell, Eugene Ostashevsky, Elizabeth Reddin, Cedar Sigo, Samantha Visdaate   #4. Brandon Downing, W.B. Keckler, Anna Moschovakis, Dmitri Prigov (tr. Christopher Mattison), Aaron Tieger, Sam Truitt   #5. Micah Ballard, Mariana Ruiz Firmat, Frank Lima, Beth Murray, Philip Nikolayev, Keith Waldrop   #6. Carlos Blackburn, Joe Elliot, Arielle Greenberg, Mark Lamoreux, Alicia Rabins, Lewis Warsh   #7.David Cameron, Steve Dalachinsky, Joanna Fuhrman, Jason Lynn, Tomaž Šalamun (tr. Joshua Beckman), Jacqueline Waters   #8. Nicole Andonov, Jenna Cardinale, Arielle Guy, Yuko Otomo, Guillermo Juan Parra, Karen Weiser   #9. Jon Cone, Phil Cordelli, Dorothea Lasky, Julie Ritter, Laura Sims, Erica Weitzman   #10. Ilya Bernstein, Geoffrey Detrani, Paul Killebrew, Laura Solomon, Viktor Vida (tr. Ana Božičević), Dana Ward   #11. Sue Carnahan, C.S. Carrier, Christina Clark, a collaboration by Aaron McNally and Friedrich Kerksiek, Rick Snyder, James Wagner   #12. Guy R. Beining, Jibade-Khalil Huffman, Sawako Nakayasu, Cynthia Nelson, John Surowiecki, Novica Tadić (tr. Maja Teref & Steven Teref)   #13. Matthew Gavin Frank, George Kalamaras, Ann Lauterbach, Matthew Rohrer, Evan Willner, Lynn Xu   #14. Corina Copp, Randall Leigh Kaplan, Douglas Rothschild, Fred Schmalz, Lori Shine, Prabhakar Vasan   #15. Lawrence Giffin, David Goldstein, Anne Heide, Will Hubbard, Mikhail Lermontov (tr. Jerome Rothenberg and Milos Sovak), Emma Rossi   #16. Heather Christle, Amanda Deutch, Ossian Foley, John High, Anthony Madrid, Gretchen Primack   #17. James Copeland, Lucy Ives, Megan Kaminski, Mary Millsap, Zachary Schomburg & Mathias Svalina, Kevin Varrone   #18. Guy Bennett, Rebecca Guyon, Paul Hoover, Srečko Kosovel (tr. Ana Jelnikar and Barbara Siegel Carlson), Deborah Wardlaw Pattillo, Maureen Thorson   #19. Emily Carr, Julia Cohen, Natalie Lyalin, Lee Norton, Dan Rosenberg, G.C. Waldrep   #20. Emily Anicich, Billy Cancel, Michael Nicoloff, Frances Richard, Elizabeth Robinson, M. A. Vizsolyi   #21. Michael Barron, Julie Carr, Marosa di Giorgio (tr. Jeannine Marie Pitas), Farid Matuk, Amanda Nadelberg, Sara Wintz   #22. Lily Brown, George Eklund, Chris Hosea, Aaron McCollough, Ryan Murphy, Jennifer Nelson   #23. Miloš Djurdjević (tr. Tomislav Kuzmanović), James Hart III, Geoffrey Hilsabeck, Noelle Kocot, Aeron Kopriva, Maged Zaher   #24. Bill Cassidy, Helen Dimos, Pär Hansson (tr. Jennifer Hayashida & Tim Dinan), Aaron Kunin, Kyle Schlesinger, Rebecca Wolff   #25. Sherman Alexie, Noah Eli Gordon, Marina Kaganova, Karen Lepri, Fani Papageorgiou, Roger Williams   #26. Abraham Adams, Dot Devota, William Minor, Levi Rubeck, Martha Ronk, Steve Muhs   #27. Eric Amling, Antonio Gamoneda (tr. Sara Gilmore), Gracie Leavitt. Thibault Raoult, Marthe Reed, Judah Rubin   #28. Jon Curley, Katie Fowley, Dmitry Golynko, Dan Ivec, Alejandra Pizarnik (tr. Yvette Siegert), Matt Reeck   #29. Stephanie Anderson, Kate Colby, Steffi Drewes, Hugo Margenat (tr. by Vero González), Masin Persina, Adam Tobin   #30. Jon Boisvert, Ana Martins Marques (tr. Elisa Wouk Almino), Jeffrey Joe Nelson, Denise Newman, Anzhelina Polonskaya (tr. Andrew Wachtel), Hirato Renkichi (tr. Sho Sugita)   #31. Shane Anderson, Lewis Freedman, francine j harris, Carl Schlachte, Stacy Szymaszek, Sarah Anne Wallen   #32. James D. Fuson, Lyn Hejinian, Barbara Henning, Tony Iantosca, Uroš Kotlajić (tr. Ainsley Morse), Morgan Parker   #33. Amanda Berenguer (tr. Gillian Brassil & Alex Verdolini), Jeremy Hoevenaar, Krystal Languell, Holly Melgard, Marc Paltrineri, Cat Tyc   #34. Alex Cuff, Kristen Gallagher, s. howe, Aisha Sasha John, Claudia La Rocco, Grzegorz Wróblewski (tr. Piotr Gwiazda)   #35. Ted Dodson, Judith Goldman, Anna Gurton-Wachter, Kim Hunter, Katy Lederer, Bridget Talone   #36. Anselm Berrigan, Chia-Lun Chang, Cheryl Clarke, Lisa Fishman, Vasilisk Gnedov (tr. Emilia Loseva & Danny Winkler), Sarah Wang.

#Poetry #Poets #6x6

[todayclassical]

August 13 in Music History

1655 Birth of German instrument maker Johann Christoph Denner in Leipzig. 

1692 Birth of composer Anton Simon Ignaz Praelisauer. 1704 Birth of composer Lorenzo Fago. 1717 Birth of German composer Christoph Nichelsmann. 1721 Birth of composer Francis Ireland. 1742 Handel leaves Dublin for England to start oratorio season at Covent Garden.

1784 Birth of Italian mezzo-soprano Teresa Belloc-Giorgi.  1801 Birth of English baritone Henry Phillips in Bristol.  

1817 Birth of composer Karoly Thern. 1820 Birth of English musicologist  Sir George Grove in Clapham. 1826 Birth of English organist William T. Best in Carlisle.  1831 Birth of German conductor and composer Salomon Jadassohn. 

1841 Death of German composer, conductor and cellist Bernhard Romberg. 1841 FP of Robert Schumann's Concert Fantasy for Piano and Orchestra, in Leipzig a Gewandhaus Orchestra rehearsal conducted by Felix Mendelssohn, with soloist Clara Schumann. It was revised as the first movement of his Piano Concerto in a, Op. 54. 1852 Birth of cellist Robert Hausmann in Rottleberode, Harz.  1865 Birth of American soprano Emma Eames in Shanghai, China.

1876 FP Wagner's Das Rheingold in Bayreuth complete version.  1878 Birth of composer Leonid Vladimirovich Nikolayev. 1879 Birth of English composer John Ireland in Inglewood, Bowdon,  1884 Birth of blind American violinist and composer Edwin Grasse in NYC.  1894 Birth of Russian composer Leonid Polovinkin in Kurgan.  1901 Birth of composer Ian Whyte. 1912 Birth of tenor Francesco Albanese.

1912 Birth of Spanish composer Francisco Escudero in Zarautz.  1912 Death of French composer Jules Massenet in Paris at age 70. 1913 Birth of Czech opera composer Ladislav Holobek in Prague.  1913 Birth of Russian opera composer Anatoly Vasilievitch Bogatyrev. 1916 Death of German conductor Fritz Steinbach in Munich.  1921 Birth of French conductor Louis Fremauxvin Aire-sur-la-Lys.

1926 Birth of mezzo-soprano Valentino Levko. 1929 Birth of composer Augustyn Bloch. 1930 Birth of composer Heino Jurisalu. 1930 Birth of American contralto Margareth Bence, in Kingston, NY. 1934 Birth of composer Leifur Thorarinsson

1937 Birth of American soprano Felicia Patricia Weathers in St. 

1940 Birth of mezzo-soprano Gertrude Jahn. 1942 Birth of English soprano Sheila Armstrong. 1942 Birth of English composer Philip Goddard in Harrow Weald, Middlesex. 1942 Birth of American cellist, conductor Jerome Kessler. 1943 Death of soprano Jane Osborn-Hannah. 1944 Birth of American composer David Mahler.  1946 Birth of soprano Helena Dose. 1948 Birth of American soprano Kathleen Battle in Portsmouth Ohio 1949 Birth of Scotish baritone Gordon Sandison. 1955 Death of soprano Florence Easton. 

1964 FP of Gustav Mahler's Symphony No. 10, arranged by Deryck Cooke. London Symphony conducted by Berthold Goldschmidt. 1973 FP of Thea Musgrave's Viola Concerto at a London Proms Concert. Her husband, Peter Mark was the soloist. 1976 FP of Duke Ellington's ballet Three Black Kings by the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and the Duke Ellington Orchestra conducted by Mercer Ellington. Performed posthumously at the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center in NYC. 1996 Death of American composer Louise Victoria Talma in Yaddo, NY. 1996 Death of American composer David Tudor. 

2014 Death of Dutch flutist, musicologist and recorder virtuoso Franz Bruggen.

#classicalmusic #musichistory #today in music history #todayclassical #onthisday

[theseaglassbooknookworld]

Summer Camp Challenges: Day 11 & 12

Summer Camp Challenges: Day 11 & 12

Day 11 & 12 (August session) of writing challenges as a member of the Young Writer’s Initiative summer camp!

Day 11: Element of Surprise

I love playing with the element of surprise, which is why I made this challenge exactly that! Inspired by one of my favorite poems, Bohemian Bluesby Philip Nikolayev, this challenge is all about writing to surprise your readers. So the poem will start out…

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[grolierpoetry]

Time to recount the sparrows of the air. Seated alone on an elected stair, I stare as they appear and disappear. Tonight the deck supports tremendous quiet, although the twilight is itself a riot. I’m glad I’m staying here, not at the Hyatt. My pen, eye, notes, watch, whiskey glass and hell all hang together comfortably well. Pain is my favorite resort hotel.

“Hotel” by Philip Nikolayev from Letters from Aldenderry

#poetry #poem #philip nikolayev

[thomasbradyscarriet]

ARTS & LETTERS I4 INTERNATIONAL YOUNGER POETS, PHILIP NIKOLAYEV ED. REVIEWED

ARTS & LETTERS I4 INTERNATIONAL YOUNGER POETS, PHILIP NIKOLAYEV ED. REVIEWED

Poetry today is crying out for criticism. There is hardly an honest word said about poetry since Ezra Pound said he didn’t like the Russians or Thomas Brady said he didn’t like the Red Wheel Barrow and Thomas Brady doesn’t count because that was me. Poetry is both the easiest and the most difficult thing to do. The shame of failure is two-fold: 1. Unable to do something which is easy 2. Bitter…

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