Poetry Feeds

wladyslaw-szlengel.jpg

In any case, the proliferation of both utopian and dystopian accounts of a networked future would tend to suggest that an intimation of some absolute finality has been sensed, that the aroused spirit of some telos, some end, haunts our technology.

[W]ouldn’t the apocalyptic be a transcendental condition of all discourse, of all experience even, of every mark or every trace? And the genre of writings called “apocalyptic” in the strict sense, then, would be only an example, an exemplary revelation of this transcendental structure.

Jacques Derrida, “Of A Newly Arisen Apocalyptic Tone”

____________

TELEPHONE

With my heart broken, and sick,
with my thoughts on the other side
I was sitting one evening
next to the telephone–

And suddenly I realize: my God–
there is actually no one to call,
in nineteen thirty-nine
I went on a different road,

Our ways have parted,
friendships sunk to the bottom
and now, well … there is no one
I can telephone.

Wladyslaw Szlengel [from Chicago Review]

___________

from flashes

Yes it is later and on the receiver you say what is that noise.
That is what we used to call heaven shooting its gun at me shot shot
that’s the sin of being here of thinking this is the only location
that’s for not watering the flowers for being wasteful in the shower.

Jennifer Firestone [from flashes]

___________

And a link to the most recent MiPOesias Reading, hosted mostly by Shanna Compton, readings by Janet Holmes, Kate Greenstreet, and Justin Marks. Oh, and a lovely write-up by Evie Shockely to boot!

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