Steve Dalachinsky
Poet/collagist Steve Dalachinsky was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of little wars. His book The Final Nite (Ugly Duckling Presse) won the PEN Oakland National Book Award. His most recent books are Fools Gold (2014 feral press), a superintendent's eyes (revised and expanded 2013 - unbearable/ autonomedia), flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015), The Invisible Ray, with artwork by Shalom Neuman, from Overpass Press, "5-COLOR ASSORTMENT" Chameleon Too from Redfox Press, and FROZEN HEATWAVE with Yuko Otomo, from Luna Bisonte Prods. His latest cd is The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014). His poem “Particle Fever” was nominated for a 2015 Pushcart Prize.
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for jack micheline
a pitched fork among songs
a star amongst stones
here’s one for
sunlight on cock’s comb
& the drunken troubadour
who pissed in his pants &
gambled away his life on an
endless train
to the
coast........
nyc 2003
Madrigal ( listening to Gesualdo w/St.Lucie )
.....a soul without a heart can feel no pain
feral
it is that part of the song
that no longer
belongs to
me
( i remember thinking “that girl must be crazy to have gone &
plucked out her
eyes” )
i felt the knave or rather
naively
a nave holding in its gaze this exquisite
beauty
so pale soft devoted to a myth
the words of the nobleman filled the space the way her eyes filled the plate
masculine feminine mediaeval voices in a medial tho complicated time
apart from her humming i thought “ she belongs in a madhouse”
yet looking at her
there was that part of me
deep within my barbaric self
where even i can’t reach
that seemed to relax
( always yearning ) i am counted among them
gesualdo that go down to the pit
killed i was dead but now i am alive dry your eyes
his wife & her lover that mosquito flies back to that fair breast
then killed what he thought to be her bastard child
yet listening to him that steals my heart away
something deep to share its happy fate i too will
within my uncivilised soul bite you as you carry away my heart
in a place i’ll never be able to touch carry away its torments too
began to believe turn your beloved eyes on me
in myths for even the sun turns his rays on the vilest mud
( i placed my hands over lucie’s ears when what i thought was a
funny little amatory was about to be sung. )
Ciao Bella
i remember the people who started Ciao Bella
the neighborhood was already changing
2 robust young women -
i know nothing of the holy grail why should i care
if 2 young rosy cheeked young women want to go skinny dipping
in a river filled with slang terms
i start my day waking from dreams of finding $10 bills stuffed in plastic recepticles
& buying rauschenberg books from 2 young blond women for $25 each
(same book but one in french the other in english)
& asking my unscrupulous constituant what they are worth
at least $1600 on the net he says each? each.
i’ll sell the french one i say he says no that may be worth more but i don’t read french
what’s the difference i don’t read english either
these books contain miraculous little bags with bits of things put in by the artist
really marvelous as far as dreams go
i cannot even imagine skinny dipping with the 2 young women that i buy them from
books filled with crackers & memories the artist’s not mine
oh but it was my dream wasn’t it?
i start my day eyes closed thinking of my next lines for the poem i’m writing with Tom
we’ve been writing it for about a year now - still romantic/ behind closed eyes/ bird voices
gathering in the morning air or there-abouts when she jumps on me
are you getting up she sings accidently slamming her knee into mine
ow get off me you fat pig that hurt ow did you call me a fat pig yes fat pig
& there went my morning
already irritated by dreams & poetry & the coming day she showers
after which we argue for about the next hour until i leave to go to the cafe
i hit the hall only to find a ticket for garbage left by the curb
a $250 ticket filled with exaggerations that i quickly sweep up & place in a shoe box
in case the landlord ever questions me
i gather the 10s from one dream
& the books from the other
i’ll show them i think
ciao bella never had all natural ingredients as far as i can remember
& that shoe repair shop that took up ½ a block 25 yrs ago
now sells cosmetics & pays 50,000 a month rent
we’re all animals that think we need to wear shoes & dreams
with their cruel crushing realities are oft times sweeter than the clumsiest kick in the knee
7, 6, & 8/01 nyc
u - boats ( for joe lobell )
“....began to concentrate more on the crash than on the loss.”
1.
beauty adorns virtue
three carat radiant cut with trillions
she still having a healthy period
me having a good shit
& growing a new tooth
yet i can’t pick things up anymore
like i used to
can’t even drop them
right
2.
a friend suggests that i don the masks of different poets
& walk around giving readings
of their work
“ladies & gentlemen, i, leopardi now give you the MOON
it’s elegance & mystery
it’s constant companionship
whilst i remember things past.”
ah, so that’s where that came from
form & meaning are like a colored pencil
tracing meaningless lines
saying nothing
all those lines i’ve forgotten
over the last 2 weeks
that my heart just assumed my head would
remember
the pain of having to dig deeper
when the glands stop producing images
chaos longing short life lived
long ...i, the old poet laureate testify to this
at life’s end
it takes me like the season’s take my garden
barring hurricane
& flood
i carry in my independent wilderness
the spontaneous generation
of freedoms
the caprice of continuous inspiration
though inspiration be quite
done
3.
he’s my age
& feels that acting will help him to produce
again
accruing new details
both crude
& cruel
sublime &
super - real
4.
oh small, abstract & pithy soul
piling up vows
like interest
like waste
like .................masks
like the useless weight of depth charges
lying torpid
on the ocean floor
utterly devoid of vanity
i am waiting to decode you
waiting to decompress
thanksgiving 11/23/00 nyc
IN THE NATURAL WORLD
in the natural world there are more than 2 paths
more than one way one reason
for our roots the way one carries one’s self into sleep
into dreams into waking
sparrows arguments gardens
equivalences songs the coming years of non-stop commitment
to eachother to friends & loved ones
the honesty of being honest earnest the poetic musical miracle of vision
in these blurred times
breathing ginkgo leaves well travelled soles
your 2 souls bringing warmth to all you touch
heads shaking in the cool shade
hung here heaven’s uniting
the sweet & bitter of both sides of shared blues dues
this ride home a home to come home to you both
life springing forth
in the natural world
all seasons uniting to bring YOU together
as ONE
in the natural world
where memory enchantment & wish
brush across the insides of your eyelids
& dissolve into all that LOVE
has given & desires of
YOU
Poet/collagist Steve Dalachinsky was born in Brooklyn after the last big war and has managed to survive lots of little wars. His book The Final Nite (Ugly Duckling Presse) won the PEN Oakland National Book Award. His most recent books are Fools Gold (2014 feral press), a superintendent's eyes (revised and expanded 2013 - unbearable/ autonomedia), flying home, a collaboration with German visual artist Sig Bang Schmidt (Paris Lit Up Press 2015), The Invisible Ray, with artwork by Shalom Neuman, from Overpass Press, "5-COLOR ASSORTMENT" Chameleon Too from Redfox Press, and FROZEN HEATWAVE with Yuko Otomo, from Luna Bisonte Prods. His latest cd is The Fallout of Dreams with Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach (Roguart 2014). His poem “Particle Fever” was nominated for a 2015 Pushcart Prize.
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