Scribd Logo
Upload

Welcome to Scribd!

  • The Landfill Dancers by Mary Kasimor Book Preview

    Uploaded by

    Geoffrey Gatza
    435 views14 pages
    In The Landfill Dancers, Mary Kasimor feasts and fetes us on precision in freedom and pleasure in disequilibrium via “sounds to dream” and “unspeakable/art that reflect[s] ourselves.” An organic whole of refined beauty and sophistication, these lapidary artifacts of rigorous & disciplined experimentation offer a dazzling array of delicate yet potent expansions of lyric’s intellectual, aesthetic, & emotional potential via a web of variations on Kasimor’s invented forms, crafted and turned to frameworks of implication as sharIn The Landfill Dancers, Mary Kasimor feasts and fetes us on precision in freedom and pleasure in disequilibrium via “sounds to dream” and “unspeakable/art that reflect[s] ourselves.” An organic whole of refined beauty and sophistication, these lapidary artifacts of rigorous & disciplined experimentation offer a dazzling array of delicate yet potent expansions of lyric’s intellectual, aesthetic, & emotional potential via a web of variations on Kasimor’s invented forms, crafted and turned to frameworks of implication as sharp and graceful as razor wire lace. Rich with “the sound of broken beauty,” “tight and magnificent” as a futuristic skyline of architectural masterworks, these expectation-defying constructs manage to be both whimsical and sound. Like the gleaming city-scape of an idealized future, The Landfill Dancers is populated by one perfectly executed and imaginatively liberated structure after another, adding up to a remarkable whole that is diverse yet unified, richly textured, and precise – a sharp and soaring verbal landscape to study and admire. —Susan Lewis Woven, organic typographies, project lullaby hallucinations in the library. Squeeze dioxides of anatomic losses, wounding the quiet blood of the afternoon naps, born of cotton innocence. Survival with no music, a piano plays the brain. Mary Kasimor makes a mannequin smile on a day of daffodils, of many colored techno screams, a young machine running into the forest needing creation, as bone and skin and minutes slip from the shoulder. The Landfill Dancers: I’d copy here all of those lines. This poetry’s the stuff. —Jared Schickling Monks, nuns, crows, saints, mimes, phantom fire-eaters, dogs, and "selves without a string" dance through the surreal pastoral of a postmodern world. Human and other animate bodies eat, scatter, dream, reflect, and sing in a fugue of fragmented voices. In this memorable collection, Mary Kasimor enacts an "image drama" and "performance burlesque" across every poetic line, surprising the reader with a new "species of FORM." Watch your step because The Landfill Dancers will take you where the wild is always open. —Craig Santos Perez Mary Kasimor has been most recently published in Yew Journal, Big Bridge, Certain Circuits, MadHat, The Bakery, Altered Scale, Horse Less Review, Word For/Word, Posit, and The Missing Slate. She received a Fellowship from US Poets in Mexico for the 2011 Conference. She has had several books of poetry published including Silk String Arias (BlazeVOX Books), & Cruel Red (Otoliths Books) and The Windows Hallucinate (LRL Textile Series). Book Information: · Paperback: 72 pages · Binding: Perfect-Bound · Publisher: BlazeVOX [books] · ISBN: 978-1-60964-173-3 $16 .bxkeyp and graceful as razor wire lace. Rich with “the sound of broken beauty,” “tight and magnificent” as a futuristic skyline of architectural masterworks, these expectation-defying constructs manage to be both whimsical and sound. Like the gleaming city-scape of an idealized future, The Landfill Dancers is populated by one perfectly executed and imaginatively liberated structure after another, adding up to a remarkable whole that is diverse yet unified, richly textured, and precise – a sharp and soaring verbal landscape to study and admire. —Susan Lewis Woven, organic typographies, project lullaby hallucinations in the library. Squeeze dioxides of anatomic

    Copyright

    © © All Rights Reserved

    Available Formats

    PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd

    Did you find this document useful?

    Is this content inappropriate?

    Report this Document
    In The Landfill Dancers, Mary Kasimor feasts and fetes us on precision in freedom and pleasure in disequilibrium via “sounds to dream” and “unspeakable/art that reflect[s] ourselves.” An organic whole of refined beauty and sophistication, these lapidary artifacts of rigorous & disciplined experimentation offer a dazzling array of delicate yet potent expansions of lyric’s intellectual, aesthetic, & emotional potential via a web of variations on Kasimor’s invented forms, crafted and turned to frameworks of implication as sharIn The Landfill Dancers, Mary Kasimor feasts and fetes us on precision in freedom and pleasure in disequilibrium via “sounds to dream” and “unspeakable/art that reflect[s] ourselves.” An organic whole of refined beauty and sophistication, these lapidary artifacts of rigorous & disciplined experimentation offer a dazzling array of delicate yet potent expansions of lyric’s intellectual, aesthetic, & emotional potential via a web of variations on Kasimor’s invented forms, crafted and turned to frameworks of implication as sharp and graceful as razor wire lace. Rich with “the sound of broken beauty,” “tight and magnificent” as a futuristic skyline of architectural masterworks, these expectation-defying constructs manage to be both whimsical and sound. Like the gleaming city-scape of an idealized future, The Landfill Dancers is populated by one perfectly executed and imaginatively liberated structure after another, adding up to a remarkable whole that is diverse yet unified, richly textured, and precise – a sharp and soaring verbal landscape to study and admire. —Susan Lewis Woven, organic typographies, project lullaby hallucinations in the library. Squeeze dioxides of anatomic losses, wounding the quiet blood of the afternoon naps, born of cotton innocence. Survival with no music, a piano plays the brain. Mary Kasimor makes a mannequin smile on a day of daffodils, of many colored techno screams, a young machine running into the forest needing creation, as bone and skin and minutes slip from the shoulder. The Landfill Dancers: I’d copy here all of those lines. This poetry’s the stuff. —Jared Schickling Monks, nuns, crows, saints, mimes, phantom fire-eaters, dogs, and "selves without a string" dance through the surreal pastoral of a postmodern world. Human and other animate bodies eat, scatter, dream, reflect, and sing in a fugue of fragmented voices. In this memorable collection, Mary Kasimor enacts an "image drama" and "performance burlesque" across every poetic line, surprising the reader with a new "species of FORM." Watch your step because The Landfill Dancers will take you where the wild is always open. —Craig Santos Perez Mary Kasimor has been most recently published in Yew Journal, Big Bridge, Certain Circuits, MadHat, The Bakery, Altered Scale, Horse Less Review, Word For/Word, Posit, and The Missing Slate. She received a Fellowship from US Poets in Mexico for the 2011 Conference. She has had several books of poetry published including Silk String Arias (BlazeVOX Books), & Cruel Red (Otoliths Books) and The Windows Hallucinate (LRL Textile Series). Book Information: · Paperback: 72 pages · Binding: Perfect-Bound · Publisher: BlazeVOX [books] · ISBN: 978-1-60964-173-3 $16 .bxkeyp and graceful as razor wire lace. Rich with “the sound of broken beauty,” “tight and magnificent” as a futuristic skyline of architectural masterworks, these expectation-defying constructs manage to be both whimsical and sound. Like the gleaming city-scape of an idealized future, The Landfill Dancers is populated by one perfectly executed and imaginatively liberated structure after another, adding up to a remarkable whole that is diverse yet unified, richly textured, and precise – a sharp and soaring verbal landscape to study and admire. —Susan Lewis Woven, organic typographies, project lullaby hallucinations in the library. Squeeze dioxides of anatomic

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    435 views14 pages

    The Landfill Dancers by Mary Kasimor Book Preview

    Uploaded by

    Geoffrey Gatza
    In The Landfill Dancers, Mary Kasimor feasts and fetes us on precision in freedom and pleasure in disequilibrium via “sounds to dream” and “unspeakable/art that reflect[s] ourselves.” An organic whole of refined beauty and sophistication, these lapidary artifacts of rigorous & disciplined experimentation offer a dazzling array of delicate yet potent expansions of lyric’s intellectual, aesthetic, & emotional potential via a web of variations on Kasimor’s invented forms, crafted and turned to frameworks of implication as sharIn The Landfill Dancers, Mary Kasimor feasts and fetes us on precision in freedom and pleasure in disequilibrium via “sounds to dream” and “unspeakable/art that reflect[s] ourselves.” An organic whole of refined beauty and sophistication, these lapidary artifacts of rigorous & disciplined experimentation offer a dazzling array of delicate yet potent expansions of lyric’s intellectual, aesthetic, & emotional potential via a web of variations on Kasimor’s invented forms, crafted and turned to frameworks of implication as sharp and graceful as razor wire lace. Rich with “the sound of broken beauty,” “tight and magnificent” as a futuristic skyline of architectural masterworks, these expectation-defying constructs manage to be both whimsical and sound. Like the gleaming city-scape of an idealized future, The Landfill Dancers is populated by one perfectly executed and imaginatively liberated structure after another, adding up to a remarkable whole that is diverse yet unified, richly textured, and precise – a sharp and soaring verbal landscape to study and admire. —Susan Lewis Woven, organic typographies, project lullaby hallucinations in the library. Squeeze dioxides of anatomic losses, wounding the quiet blood of the afternoon naps, born of cotton innocence. Survival with no music, a piano plays the brain. Mary Kasimor makes a mannequin smile on a day of daffodils, of many colored techno screams, a young machine running into the forest needing creation, as bone and skin and minutes slip from the shoulder. The Landfill Dancers: I’d copy here all of those lines. This poetry’s the stuff. —Jared Schickling Monks, nuns, crows, saints, mimes, phantom fire-eaters, dogs, and "selves without a string" dance through the surreal pastoral of a postmodern world. Human and other animate bodies eat, scatter, dream, reflect, and sing in a fugue of fragmented voices. In this memorable collection, Mary Kasimor enacts an "image drama" and "performance burlesque" across every poetic line, surprising the reader with a new "species of FORM." Watch your step because The Landfill Dancers will take you where the wild is always open. —Craig Santos Perez Mary Kasimor has been most recently published in Yew Journal, Big Bridge, Certain Circuits, MadHat, The Bakery, Altered Scale, Horse Less Review, Word For/Word, Posit, and The Missing Slate. She received a Fellowship from US Poets in Mexico for the 2011 Conference. She has had several books of poetry published including Silk String Arias (BlazeVOX Books), & Cruel Red (Otoliths Books) and The Windows Hallucinate (LRL Textile Series). Book Information: · Paperback: 72 pages · Binding: Perfect-Bound · Publisher: BlazeVOX [books] · ISBN: 978-1-60964-173-3 $16 .bxkeyp and graceful as razor wire lace. Rich with “the sound of broken beauty,” “tight and magnificent” as a futuristic skyline of architectural masterworks, these expectation-defying constructs manage to be both whimsical and sound. Like the gleaming city-scape of an idealized future, The Landfill Dancers is populated by one perfectly executed and imaginatively liberated structure after another, adding up to a remarkable whole that is diverse yet unified, richly textured, and precise – a sharp and soaring verbal landscape to study and admire. —Susan Lewis Woven, organic typographies, project lullaby hallucinations in the library. Squeeze dioxides of anatomic

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    of 14

    1PL LAnullLL uAnCL8S

    MA8? kASlMC8


















    8 L A Z L v C x [ 8 C C k S ]
    !"##$%&' )*+ ,&-.
    /0* %$12#3%% 2$14*-5
    by Mary kaslmor

    CopyrlghL 2014

    ubllshed by 8lazevCx [books]

    All rlghLs reserved. no parL of Lhls book may be reproduced wlLhouL
    Lhe publlsher's wrlLLen permlsslon, excepL for brlef quoLaLlons ln revlews.

    rlnLed ln Lhe unlLed SLaLes of Amerlca

    lnLerlor deslgn and LypeseLLlng by Ceoffrey CaLza
    Cover ArL: SLalrwalkers by noah saLersLrom


    llrsL LdlLlon
    lS8n: 978-1-60964-173-3
    Llbrary of Congress ConLrol number: 2014930339

    8lazevCx [books]
    131 Luclld Ave
    kenmore, n? 14217

    LdlLor[blazevox.org



    "#$%&'()* +, -)&*. %&//%) $++0'

    8lazevCx [ books ]

    blazevox.org


    21 20 19 18 17 16 13 14 13 12 01 02 03 04 03 06 07 08 09 10



    11
    #-&6 /0* 7%&8 &# 5$31/5

    marla CoreLLl's whlLe 8CnL Chlna
    wearlng A
    8LCnuL wlg and
    mermald feeL 1PL waLer
    spreads lLsell
    1Pln anoLher
    llSP of Women
    ln ACl1A1lCn
    CP S1. vaglna Lhe uoor separaLed
    you l8CM
    ?our moLher Anu Lhe PLAullnes sC8LAmed
    Murder lnulScreLlon
    kepL ?Cu dead A SubLle
    SAln1 of ulsgrace
    no one 8LAu Lhe Lrue
    narraLlve of 8ACk alley
    buLchers among
    1PL unuLAu afLer an afLernoon
    movle heaven
    MCved Lhe earLh and uuMSLers
    fllled wlLh
    Lyes and WlnCS and weddlng
    8lnCS a ModesL
    ALLemp aL coverL LSplonage
    ?our 1CLS were alnLed
    8Lu A
    marked 1PL SC1
    ?ou aLe PlS skln on
    aLL souls' uA?


    12
    %"%%$79 0$%%"431$/3&15 31 /0* %37-$-9

    l

    please submlL
    Lo explaln pure handllng plans break breeze
    pleces off
    lLlneranL plalncloLhes people
    monks and nuns and mlmes
    grab onLo wheels
    Lo move Lhe red Lruck
    performance burlesque squeezes dloxldes
    raln
    raln
    falls upon my dog
    prom cosLs more penny dalsles
    ready Lo bloom


    machlnaLlng chalrs

    ll

    l rose Lo Lhe nlghLs of plnk husLle. furLherlng Lhe sLory changes Lo
    a fully cloLhed serles of exhlblLs Lhelr blessed may selves a perfecL
    carved memory plggybacklng onLo need. whaL separaLes Lhe economy
    from Lhe counLry Lhe anxlous wheel drlves Lhe numbers. survlval wlLh
    no muslc Lhe plano plays Lhe braln a phanLom flre eaLer's word swallows
    for submlsslon purposes only. half a verslon of horse Lo where lL ends
    chaslng lLself agaln unsuccessful wlLh sounds Lo dream.


    13

    lll

    and l sLepped ouL onLo Lhe sLreeL walLlng Lo be hlL
    wanLlng more Lhan LhaL losL llfe wlLh no chance
    of wlnnlng Lhe fuLure
    or movlng forward
    pasL Lhe lnformaLlon
    l couldn'L Lell you more Lhen l moved Lhe furnlLure
    [usL Lo change places mlrror reflecLlons
    ln Lhe garden
    and whaL grew was a small name
    of a plece for peonles a fugue for ourselves
    noL [usL me
    buL all Lhe reflecLlons changlng wlLh marglns for error
    Lhe deer ln Lhe llbrary halluclnaLlons
    walled for whaL were ldenLlfled
    wlLh an x blended LogeLher wlLh Lhe shame
    of self wlLh unspeakable
    arL LhaL reflecLed ourselves lnslde and ouL
    l fell lnLo a dream

    lll

    you fell ouL of llfe llke llfe beLween borders
    where Lhe muslc felL resLless and a broken
    drum
    and a broken gulLar are spare pleces for
    Lhe wlld dog LhaL aLe Lhe hearL (alr) Lhe wlld blrd
    flylng lnLo Lhe cave Lhe house always locked
    Lhe sleep dreamed Lhe skln lefL ouL Lo
    dry Lhe days faclng Lhe deserL Lhe flowers confuslon
    dead as a sLone


    14

    lv

    l wore only a rlng and Lhe bells rang ouL.

    wlLh Lhe LasLe of blood l cleaned my hands, flLLlng Lhem lnLo a Leacup.

    made of flne bones, my face was a breeze on Lhe red flowered velns ln
    wlnLer.

    ln Lhe whlLe snow l wore Lhe whlLe sllence.

    walLlng for Llme Lo break every meanlng of exlsLence, l hung myself
    llke walls.

    l faced down my own reflecLlons.

    l dlscovered my shadow Lo flnd my paLhs openlng Lhe book.

    for lack of reflecLlon, l made myself.



    13
    :"-%5 31 5&3% ; 235/$14*

    purl & knlL
    l knoL from A lamb's MouLh
    l dellver naLure's C8uue

    SClL'S blood ln Lhe wheaL & corn
    Lylng ln uneven 8owS
    dangles A reproducLlon palnLed LA8CL

    l bloom 1WC llps
    Lhe bleedlng flnger Lhumbs
    1PL Skeln

    many hues made Cl flngers
    a bloody S1uM of sun

    purls Lnu
    no Cne sells ruLabagas

    & dlrL's Lrembllng 8ooLs
    from Lhe grave
    Cl a black L?ed Susan

    l eaL Lhe SalL
    & Lhose who eaL Lhe 8Lue
    knl1 a CauLlonA8? Lale









    16
    :%$1*/5 31 7*/+**1

    Lakes no loLus
    llghL only
    mornlng breaLh
    6:00
    am words
    splayed unhlnged
    moon drama
    desulLory Lralls of nlghL 0&%%&+ hollow

    bone dlamonds
    floaLlng 6:01
    wlnd am skln dusL
    swepL lmplanLs

    memorlzlng lonellness
    marchlng forward

    yeasL hollows honey
    sLuck ln blood planLed
    ln corners
    cloLLed rlvers
    6:13
    am soggy
    dogs & rhododendron
    blooms floaL
    frog Lalls
    compuLer chlld
    6:30
    erupLlon ls noL funded <=>?

    am bus holds molsL
    quesLlons ln mlsL
    flsLs memorabllla bounces off
    facebook lnLo edlble and lnLrlcaLe
    puzzles of LasLe
    dog nap


    17

    on small blrd planeLs
    7:00-3:00 ln
    beLween doLLed llnes squeezlng ouL
    Lhe prlces of
    fear
    flash & sadness
    spllLs carrlers of lnLelllgence
    LhoughL ls
    noL so much Lhe words
    [usL a crow
    wlLh quesLlons
    wearlng lL
    naLure balances
    on a wlng
    31 9&"- "17*$-$7%* :&53/3&1





    18
    4&"1/318 315*4/5 *$/318 56$%%

    earLh's gravlLy angles lace space absurdlLy
    and bone
    elemenLs dlagrammlng
    snalls and wasps lmage drama of
    lnsecLs eaLlng small chunks of farmland
    of famlshed eLernlLy
    from black
    holes ln whlLe lnvlslble
    fuLures alLer ego sold as
    Lhe grand canyon Lhe leLLers began aL
    blrLh and Lhe belng
    replaced a Lree
    Lhe foresL and wheaL counL knlves and
    forks a mysLery ln
    mlssed posslblllLles and Lhe bees search
    for angles Llme noLes Lo lLself
    Lhe earLh LhaL was never
    malleable and made ouL
    of llghL and once llghL
    Lhey burled Lhe flngers of Lhe body and lL dwelL
    among lL selves
    wlLhouL a sLrlng a plano a needle or Lhe spun
    darkness LhaL
    opens cupboards of flowers
    and Leacups and plaLes and
    bowls no secreLs Lo explaln no lons
    no clouds no
    sweaLers and Lhe raln poured ouL shlny skln
    lnLo Lhe wlndows
    among Lhe doors of secreLs and mercy
    depends on
    Lhe Lelllng of Lhe angle Lhe face
    when lL falls lnLo Lhe body
    burled secreLly sLarLlng Lhe llneage
    of whom we dldn'L know
    and no one was numbered and
    we named hlm wlLhouL
    an lnherlLance as we are scaLLered
    as we repeaL ourselves


    19

    lnslde Lhe sLorm clear eyes a surprlse among
    oLher ln
    Lhe sounds of Lhe blrds pourlng Lhemselves lnLo
    form LhaL same face wlLhouL a surface
    or eyes
    buL muslc flew wlLh Lhe black crows of lengLh and so
    we saL ln our chalrs holdlng
    spoons and some Lhlngs changed ln black
    coLLon mosLly
    names wlLhouL homes and nomadlc for waLer
    and Lrees and
    flaL surface sun and earLh and Lhe blood
    of meaLs anlmals Lhe frulL of Lhe womb's
    naLural sugar Lhe bables
    kepL comlng and we lefL ourselves
    Lo be sold alone before
    we sLarLed maLhemaLlcs lLself wlLhouL so much


    20
    /0* 0$12 6$4031*

    Lhe world felL slmple
    lylng on Lhe page
    Llke planeLs
    llke 8CCLSSlCnS

    & breakfasL knows marmalade
    & she
    ls noL a caL
    Lhe dog lles under slmpllclLy
    uLLerlng velveL
    & darkness

    no sLars
    Lhe broodlng sleep moves
    kln &
    8one & body
    a safe presence ln drawers
    openlng & closlng
    Lhe prlvacy Cf exhausLlon
    ln a carefully
    folded fuLure

    & Lrends falled
    ln AnoLher Lrend of
    words palnLed as
    wooden voodoo
    WlLh quesLlons of
    keeplng quleL spaces
    addlng angles
    for 24 suns unLylng knoLs
    from a body locklng ln
    a caL Lrance

    l1 feels new & she
    dressed dlfferenLly
    from Lhe oLher Lwo
    havlng Spoken beLween
    llps & Lhe hand MACPlnL


    21

    Lhe CLhers
    wove a fasL
    message LhaL faded
    aL 1PL edge
    of Lhe AfLernoon Llme
    for Lea & whlskey
    a day ln complex
    AnonymlLy feaLures
    ln blood sLalns
    & Lndlng wlLhouL dogs
    8arklng or dlshes
    washlng or nolse changlng
    8efrlgeraLors
    deaf doors




    22
    83-% 7$12

    Lwlg people who dldn'L belleve
    fall lnLo four dlmenslons Lhey
    never sLood sLralghL
    Lhey never counLed
    Lhemselves more Lhan once
    whaL exlsLs ln a zlp lock
    bag ls a pre-exlsLlng condlLlon
    Lhere are no sunny days for
    cerLalnLy 300,000 dream women
    spake ln Llny Longues formed Lhe
    flrsL glrl band Lrees see
    Lhrough songs a deplcLlon of
    fluLLerlng wlngs LapesLry of hybrld
    unlcorns and plums whaL more
    Lhan snake sklns ellxlrs do
    you wanL we packed ourselves
    exploslves no one felL beLLer
    compuLers spllled ouL
    orgasms swollen seeds for Lhe
    manufacLurlng of dogma
    fragmenLed llsL of enemles 300,000
    Lhe song on Lwo sLrlngs
    [apanese Lones ln Lhe flrsL layer
    of Lears no one crled Lhe sound
    of broken beauLy opened and
    bled onLo Lhe parklng loLs
    heads dully fall Lhud men
    crouched around flre
    women wearlng cheap fllmsy
    bodles feel a processlon of anLs
    LlghL and magnlflcenL

    You might also like