Ghost your shoes look good next to mine while it’s raining outside & I don’t need a picture other than this to imply our informal history, just the synchronicity of those personal possessions & the music, perhaps, in my room, which comes out of no electric device of any kind (unless you count that smile … Continue reading Ghost
BIG CITY CENTRES, AIRPORTS, YOUR EYES (& OTHER PLACES I GET LOST IN) I This wolf town is perfect for me its dirty cinematic edges & violent singsong it kills with alacrity & I will dominate every inch of the cage my fur & my nails & my blood & my teeth ecstatic for fight … Continue reading BIG CITY CENTRES, AIRPORTS, YOUR EYES & OTHER PLACES I GET LOST IN
New poem and I've got the husky voice due to a summer cold so decided to take advantage of it and record. Kept the background noise in because I like it. Probably sounds better on earphones. Alekhine is pronounced the way he allegedly preferred his surname pronounced. Yes, I did a bit of research on … Continue reading Two and a Half Lions
So, today I saw this on my publisher's website: Please... Let me not wake up yet! Side notes: 1. Evident surprised expression despite staged photo. Terrible. 2. I carry my groceries in the bags under my eyes, yep. 3. RIP glorious beard; all hail the ol' goatee. 4. Dirty floor - I'm writing, I'm excused. … Continue reading #1?!
(This post is about a mention of my book on Greek TV. My apologies, English reader; I should figure out a separate language setup for my site at some point.) Τηλεοπτική αναφορά στον Γιγαντοκυνηγό έγινε στην εκπομπή ΣΤΑΣΗ ΕΡΤ. Καλεσμένος στην εκπομπή ήταν ο συγγραφέας και ποιητής Γιάννης Καλπούζος, για να μιλήσει για το βιβλίο του Κάποιοι δεν ξεχνούν … Continue reading Γιγαντοκυνηγός στην ΣΤΑΣΗ ΕΡΤ
(In case you can't read Greek but are still curious, here's a version of this post in English.) Ο ΓΙΓΑΝΤΟΚΥΝΗΓΟΣ Είμαι πολύ χαρούμενος που το πρώτο μου βιβλίο με τίτλο Ο Γιγαντοκυνηγός (για παιδιά από ηλικίας 8 ετών… και χωρίς όριο προς τα πάνω) κυκλοφορεί από τις εκδόσεις Πατάκη και πλέον βρίσκεται στα βιβλιοπωλεία. Ευχαριστώ την … Continue reading Ο Γιγαντοκυνηγός
(This post is about my first book which was just published in Greece. It's currently available only in Greek; more news about it in English to follow. However, if you're curious, by all means read on. Για Ελληνικά, κάνε κλικ εδώ.) THE GIANT HUNTER Colour me ecstatic as my first book titled The Giant Hunter - Ο Γιγαντοκυνηγός, … Continue reading The Giant Hunter
Μετρονομικό Τις νύχτες χορεύει μέσα μου ο κεραυνός. Ηλεκτρικός πολτός διατρέχει τις φλέβες. Σκυλιά ντυμένα νυφικά μαυλίζουν το νου μου, κλαρίνα στήνουν και βιολιά στους γκρεμούς της σελήνης, της ψυχής ο δαίμονας γυρεύει να με δαμάσει. Αμά δε σκιάζεται λύκος τη μοναξιά του. Γρικά ο ερημίτης πως … Continue reading Μετρονομικό
Friend randomly sketched my face on a note. I'm vain enough to post it. Real version for comparison purposes. Disapproving expression due to caricature's preternaturally big ears. What the fuck, Ben - I'm not an elephant. In other who-cares 'news'. Poem to follow later tonight. But in Greek. Currently on minor edits.
? ? ? What's going on?! Something's cooking in the Melicertian corner of the world... What is this?! Is it shaped like... a book cover?! (On which Dimitris shamelessly pasted question marks to create mystery?!) Who is that short, angry guy with the net?! And who, or what, is he hunting?! And why?! Wait... Is … Continue reading ???
Ukrainian artist and friend of mine Oleksandr Ivanchenko recently (and most kindly) asked me to participate in one of his photography projects about Londoners in their habitual spaces. In my case, it had to be the desk. And books, I guess, given that my socks are of no particular interest and I possess no objects other … Continue reading Writershoot
The collage adventures continue... Individual elements not of importance in this one. What Sunfelt Dreams She Had (Click for full size)
I'm dabbling in collage. Individual elements: —80s black and white TV set —Still from Rocky Marciano's meeting with Jersey Joe Walcott for the title of World Heavyweight Champion, September 23, 1952 —Painting of the fire at Sultan Bayezid, Istanbul, 1633 —Statue at Cimitero delle Porte Sante in Firenze, Italy Heard Your Voice But It Was The … Continue reading Heard Your Voice But It Was The Radio
Dog Dream With the sceptre of my eyes I govern the horizon. I open my eyes, it dawns. I close my eyes, it nights. I govern nothing but my own thought and that is one battle I will eventually lose. Ιn my apartment dance the winds and the beaufort, at the table I sit gambling … Continue reading Dog Dream
ENNIA ΑΠΟΠΕΙΡΕΣ ΓΙΑ ΚΑΘΑΡΟ ΟΥΡΑΝΟ ΚΑΙ ΜΙΑ ΦΩΤΑΨΙΑ I Σβήσαν τα μάτια τ’ ουρανού, των σιδηροδρόμων ο πυρετός κόπασε, κι όσα αγρίμια ανεμοδέρνονταν στις κόγχες της πόλης τα σκέπασε μαύρο χιόνι. Έστερξε μονάχος ο κεραυνός να σταυρώνεται φυλακισμένος σε κασετίνα ξύλινη μαθητική, εμφιαλωμένος πόνος. Tὶς οἶδε γιατί … Continue reading ENNIA ΑΠΟΠΕΙΡΕΣ ΓΙΑ ΚΑΘΑΡΟ ΟΥΡΑΝΟ ΚΑΙ ΜΙΑ ΦΩΤΑΨΙΑ (♬)
In the biting morning I live in exhaust pipes; their thrum is home my throat is dry I ate a church some time ago. Am I your night sun -everybody treasures a mountain- and the hunchback timber yard worker gazing at a Surrey seagull (I really saw that) is a hundred times more eloquent than … Continue reading Timekeeping
Your mouth is ornamental when you don’t use it for kissing. * Your time came and went already. The rest of your life is going to be a repetition of emptiness, occasional bright moments here and there reminding that you’re dead. * It gets phenomenally loud when you’re silent. * This world’s epiphanies have nothing … Continue reading Things I said to you and things you never told me
those soundproof mornings that you’re born deaf, and alone in Paradise serving your sentence; the summer is still, and faceless cars go by who knows what imaginal cargo they carry, these awkward machines; whale skins with all the air sucked out of them, or masts that used to be the legs of stiltwalkers the stereophonics … Continue reading Temperature
It occurred to me after recording this earlier that I actually never recorded what is possibly the best thing I’ve written and will write. (Arguable point, given the subjectivity of one’s perspective and genre and all, but it’s been four years or so since this poem and I honestly can’t imagine anything I’ve written since … Continue reading Three Love Poems & a Song of Limerence (♬)
Note: Recorded this because I read the poem in a specific way and that seemed important. Arrogant & Profane / Your Cultural Manifesto / 21stC Ode / 61 / No solutions I live in a shit city in a shit country on a shit continent on a shit planet; I eat shit food and drink shit … Continue reading Arrogant & Profane / Your Cultural Manifesto / 21stC Ode / 61 / No solutions
I need a chemical change, some sort of alchemical miracle to make me politically smaller, urgently a nomad of your palmistry by which I mean: sleeping in the infinite desert of your hand. (There’s got to be something deeply wrong with you if you wake up and death isn’t the first thing to cross your … Continue reading The Perfections of Her Face
Passed my VIVA. May have also inadvertently obtained the most glorious sunglasses in the universe.
Say yes! goddammit. The mirage is real. * Poaching the small hours the laptop’s glow, the cursor’s death I’ve come here to breathe and write and I’m all out of breath; holding you responsible for the increase of hospital bed mentions in my poems. * We meet one night outside that busy bar on Orion’s belt … Continue reading The Mirage is Real
The other day I woke up at random around midnight and ended up absentmindedly browsing /b/ and /lit/ when the idea occurred that I could cut out snippets of conversation and merge them into a uniform poetic context of sorts. I tried it for fun (I lead an incredibly exciting life, infused with adventure) and although this kind … Continue reading Midnight Radio
Apparently, photographer friends can be useful. Though to be honest, Ashley, I still don't see the point of the fucking stickers.
Θα ‘θελα να ζω στη σοφίτα παρακμιακού τζαζ μπαρ στο Σικάγο, να καλημερίζω τις πόρνες μεσημεριάτικα με ένρινα χελόου και να πίνω ουίσκι με ξεβρασμένους μπλουζίστες της σειράς, να κοιμάμαι σε σωλήνα σαξόφωνου (ορειχάλκινος) Πιο εύκολα πουλάς την ψυχή σου στο διάβολο παρά γράφεις για τ’ ανθρώπινα (σκόνη) Θέλει πείσμα τυρρανικό να αγαπάς την ευτυχία· … Continue reading Εξωτικό
…for birds at the edge of the sky. — Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said Esber), Song Not everything unlocks easy as a phone or a door, or a heart, or a bank vault and many of us don’t have bank vaults anyway but she burgles with a smile or carefully acrobatic words, I guess; Note to Manifoldness … Continue reading For Meteorographers
Açınca gözlerimi ipe çekilmiş güneşler varsın — Edip Cansever, Gökanlam X I will not wait redundant dogmoon grating Time in circles, hungry for words. Fire understands fire only. Here grows a gigantic morning like a ship spelled by Xul Solar that other ocean is me with veins blue & severing the evening with a knife’s voice … Continue reading The Opposite of Time
This short has stayed with me for a number of years, almost entirely unchanged save for the ending, which refused to cooperate despite a dozen versions I tried my hand at. This one, eventually, works. You and Me and the Limerents Melisse and I had this game: every night, an hour or so before going … Continue reading You and Me and the Limerents
Goals: Sign first own book contract before turning 21: X* Sign first own book contract before turning 22: X Sign first own book contract before turning 23: X Sign first own book contract before turning 24: X Sign first own book contract before turning 25: X Sign first own book contract before turning 26: X … Continue reading ”James Caroon was a Giant hunter by profession.”
day long it rained on the sun of my sobriety; full of tame beasts the night’s basket I rearranged— my words in order & the great salt mine giving, always, as a Gatling merciless the hammer on Time’s face and merciless the voices of the condemned to live, but to live truthfully when and who … Continue reading Sevimli
at the biggest restaurants of the world I meet you forever rolling fags in the back alley and at the funeral rites of the sky daily preying; in textbooks, farm fermentories, and old sad vitrines eyes fastened to the clouds, lips vessels pinned (an exposition of Saintness) as if escaping childhood still, your black hair … Continue reading At the Biggest Restaurants of the World I Meet You Forever
[…] to charm motorways […] — J. G. Ballard, What I Believe today you opened like sepals open looks a bustle of controversy choreographing continents (how can someone so heavy, fat with love be so light on their feet) so I told you about my secret daughter. We may even colonize ourselves— then with the … Continue reading Conversations with the Cat
we won’t ever belong to this rude life; hadn’t you turned to silence my sovereignty that era on that balcony in that dark, maybe; this contract, contact, ventifact couldn’t arrive early enough now; I could see the whole picture. I could see the whole picture. Most people couldn’t. — Ed Snowden, Five Hours with Edward … Continue reading Don’t Bang the Drum
I'm dying I've got a cold so I'm taking drama to a whole new level taking full advantage of the husky voice. Previously published, full text here.
sure Callimachus and slender musekeeping but that anyone could bake such potent verse begs for breathing in the stratosphere or like an almacantar locked in on a churchful of planets I’m overwintering & getting on with my own megalomaniac ant business caravanseraid by your tongue bumps can’t for the life of me figure the lyrics to Magnetic … Continue reading Dareful
we get into trouble all the time, you and I like a telescope angry at the sky and its crowdedness, you pose demands as if any god didn’t believe in a bigger god. I already belong to so many smallnesses & love them, over you and despite. you make the most desperate beggar of all … Continue reading Hopeful
This is a story about a man who jumped in the river. Here’s how it happened. A man –not him we just mentioned but another– was rushing out of London Bridge station late one Saturday afternoon. Crowded madness as usual. There was a William Hill under the train bridge but he didn’t feel like a gamble. He … Continue reading The Lighter
no astraphobic reaction to eyes, no Suzie Q’s, intimacy with the floor & ugly pugilism I alone determine when the universe magics up— and Joyce tells me nil in 942 pages and my words aren’t concussed and it feels vernal(!) in August. So I don’t tell you I love the weather about you. At dawn, … Continue reading Poem to the Girl in the Library