differx is now starting a new (irregular & anarchic)
hosting activity through differxhost :
the first artists are John Martone and Biagio Cepollaro
http://www.scribd.com/differxhost
Solaris
(bilingual edition: spanish and english)
by Romina Freschi
SolariS is the title of a novel by polish Stanislav Lem, it also is the title of a film by russian Andrei Tarkovsky and now of a series of poems by argentine Romina Freschi.
Humanity plays along slow, softly between its extremes and possibilities, afections and defects, subjectivity and objectivity, sensation and thought, and the crash into the unknown. We use to think that the unknown is beyond earth, in cosmos, however, where science ficcion, psycology and surrealism can come together is in that the unknown lies within every human being, in their chances of choice and in their concrete choices. Here form oposes to rigidity, searches for the hybrid and the most particular and extreme material circumstance, and, at the same time, it is a torrent, this writing fills with images and stars.
The sea of Solaris is the liquid of human soul, its mimoids and manifestations, the temporary yet material afections, work, passions. Images are built then, as if they were growing in that sea, inconsistent in their syntax, party of sound, sparking, partly.
Victoria González, pájarosló ed.
not even weeds in the ocean, oh yes, the disaster
nuptials that twinkle, sway, unthread
what comes out of, what becomes extra
wakens over the pledge
and wheat bread:
the offering
the marital state
some of the incense love
all that is sensed is intense
a mouthful of asthma
gladness with a loud crash
I get dizzy
some of the conscription chases me
to be born later or to be born too much
it all anchors to me absurd in the past
a layer sustains me ...
Romina Freschi
1974, Bs.As. MA and Literature professor (UBA) She published the books redondel, Estremezcales, Petróleo, eL- pE- Yo, and the chapbbooks Soleros, Incrustaciones en confite, Villa Ventana and 3/3/3. She was part of group ZR, space Cabaret Voltaire and she published the collection Arte Plegable. Now she carries the project Living de la Poesía, directs the review Plebella and participates in poetry band María Antonieta. She coordinates literary workshops and the site pajaros locos. Parts of Solaris were published in her blog freschi.blogspot.com (spanish) and in the United Kingdom in Shearsman Magazine(english) .
watch here video of performance (bad image but good sound)
To purchase or for further information
Black Lodge Press releases “Map of the Second Person,” a chapbook by Jefferson Navicky: a hybrid of poetry and prose, narrative arc and singularity, visual art, literature, and a chair.
The wind has started pointing again: pieces left
over, sharp bits, ticks of habit you continually
ignore. Talk suspicious—when do words stop
maturing and begin to rot? When does the
pronoun fail to be you?
Ashen claws hook, can you shake free these
holdings? Can you make haste slowly,
anonymously?
Walking is always crushing to the ear.
Navicky says of the text: I like to think about confusion a lot. In Map of the Second Person I suspended the reader in not-knowing, a gray area between certainty and doubt. I try to place my writing as securely in this place as possible, though even as I write the word 'securely' I realize this place is anything but secure.
If an image is the eye
momentarily
between confusions,
By its nature, the terrain is confusing. It will not yield itself to easy, straightforward answers, but it is a place where the mind can exist, and at times, a place where the mind can rest, in the svaroopa yoga sense: when you still your mind, you abide in your own essence and experience svaroopa. In Map of the Second Person, resting is a place of memory. Nothing to be done about the memories, even if emotions arise from them, but to just let the memories float through the mind's gray area that exists between images. How then does one continue?
you walked out of your room at the end of the
hall, turned left, past the wallace stevens poem
that told you one must have a mind of winter,
past miles
roosevelt school of music, past dried seaweed,
past bushy eyebrows, past pitch pipes, past the
french language, past
violin, past baseball, past mass media, past some
kid’s mother from texas, and you emerged into
the upper lobby where you found yourself on the
top of the stairs, wondering.
To me, this relates to a life of suffering, and how do I engage with the suffering both within me and around me, how do I acknowledge it, feel compassion for it, and make efforts to lessen it?
To speak implies a cut, not treason but a less violent
act like slipping the knife in because the fist won’t fit.
[…]
A child, a clashing pattern, an age young and
ordinary, each image a nucleus, a city in crisis, a
sunday morning in fall on the fourth floor among
so many fourth floors so many falling sundays.
[…]
Your tongue pressed you into some other kind ofThis sounds very bodhisattva, which it is, but in an easy and practical sense. It is a very simple everyday practice of making the most courageous choice. But sometimes that action cannot occur. And instead one is caught, possibly in a time-stop or a memory loop, but at that point one cannot continue in the presupposed progression. Movement becomes an impossibility and the question becomes, what now? I offer Map of the Second Person as a gift to others to counteract suffering. -JN