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POETRY

poems of the month

fish

vagabondage

measuring my face

ostracism

old clothes

modern iranian poems

my hero

face at the bottom of the world

perhaps (maybe)

the diogenes sequence

where to store furs

i am and am not:
      fragments of rumi

destiny and destination

the zen of no-enlightenment

the iraqi monologues

already backwards

a light in ruins

separate amputations

the sexy jihad

awaiting the barbarians

the smell of possibilities

ultimate leaves

rejoice in the dog

post-millennium maggot

the book of nothing

dispatches from the war against the world

albanian poems

french poems in honour of jean genet

the hells going on

the joy of suicide

book disease

foreground trouble

the transcendental hotel

cinema of the blind

lament of the earth mother

uranian poems

haikai by okami

haikai on the edge

black hole of your heart

jung's motel

leda and the swan

confession from belgrade

gloss on rilke's
ninth duino elegy

jewels and shit:
poems by rimbaud

villon's dialogue with his heart

vasko popa:
a shepherd of wolves ?

the rubáiyát of omar khayyám

genrikh sapgir:
an ironic mystic

the love of pierre de ronsard

imagepoem

 

TRANSLATIONS

 

BETWEEN POETRY AND PROSE

good riddance to mankind

the maxims of michel de montaigne

400 revolutionary maxims

nice men and
  suicide of an alien

anti-fairy tales

the most terrible event in history

the rich man and the leper

disgusting

art, truth and bafflement

 

SHORT STORIES

godpieces

the three bears

three albanian tales

odorous underwear

a little creation story

 

PROSE

helen's tower

extortion through e-bay

schopenhauer for muthafuckas

are doctors autistic ?

single track in the snow

never a pygmy

against money

did franco die ?

'original sin' followed by
crippled consciousness

a gay man's guide to soft-willy sex

the holosensual alternative

tiger wine

the death of poetry

the absinthe drinker

with mrs dalloway in ukraine

love  and  hell

running on emptiness

a holocaust near you

a note on the cathars

happiness

londons of the mind
& dealing death to the caspian

genocide

a muezzin from the tower of darkness

kegan and kagan

being or television

satan in the groin

womb of half-fogged mirrors

tourism and terrorism

the dog from sinope

combatting normality

shoplifting
in britain & america

this sorry scheme of things

the bektashi dervishes

a holy dog
& a dog-headed saint

fools for nothingness

death of a bestseller

vacuum of desire: a homo-erotic correspondence

a note on beards



a small town in france


 

Poems by

Andi Garwood

from


BOOK DISEASE

and

FEARFUL SYMMETRY

published 1996

 

 

THERE IS A BISCUIT ON THE GRASS

Who said there are no battlefields here ?

We dump the thoughts uncooked in
flesh on flame.
Some frantic emperors have bled
or gone.

Here below the cloud of vision
any storm will do.

We are waiting, too.

 

LAY OF THE FLOWER-WARRIORS
Are poems ever read ?

We are the brotherhood
of petal tongues and bright beast eyes
picking berries from the bearded
ground, toes naked
and hairy in must
tending words
fermenting our dreams in the ocean
breathing deep in the
bushy sweat of the forest

We have been carried by fish
through the noose of the blizzard

The wounds of word-warriors
are washed after use.

 

A LA RECHERCHE DE PAUL VERLAINE

In speechless, scandalous carousals
round my love I find breasts whose
little fingertips are food like living
fruit, and my nipples turn to
consciousness.

Alone in my electric orchard
your creamy insights come to mind
And my love of death
fits like a lascivious genie
into a green bottle.

 

Metamorphoto by Anthony Weir

 

ENTRAILS AND INK-MADNESS

Timeless festival of lying, people
trying to write their names on magic
walls of prayer: their names are false.

We whisper along soulsucking corridors
crashing into one another

Death
To
All
Who
Read
And
Write


We finger forked tongues with burning
dark and gutless flesh
And sniff depressing lines of optimism
Something's bleeding…or gushing…
The whole world is a sigh
forced out by business and religion:
these shrunken hearts
drunk on meddling
beat everyone dry.

 

BLOODY TEETH ALONG LIFE'S DINNER

The grand old men of wasted hotels
ramshackle, ill- and over-fed
Violence, sir ?
Oh, yes please.
Very good, sir.
[Sweep everything under the bed.]

 

Caldragh graveyard, county Fermanagh, Ireland

 

You cannot be smart and have a pure heart.

 

SOMEONE JUST DIED

I know many unemployed drunks.
All pick dust from their teeth
combing roses from their hair.
They meet on weekends
and squeeze cider-sweat into village ponds.
Between you and me, none
of them feels safe with a gun.

I know many employed shits.
All of them dance fully-clothed,
slipping from cracked mirrors and
shaking rats from their sleeves.
They meet on evenings and grit
slime-slicked teeth at each other.
Between you and me,
none of them looks right with a bottle.

 

TODAY I HAD A STOMACH UPSET

Lightning-ball of fire,
Time burning, sweaty sheets,
Rose-gardens washed in seagull-shit
Today I had a stomach upset
and was importuned about the noise
my hamster makes

I need a joint
I'm leaving

I have no light
Except the inner flame.

 

FORTUNE BREATH
OF AFTERNOON

Don't we shine ?
Constellations…

There were more of us before
Weird rescued spirits
drawn from a spiral star

Black and bloody jelly eye cream tongue
squeezing through the gap

a cry wakes me from the poor man's slumber

There are blind buffalo outside my window
Down there on the pavement
Two children run around laughing
with a large red see-saw
in their arms.

Children.
Don't they shine ?
Constellations….

 

SOFT SHOE SHUFFLE

Because the mortal coil
of Earth is ravelling

We reach deep into
each other's pockets
to buy the next round.

 

 

NOW

put a cork into your ear
and listen to the vineyard...

 

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