Sherwin Bitsui's Blog, page 2

What does it mean to loose a person from idea. One idea, ...

What does it mean to loose a person from idea. One idea, dia, and let night fill the silence of his mouth afterwards? What canopy can cover the house as its windows shatter? When to say: no truth but in things, only things I can hold onto, this clasp my hand sweats around, this feeling of an idea somewhat luminous behind the scrim of feeling.

I wonder, if I have 5 seconds to spare anymore.Read more at http://bitsui.com[image error]

Dii JinhThe __________ switched the cards, tore up the o...

Dii Jinh

The __________ switched the cards,
tore up the old faces,
said: the bare earth is moist with dew,
clip the ears off these gates,
let them hear only their stomachs
grunt and heave now,
let them shriek from their hinges
behind you.Read more at http://bitsui.com[image error]

There is a story unfolding and I have only to wait a bit ...

There is a story unfolding and I have only to wait a bit longer to welcome it again. I am thankful for all the life everywhere, thankful that I've been able to sense the old in the very familiar, the continuous ebb and flow of this journey. Sometimes I reminisce about things of the near past, how troublesome the world appeared to a few of us. We just had words with us, nothing more. Then I think to myself, get over it, move on, onto new things, don't let that nail of the past keep you from openi

Untitled the book forth then bring it to the trough. I sp...

Untitled the book forth then bring it to the trough. I speak its name under rough bark. The tires roll on without me. This song is singing and the song knows no field to sleep in. I've been following it for years now, and finally a pause before the eject button is pressed and I'm a flying back into my body's nose dive. Where are the valleys I stabbed with ladders? Where is the sky that has slowed to a crawl, rocks pushed into it's pocket to sink in some ocean or another? I'm done with it and it

Upon reading the latest incarnation of my poems, I am com...

[image error]

Upon reading the latest incarnation of my poems, I am compelled to drive northward, back to my reservation to see how the poem echoes in that desert. I want to find a place where the red rocks will face the sun without looking away or squinting. Perhaps in a cornfield. Just someplace, I can feel connected again, to my roots if you will, to hear the blue birds rustle in the juniper trees, the coyotes howling in the distance under the clear blue night, sheep bells clanking and muted by wool in the

Cicadas. The drone of summer in Tucson, 100+ degrees outs...

Cicadas.

The drone of summer in Tucson, 100+ degrees outside my duplex. Writing again. Updating CV, feeling like I just landed from outer space and this body is brand new to me. I am thankful for all the places I've been, the great poets I've read alongside, the vistas and valleys I've seen from the plane window. But for now, I am enjoying the serenity of being trapped indoors with books to read, music to download, and a book length poem to finish. I put my hands up in front of me wondering if I

These have been strange days. . . I feel somewhat altered...

These have been strange days. . . I feel somewhat altered today. As a poet, I always feel that's its difficult to stop my thinking from thinking. Somewhere in the moment when a thought has reached beyond words, I build an image to try to capture it's feeling. It's more difficult than it seems, and sometimes, I wish there was a handbook for poets that warns of building fires too close to home. Finally, after five years of consistent travel and reading appearances, the poems are beginning to arri

These early mornings become mist. A bridge empties it's p...

These early mornings become mist. A bridge empties it's people over this screen and nowhere is to be found that hint of the closure of the poem I've been leashed to for the last many years. I speak of it only to see it magnified and do not know if the edges have sharpened or softened.

I leave you with this: I miss poetry. I miss the way it use to tunnel under my skin and lay its eggs on the periphery: a nail balancing on the edge of my tongue. I do not miss the disasters that ensue with such poe