Love speaks with her eyes.
stunned me.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Guy's Opinion On Brazilians
***
My friend Victor took photo of my favorite book review of Marina Serrano, "Training Hospital," published in NEXUS . /////
Marina Serrano
Let
Training Hospital in Love, 2006.
96 pages / Poetry
$ 25
By Lorena M. Curruhinca
Serrano began his book with verses: "In a hospital a child with anencephaly live, / The strange thing is the word live." The poem ends by telling the doctor's decision not to revive the boy if he goes on strike again and the poet announces the question: "(Do you ever revive?)." It's that raw and intimate, throw the question bouncing on ourselves and make it his own.
So, Marina, becomes a poetic chronicle their way through several hospitals as a student of kinesiology. Converts that movement, that stroll through the horror and pain of patients in the testimony of someone who does not use the facility to show the tragic self-learning-foiled be hardened to the inevitability of death: the finding of lack of power in situations where no action to heal, the personal limit to death "(if there is an entity called death / and occupies a volume) ". Even with all this, Serrano's poetry comes not only about the transfer and because he shares his view of reality in a way that we do not expect an individual role establecidamente kept away and even some immunity and custom to the disease itself, but because it records its own dynamics and provides us with courage and suffering: "And the medicine man was / ate my faith." 
My friend Victor took photo of my favorite book review of Marina Serrano, "Training Hospital," published in NEXUS . /////
Marina Serrano
Let
Training Hospital in Love, 2006.
96 pages / Poetry
$ 25
By Lorena M. Curruhinca
Serrano began his book with verses: "In a hospital a child with anencephaly live, / The strange thing is the word live." The poem ends by telling the doctor's decision not to revive the boy if he goes on strike again and the poet announces the question: "(Do you ever revive?)." It's that raw and intimate, throw the question bouncing on ourselves and make it his own.
So, Marina, becomes a poetic chronicle their way through several hospitals as a student of kinesiology. Converts that movement, that stroll through the horror and pain of patients in the testimony of someone who does not use the facility to show the tragic self-learning-foiled be hardened to the inevitability of death: the finding of lack of power in situations where no action to heal, the personal limit to death "(if there is an entity called death / and occupies a volume) ". Even with all this, Serrano's poetry comes not only about the transfer and because he shares his view of reality in a way that we do not expect an individual role establecidamente kept away and even some immunity and custom to the disease itself, but because it records its own dynamics and provides us with courage and suffering: "And the medicine man was / ate my faith."
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Pioneer Dv-220v Region Unlock
I read your eyes and I can not call your name
Which version infiltrates the memory of the bodies
surly / scrupulous / constrained?
What word does the first traces of meat oozes
when packs / when Cernea storms?
Who fuels the fire of this trust word of mouth
in the fleeting breath join us?
strange thing is that I read the pupils and I can not call your name,
night detective, already dead for me
I can never tell how your voice precipitated
the best liquor to remember and incites my vigils.
chorister of each buttock, each phallus, each wound vagina
Desfondada by the violence of a Nazi America
surviving remains
persists in schools on TV in the newspapers
buildings in public private residences
in politics and politicians
in mirrors there, behind the mountain range in
mirrors here, behind the mountains.
How I can I say without offending anyone,
that only your voice that spills out of the edges of books,
always straight angles of the leaves / of books I
the disruption of simultaneity abridged weightless
anachronies of horror experience ever tied one to one
all first or all in orsay?
only on your tongue longer blindness metaphor
trials of the hinges of a homeland sought against the glass, in the distant sky.
in your language, it is also mine, I realized that the history of peoples should not
written or run once or
because the story is longer and entangled itself. Definitely
your print is the memoirist Pierre Menard,
Pierr with two Rs migrating odd end to your name.
share with you the beautiful text Luciana Mello, poet dreams from the South South , envisioned as a recognition of Roberto Bolaño, who I came to share. Immensely grateful, as always, for the opportunity to re-read between the lines of your poem.
"Pierre Menard, the trans-Andean "
For Andrea Cobas Carral, who loves like me and knows this memorioso
much Which version infiltrates the memory of the bodies
surly / scrupulous / constrained?
What word does the first traces of meat oozes
when packs / when Cernea storms?
Who fuels the fire of this trust word of mouth
in the fleeting breath join us?
strange thing is that I read the pupils and I can not call your name,
night detective, already dead for me
I can never tell how your voice precipitated
the best liquor to remember and incites my vigils.
chorister of each buttock, each phallus, each wound vagina
Desfondada by the violence of a Nazi America
surviving remains
persists in schools on TV in the newspapers
buildings in public private residences
in politics and politicians
in mirrors there, behind the mountain range in
mirrors here, behind the mountains.
How I can I say without offending anyone,
that only your voice that spills out of the edges of books,
always straight angles of the leaves / of books I
the disruption of simultaneity abridged weightless
anachronies of horror experience ever tied one to one
all first or all in orsay?
only on your tongue longer blindness metaphor
trials of the hinges of a homeland sought against the glass, in the distant sky.
in your language, it is also mine, I realized that the history of peoples should not
written or run once or
because the story is longer and entangled itself. Definitely
your print is the memoirist Pierre Menard,
Pierr with two Rs migrating odd end to your name.
Luciana Mello "Pierre Menard, the trans-Andean" in Rustle speech
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Do Laptops On Lap Affect Female Fertility
has begun!
The second self-managed publishing fair started yesterday.
Today again, the 15 to 21 pm, to Sunday 8.
Come! 
The second self-managed publishing fair started yesterday.
Today again, the 15 to 21 pm, to Sunday 8.
Come!
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