#may swenson

[hepatosaurus]

“Night Practice” by May Swenson

[ma-pi-ma]

Sotto la volta del cielo,

ricordati di camminare sempre

attraverso corridoi di nuvole,

lungo corridoi di luce solare

o attraverso alte siepi

di pioggia verde.

May Swenson

[ecool27]

I swallow the sun. 
I’m the one, the only 
one in my life. 

Oh, windless day 
within me, 
Oh, silence and sun.

May Swenson, from “I’m One,” Poetry (February 1988)

[a-wolf-at-the-door]

[meikuree]

"Distance and a Certain Light" - May Swenson 

Distance and a certain light makes anything artistic— it doesn't matter what. From an airplane, all that rigid splatter of the Bronx becomes organic, logical as web or beehive. Chunks of decayed cars in junkyards, garbage scows (nimble roaches on the Harlem), herds of stalled manure-yellow boxes on twisting reaches of rails, are punched clean and sharp as ingots in the ignition of the sun. Rubbish becomes engaging shape— you only have to get a bead on it, the right light filling the corridor of your view—a gob of spit under a microscope, fastidious in structure as a crystal. No contortion without intention, and nothing ugly. In any random, sprawling, decomposing thing is the charming string of its history—and what it will be next.

[lioninsunheart]

Little Lion Face

Little lion face I stopped to pick among the mass of thick succulent blooms, the twice streaked flanges of your silk sunwheel relaxed in wide dilation, I brought inside, placed in a vase.Milk of your shaggy stem sticky on my fingers, and your barbs hooked to my hand, sudden stings from them were sweet.Now I'm bold to touch your swollen neck, put careful lips to slick petals, snuff up gold pollen in your navel cup. Still fresh before night I leave you, dawn's appetite to renew our glide and suck. An hour ahead of sun I come to find you.You're twisted shut as a burr, neck drooped unconscious, an inert, limp bundle, a furled cocoon, your sun-streaked aureole eclipsed and dun. Strange feral flower asleep with flame-ruff wilted, all magic halted, a drink I pour, steep in the glass for your undulant stem to suck. Oh, lift your young neck, open and expand to your lover, hot light. Gold corona, widen to sky. I hold you lion in my eye sunup until night.

-May Swenson-(1913 -1989) -

[seekingstars]

The Lightning - May Swenson

[ochoislas]

PREGUNTA

Cuerpo mi alero mi alazán mi alano qué haré yo cuando caigas

Dónde dormiré cómo cabalgaré qué presa cazaré

Dónde podría ir sin mi montura rauda y afanosa cómo sabré si allá en las breñas hay trance o trofeo muerto Cuerpo mi buen perro astuto

Cómo será yacer en el cielo sin techo ni puerta y por vista el viento

Con camisa de nube cómo me cubriré

*

QUESTION

Body my house my horse my hound   what will I do when you are fallen

Where will I sleep   How will I ride   What will I hunt

Where can I go without my mount   all eager and quick   How will I know   in thicket ahead is danger or treasure   when Body my good   bright dog is dead

How will it be to lie in the sky without roof or door   and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift   how will I hide?

May Swenson

di-versión©ochoislas

[exhalereleased]

"Blue" by May Swenson

[quotation--marks]

because you believe I exist I exist I exist in your verdant garden                 you have planted me                  I am glad to grow

May Swenson, You Are

[soulmaking]

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 17

Ending Maybe there is a Me inside of me and, when I lie dying, he will crawl out. Through my toe. Green on the green rug, and then white on the wall, and then over the window sill, up the trunk of the apple tree, he will turn brown and rough and warty to match the bark. But you’ll be able to see—(who will be able to see?) his little jelly belly pulsing with the heart inside his transparent hide. And, once on the top bough, tail clinging, as well as “hands,” he’ll turn the purest blue against the sky— (say it’s a clear day, and I don’t die at night.) Maybe from there he’ll take wing—That’s it!— an ARCHAEOPTERYX! Endless, the possibilities, my little Soul, once you exit from my toe. But, Oh, looking it up, I read: “Archaeopteryx, generally considered the first bird . . . (although) closely related to certain small dinosaurs . . . could not fly.” A pain . . . Oh, I Feel a pain in my toe! —May Swenson

[poem-today]

A poem by May Swenson

Four-Word Lines

Your eyes are just like bees, and I feel like a flower. Their brown power makes a breeze go over my skin. When your lashes ride down and rise like brown bees’ legs, your pronged gaze makes my eyes gauze. I wish we were in some shade and no swarm of other eyes to know that I’m a flower breathing bare, laid open to your bees’ warm stare. I’d let you wade in me and seize with your eager brown bees’ power a sweet glistening at my core.

May Swenson (1913-1989)

[marimuntanya]

Women by May Swenson (visual poem)

[bauerntanz]

>>ALLE FARBEN FIXIEREN CHROMOSOMALE GLIEDER<<

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ALLE FARBEN FIXIEREN CHROMOSOMALE GLIEDER Werke von Diana Barbosa Gil, Stano Filko, Ryan Gander, Ana Jotta, Matt Mullican, Johanna Odersky, Tillmann Terbuyken Lingen (Ems) – Kunsthalle, Kaiserstraße 10a Eröffnung, Freitag, 10. März, 19 Uhr Sa 11. März – So 7. Mai 2023 – Di bis Fr 10-17 Uhr, Sa/so 11 – 17 Uhr Eintritt 3 Euro, ermäßigt 1,50 Euro Den Auftakt des Ausstellungsprogramms 2023 der…