Wundervölker, Monstrosität und Hässlichkeit im Mittelalter (German Edition)

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Clutching at rain-covers as they ricochet past me, the bearers are granted wide berth as I said, I fear the oblivion that accompanies their dry security. I avoid collision, and see how umbrellas bob overhead like concerned circles of motherly bats. Some passers-by support more bedraggled specimens: wire frameworks protrude, like bones from a broken wing.

Reaching stoop-safety or an overhang set forth from building's maw, umbrellas shy away and are reduced to alarming smallnesslike an albatross folding its wealthy span. Tucked away as a shame, these dewy parapluies are kept close, guarded, like a baby bird in a breast pocket. But sooner than not, they are once again summoned to bloom like toadstools, flaring up and hovering over like so many protective wet hens. Judge's Comments: This poem makes the misery and gloom of walking in a downpour seem fun by raining metaphors and playful phrases like "dewy parapluies.

But the Raleigh native has been writing for a long time. Her poems "are a reflection of my thoughts, not something I work on for an extended period. Eliot, and she's currently "enamored of Pablo Neruda. Doesn't exist unless you're on the clock Or in the NBA where dry-witted, blow-dried Smooth-talking oesophageal commentators Pronounce at the end of every quarter, half.

Or game, that time has expired. We love The sound of the horn at the half, can't Wait for play to resume. Continues to deliver these rounds Repeatingly.

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To what are we to admit. That we're bored? Are you kidding. We're on Mars! Dactylic stars run through our sabine ribs;. Days demand dark secrets. We Shiver in the quiver of love's ruin Waiting for something to arouse our Ire, to validate what little stichomythic. Bile puddles in these withered livers. The shot clock's off as the game clock Winds down. The game is lost, the High Life's Gone as the crowds head for the exits.

Themes don't get much bigger than the nature of time, yet the author of "The One We're Waiting For" handles it admirably, by rooting it in something palpable and familiar: an NBA basketball game, its orbits and ellipses mirroring the wheeling celestial bodies overhead. The poem is a spindle housing three diminishing, conceptual layers, drawing out symmetries between them: the motions of the cosmos, the motions on the court, and the universes inside of us all. In all three arenas, time is running out, but there is plenty of wonder to be had "We're on Mars!

I also enjoyed the extremities of language in this poem. Its vocabulary admits "pee" and "beer" as well as headier words like "oesophageal" and "dactylic," these moments of linguistic opacity shaking us into renewed attention. Brian Howe. Wake Forest resident James A. He eventually settled in Chicago, where he was a production supervisor for the Chicago Tribune. After he and his wife wearied of life next to Lake Michigan, they looked around, rejected other regions as "too rainy," "too far" and "too hot.

His prize-winning poem is taken from a manuscript called Vezelay , for which he is seeking publication. These days, he works for a small signage business in Raleigh and writes at home. I don't have a lot of timejust a few hours a weekso I have to write when I can. You kiss me now, dust ash off my wing. Eye , you say, as you look into mine. What do you see? At your birth something burned, consumed by the flame of your cry.

I breathe your skin. You are my air. Someone is burning leaves. And the fire loosens its hair, falls wild and dark on the flannel sheet of sky. A nightingale sings a prayer. The reader is invited to navigate this space and create verbal and visual links between immaterial presences, voids, and distant signs. Click here to see stills of this work. Wine , A delicate and silent animation. It suggests an inebriate mental state in which foreground and background blend in almost undifferentiated fashion.

The poem articulates the fleeting apparitions of the words from within themselves, as if one word would write another. Words will momentarily manifest themselves in unexpected areas on the screen, often bordering the very edge. The piece communicates as much through the verbal apparitions as it does through their carefully orchestrated evanescence. Click here to see a still. Letter , A navigational poem that presents the viewer with the image of a three-dimensional spiral jetting off the center of a two-dimensional spiral.

Both spirals are made exclusively of text. The reader is able to grab and spin this cosmic verbal image in all directions. Thus, reading becomes a process of probing the virtual object from all possible angles. The reader is also able to fly through and around the object, thus expanding reading possibilities. In "Letter" a spiraling cone made of words can be interpreted as both converging to or diverging from the flat one. Together they may evoke the creation or destruction of a star. All texts are created as if they were fragments of letters written to the same person.

However, in order to convey a particular emotional sphere, the author conflated the subject positions of grandmother, mother, and daughter into one addressee. It is not possible to distinguish to whom each fragment is addressed. The poem makes reference to moments of death and birth in the poet's family. Letter is presented here as video documentation of an interactive reading experience. Reversed Mirror , A 7-minute, single-channel digital videopoem edition of 5.

Poem of the week: A Palinode by Edmund Bolton

This work takes language into a domain of trance where the subtle dissolution and reconfiguration of verbal particles is charged with a feeling that is at once calm and tense. See ten frames of this work here. The poem is a world with 24 avatars, each a different word. Each reader, in order to read the poem, must establish his or her own presence in this textworld through a verbal avatar.

The Mind is so near itself—it cannot see, distinctly—and I have none to ask— Should you think it breathed—and had you the leisure to tell me, I should feel quick gratitude— If I make the mistake—that you dared to tell me—would give me sincerer honor—toward you— I enclose my name—asking you, if you please—Sir—to tell me what is true? Poems by Emily Dickinson. Related Content.

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More About this Poet. Region: U. After great pain, a formal feeling comes — All overgrown by cunning moss, Because I could not stop for Death — Before I got my eye put out — A Bird, came down the Walk - The Bustle in a House Come slowly — Eden! Crumbling is not an instant's Act Fame is a bee. Fame is a fickle food Fame is the one that does not stay — Forever — is composed of Nows — Glass was the Street - in Tinsel Peril How many times these low feet staggered I dwell in Possibility — I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - I know that He exists.

I like to see it lap the Miles - I never hear that one is dead I started Early — Took my Dog — I would not paint — a picture — In this short Life that only lasts an hour It sifts from Leaden Sieves - It was not Death, for I stood up, Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip. Mine - by the Right of the White Election! The Moon is distant from the Sea — The morns are meeker than they were - Much Madness is divinest Sense - The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants - My Life had stood - a Loaded Gun A narrow Fellow in the Grass A not admitting of the wound Now I knew I lost her — Of Glory not a Beam is left The Poets light but Lamps — The Props assist the House Publication — is the Auction A Route of Evanescence, Safe in their Alabaster Chambers Snow flakes.

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church — The Soul has Bandaged moments - Success is counted sweetest Surgeons must be very careful Tell all the truth but tell it slant — There is no Frigate like a Book There's a certain Slant of light, They shut me up in Prose — This World is not Conclusion To fight aloud is very brave - Wild nights - Wild nights! You left me — Sire — two Legacies — Show More.

Appeared in Poetry Magazine. Studies in Scale. Anti-Love Poems. For breakups, heartache, and unrequited love. Read More. Poems of Anxiety and Uncertainty.

Confronting and coping with unchartered terrains through poetry. Poems to integrate into your English Language Arts classroom. Queer Love Poems. LGBTQ love poetry by and for gay men, lesbians, and the queer community. Poems of Hope and Resilience.

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The words of others can help to lift us up. Gay and Lesbian Wedding Poems. Love poetry to read at a lesbian or gay wedding. Poetry and Feminism. From Poem Talk April Angel Nafis vs. From VS May From Audio Poem of the Day December Beyond Perfect-Bound. Is it time to expand our idea of the poetry book? Boys and Bridges. By Tina Kelley. From Poetry Off the Shelf March Prose from Poetry Magazine. By Kay Ryan. Detective Work. By Catherine Halley. Susan Howe on Dickinson, being a lost Modernist, and the acoustic force of every letter. Don Share vs. From VS March Druidic Difference.

By Annie Finch. Savoring the rich poetic gifts of summer. Poem Sampler. Emily Dickinson By The Editors. Demystifying one of our greatest poets. Poem Guide. By Robin Ekiss. The poet puts her vast imagination on display at the beach. Music and adolescent angst in the 18 80s. By Christina Pugh. Emily Jungmin Yoon vs. From VS September Appeared in Poetry Magazine Et Al.

ART; Of the Plight of Workers, Portraits With Evanescence - The New York Times

First Loves. From A Child's Garden of Poetry. Poem by Emily Dickinson. Read by Claire Danes and signed by Rachel, age 9. From Audio Poem of the Day February Article for Students. The Immense Intimacy, the Intimate Immensity. By Edward Hirsch.


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By Mark Ford. By Jeannie Vanasco. Meena Alexander on writing, postcolonialism, and why she never joined the circus. Kimiko Hahn vs. From VS October Learning the Epistolary Poem.

ART; Of the Plight of Workers, Portraits With Evanescence

By Hannah Brooks-Motl. Poems that serve as letters to the world. Lost at Sea. By Casey N. Why shipwrecks have engaged the poetic imagination for centuries. Minor Notes. By Kathleen Rooney. One Class, 36, Students. By Elliott Holt. The Poem as Comic Strip 2. By Gabrielle Bell. Another graphic novelist let loose in our archive. By Ruth Graham. Poetry: The iPhone App. From Poetry Off the Shelf June Download it, spin the wheel, hit the poetry jackpot.

Evanescence-My Immortal lyrics

From Poem Talk May Appeared in Poetry Magazine Specks. On brush, old doors, and other poetic materials. Appeared in Poetry Magazine Studies in Scale. Excerpts from The Gorgeous Nothings.