NEWSLETTER NO. 6 (January 2003)
BULLETIN NO. 6 (janvier 2003)

Clemente Padin 2003

NEW POETRY / POESIES INEDITES

This newsletter is warmly dedicated to Johanna Penelope and Yakup Naziff.

1. Latest on Annetna Nepo (in English)

A belated Happy 2003! This month’s newsletter brings together old and new threads, the playful and the serious. Clemente Padin’s graphic art at the head of this page was sent to us accompanied with a note expressing his concern about the events in Irak, the war that is currently being organised... Thomas Fortenberry’s poem, written in response to an earlier Annetna Nepo editorial, echoes some of the frustrations at being able to make sense of our world that sounds more and more like a nervous saxophonist. Dan Bucks playful poem finds its way into this space for its attempt at making order out of cacophony, and because he reminds us of the joy we can take in languages.

Annetna Nepo ii is close to going to press. We are still looking for funding to make this issue as great as possible, so if you have just two dollars to spare, please support us if you can (see our homepage). It should be released in March at the latest.

-PJU (Paris)

Greetings from diaperland. Funny how an 8 pound human can completely displace one's aura of reality...

JPW was born a healthy poem... she only cries when she's hungry.

So, here we are, JPW and I... in the waiting room of war... nothing but a handful of poems and a laptop full of hope standing between peace and destruction. Would that a poet not be the sceptic...

Let's say this about that--the State of the Union address was a shamspeech full of old info and new lies. I find it ominous when a man who wants to fight so bad won't tell you why. I appreciate more a cuckold and a black-eye... this insiduous political stuff just don't cut it. When a rich man holds a grudge, lots of poor men tend to die.

As per poetry... (alas!)

-RRW (Baltimore, MD)

1. Les Actus (en français)

Bonne année à tous! La lettre d’information contient du vieux et du nouveau, du ludique et du sérieux. La poése visuelle de Clemente Padin en tête de cette page nous a été envoyée avec quelques commentaires à propos de la guerre en Iraq qui s’organise en ce moment... Le poème de Thomas Fortenberry, écrit en réponse à un édito d’Annetna Nepo, fait écho aux frustrations qu’on peut connaître lorsqu’on essaie de comprendre ce monde qui ressemble de plus en plus à un saxophoniste nerveux. Le poème ludique de Dan Bucks se trouve ici parce qu’il essaie d’infuser du sens à la cacophonie, et il nous rappelle qu’on peut s’amuser avec les langues.

Annetna Nepo 2 va bientôt être imprimé. Nous avons toujours besoin d’argent pour faciliter ce processus. Vous pouvez nous soutenir (un don de $2 n’est pas trop peu). Si vous vous sentez généreux, faites un tour sur notre page d’accueil. Annetna Nepo 2 devrait paraître au mois de mars au plus tard.

- PJU (Paris)

2. Grand Central Station
by / de Silvia Antonia Brandon Pérez

Esperaba, con la impaciencia
que caracteriza las esperas
en estaciones de trenes desconocidos,
Grand Central inmensa en el centro

de un Manhattan turbio en la neblina,
los distintos carriles
iluminados en luz fosforecente
y el tren de mi hija en un andén incierto,

una nota en la noche envolviendo
el ruido de los trenes arrastrando
penas, maletas, pasajeros,
el violoncelo triste y un piano

alucinado en el pasillo izquierdo
de la estación enorme-
bajo una luz el hombre
acariciando notas, Gounod,

Bach, o bien Corelli,
el instrumento entre sus manos
como una espalda de mujer,
las notas en el aire sobre las paredes

borrando trenes, luces,
la historia de cualquier pasado
y dando paso a este momento
de música como principio

del universo, el verso,
muerte o vida.

3. I Find Myself Unable to Synthesize
by / de Thomas Fortenberry

I find myself unable to synthesize
these postmodern thoughts,
this neverending story
a fantasy for Barthelmean angst:

The diary of Andre Gide
begins: "at his feet,
before his table, Paris.
And to shut oneself in,
with the dream of works opus,
and not leave until the opus is finished."

It was Fall, 1889,
when his pen stroked words
from the heart of his mind
thinking he was finishing
a thought, a life, a dream
of labor realized, released,
something begun,
undertaken and understood
to be ending
even as it flourished.

But things never do
go quietly into that rage, rage --
not Flaubert's Parrot,
nor Romeo's L.A. gang war,
all just assuredly asail
as the Titanic's forlorn song
must go on and on
sinking, rising forever
after in our dreams
top o' the world, ma,
while our bejewelled oceanic hearts
sink deep back into the subconcious
memory of things past
that endlessly storied
Proust and Proust
and nothing but the truth
of Jesse James Joycean mindflows
as ancient as Odysseus
himself and his voyage
towards home.

Er, somewhere, out there
beneath the mistletoe
I was kissing a blind poet.

4. Past Present
A poem by Dan Buck

hier
herasu
hierhin
herpes
hereje
herein, herewith
hereditaria heraldica.

about .. author bios .. buy .. contact .. flyers .. links .. selected poetry .. submit .. visual poetry .. home

© ANNETNA NEPO 2002