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In Customs, Solmaz Sharif examines what it means to exist in the nowhere of the arrivals terminal, a continual series of checkpoints, officers, searches, and questionings that become a relentless experience of America.
With resignation and austerity, these poems trace a pointed indoctrination to the customs of the nation-state and the English language, and the realities they impose upon the imagination, the paces they put us through.
While Sharif critiques the culture of performed social skills and poetry itself—its foreclosures, affects, successes—she begins to write her way out to the other side of acceptability and toward freedom.
Customs is a brilliant, excoriating new collection by a poet whose unfolding works are among the groundbreaking literature of our time.
This will be the last I write of it directly, I say each time.
This is a light that lights everything and dimly.
All my waiting at this railing.
All my writing is this squint.
Solmaz Sharif is the author of a Customs and Look, which was a finalist for the National Book Award and a New York Times Notable Book. She has received a Rona Jaffe Foundation Writers’ award, a Lannan Literary Fellowship, and fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Poetry Foundation. Her poetry has appeared in Granta, the New Republic, and Poetry. She is currently the Shirley Shenker Assistant Professor of English at U.C. Berkeley. ( https://solmazsharif.com/ )
Customs: Poems
by Solmaz Sharif
86 pages
Paperback
Publisher: Graywolf Press
March 1, 2022
Language: English
Paperback: 72 pages
ISBN-10:1644450798
ISBN-13:978-1644450796
$15.99
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The Dead Soldier
(In memory of Thomas Ashe)
Where the sword has opened the way the man will follow
“Look! they came, the triumphant army!
Over yon hill see their weapons peeping!”
Still I spoke not but my wheel sent turning,
I closed my eyes for my heart was weeping,
My heart was weeping for a dead soldier.
Who is he who looks towards me ?
“’Tis no man but a gay flag flying,”
Red was his mouth and his white brow thoughtful,
Blue his eyes — how my soul is crying,
My soul is crying for a dead soldier.
“Kneel ye down, lest your eyes should dare them,
Kneel ye down and your beads be saying.”
“Lord, on their heads Thy wrath deliver,”
This is the prayer that my lips are praying,
My heart is praying for a dead soldier.
“Best cheer the path of the men victorious,
For he is dead and his blade lies broken,
His march is far where no aid can follow,
And for his people he left no token,
He left no token, the dead soldier.”
The way of the sword a man can follow,
See the young child with his gold hair gleaming.
When falls the oak must the acorn perish?
He lifts the blade and his eyes are dreaming,
He dreams the dream of the dead soldier.
THE END
Dora Maria Sigerson Shorter
(1866 – 1918)
The Dead Soldier
(In memory of Thomas Ashe)
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Lied der Einsamkeit
Sie wölbt um meine Seele Kathedralen,
Sie schäumt um mich ein brandend Meer,
Der Gosse sperrt sie sich wie eine Wehr,
Und wie ein Wall beschützt sie meine Qualen.
In ihr fühl ich die Süße abendlicher Stille,
Auf leeren Stunden blüht sie sanftes Feld,
Ihr Schoß gebiert das Wunder der geahnten Welt,
Ein stählern Schwert steilt sich metallner Wille.
Ernst Toller
(1893 – 1939)
Lied der Einsamkeit
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Wie soll man “herrlich” sein in einem Land, in dem Korruption und Unterdrückung herrschen, in dem nur überlebt, wer sich einem restriktiven Regime unterwirft?
Wie soll man diese Erfahrung überwinden, wenn darüber nicht gesprochen wird, auch nicht nach der Emigration und nicht einmal mit der eigenen Tochter?
“Was sehen sie, wenn sie mit ihren Sowjetaugen durch die Gardinen in den Hof einer ostdeutschen Stadt schauen?” fragt sich Nina, wenn sie an ihre Mutter Tatjana und deren Freundin Lena denkt, die Mitte der neunziger Jahre die Ukraine verließen, in Jena strandeten und dort noch einmal von vorne begannen.
Lenas Tochter Edi hat längst aufgehört zu fragen, sie will mit ihrer Herkunft nichts zu tun haben. Bis Lenas fünfzigster Geburtstag die vier Frauen wieder zusammenbringt und sie erkennen müssen, dass sie alle eine Geschichte teilen.
In ihrem neuen Roman erzählt Sasha Marianna Salzmann von Umbruchzeiten, von der “Fleischwolf-Zeit” der Perestroika bis ins Deutschland der Gegenwart. Sie erzählt, wie Systeme zerfallen und Menschen vom Sog der Ereignisse mitgerissen werden.
Dabei folgt sie vier Lebenswegen und spürt der unauflöslichen Verstrickung der Generationen nach, über Zeiten und Räume hinweg. Bildstark, voller Empathie und mit großer Intensität.
Sasha Marianna Salzmann ist Theaterautor:in, Essayist:in und Dramaturg:in. Für ihre Theaterstücke, die international aufgeführt werden, hat sie verschiedene Preise erhalten, zuletzt den Kunstpreis Berlin 2020. Ihr Debütroman Außer sich wurde 2017 mit dem Literaturpreis der Jürgen Ponto-Stiftung und dem Mara-Cassens-Preis ausgezeichnet und stand auf der Shortlist des Deutschen Buchpreises. Er ist in sechzehn Sprachen übersetzt. Für ihren zweiten Roman, Im Menschen muss alles herrlich sein (2021), ebenfalls für den Deutschen Buchpreis nominiert, erhielt sie den Preis der Literaturhäuser 2022 und den Hermann-Hesse-Preis 2022.
Sasha Marianna Salzmann:
Im Menschen muss alles herrlich sein
Roman
Erscheinungstermin: 10.10.2022
Broschur, 380 Seiten
ISBN: 978-3-518-47274-3
Suhrkamp taschenbuch 5274
Suhrkamp Verlag, 1. Auflage
ca. 11,8 × 19,0 × 2,8 cm
€ 13,00 (D)
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The Prisoner
All day I lie beneath the great pine tree,
Whose perfumed branches wave and shadow me.
I hear the groaning of its straining heart
As in the breeze its thin leaves meet and part
Like frantic fingers loosened and entwined;
I hear it whisper to the sighing wind,
“What of the mountain peaks, where I was born?”
As sharp tears drop I feel its falling thorn.
I see in the far clouds the wild geese fly,
Homeward once more, free, in the storm-swept sky.
Back to the land they loved, all, all, have gone,
How swift the flight by joy and hope led on.
“What of the mountain land where I was born?”
I cry, they pass, glad in the dawning morn,
Home to the moon-pale lake, the heath-clad hill,
And give no thought for one imprisoned still
All day I lie beneath the sad pine tree,
Whose groaning branches wave and shadow me,
Chained to the earth, the dark clay of the grave,
In helpless fashion feel its wild heart rave.
“Free, set free,” I hear its moaning breath,
Where liberty means naught, alas, but death
Ah, freedom is but death.
Dora Maria Sigerson Shorter
(1866 – 1918)
The Prisoner
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From New York Times bestselling author, r.h. Sin, comes a care package of two new poetry and prose collections boxed together in an elegant slipcase.
R.H. Sin is a New York Times bestselling author of poetry books.
He lives in New York with his wife, poet Samantha King Holmes, and two kids.
I Hope She Finds This
by r.h. Sin (Author)
Publisher: Andrews McMeel Publishing
Dec 13 2022
Language: English
Paperback: 360 pages
ISBN-10: 1524871133
ISBN-13: 978-1524871130
$29.49
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Ein Gefangener reicht dem Tod die Hand
Erst hörte man den Schrei der armen Kreatur.
Dann poltern Flüche durch die aufgescheuchten Gänge,
Sirenen singen die Alarmgesänge,
In allen Zellen tickt die Totenuhr.
Was trieb dich, Freund, dem Tod die Hand zu reichen?
Das Wimmern der Gepeitschten? Die geschluchzten Hungerklagen?
Die Jahre, die wie Leichenratten unsern Leib zernagen?
Die ruhelosen Schritte, die zu unsern Häuptern schleichen?
Trieb dich der stumme Hohn der leidverfilzten Wände,
Der wie ein Nachtmahr unsre Brust bedrückt?
Wir wissen’s nicht. Wir wissen nur, daß Menschenhände
Einander wehe tun. Daß keine Hilfebrücke überbrückt
Die Ströme Ich und Du. Daß wir den Weg verlieren
Im Dunkel dieses Hauses. Daß wir frieren.
Ernst Toller
(1893 – 1939)
Ein Gefangener reicht dem Tod die Hand
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Ein solches Buch hat es noch nie gegeben.
Dass die Poesie eine alte Erfindung ist, ahnen wir; aber die wenigsten von uns wären imstande, die Spur der europäischen Dichtung bis an ihre Ursprünge zurückzuverfolgen.
Sie führt weit, bis ins Zweistromland, bis zu den Arabern, den Kelten und den Sizilianern. Wer wüßte schon, daß der älteste überlieferte Dichtername einer Frau gehört?
Wer kennt noch die wilden Lieder des Archilochos, den die Griechen die Skorpionzunge nannten?
Und so weiter – über Sappho und die römischen Elegiker Catull und Properz bis zu den Iren des achten, den Hebräern des elften, den Trobadors des zwölften und den Walisern des vierzehnten Jahrhunderts.
Raoul Schrott ist 1964 in Landeck geboren. Seine bisherigen Publikationen sind: Dada 21/22 (1988); Makama (1989); Die Legenden vom Tod (1990); Rime (1991); Dada 15/25 (1992); Sub rosa (1993); Hotels (1995); Finis terrae (1995), Die Musen. Fragmente einer Sprache der Dichtung (1997) und Poesie und Physis – Grazer Poetikvorlesungen (1997).
Schrott, Raoul
Die Erfindung der Poesie
Die Andere Bibliothek u.a.
Seitenanzahl: 536
Extradrucke
Bandnummer: 154
ISBN: 9783821847702
ca. 45,00 EUR (antiquarisch)
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Sick I am and sorrowful
Sick I am and sorrowful, how can I be well again
Here, where fog and darkness are, and big guns boom all day,
Practising for evil sport? If you speak humanity,
Hatred comes into each face, and so you cease to pray.
How I dread the sound of guns, hate the bark of musketry,
Since the friends I loved are dead, all stricken by the sword.
Full of anger is my heart, full of rage and misery;
How can I grow well again, or be my peace restored?
If I were in Glenmalure, or in Enniskerry now,
Hearing of the coming spring in the pinetree’s song;
If I woke on Arran Strand, dreamt me on the cliffs of Moher,
Could I not grow gay again, should I not be strong?
If I stood with eager heart on the heights of Carrantuohill,
Beaten by the four great winds into hope and joy again,
Far above the cannons’ roar or the scream of musketry,
If I heard the four great seas, what were weariness or pain?
Were I in a little town, Ballybunion, Ballybrack,
Laughing with the children there, I would sing and dance once more,
Heard again the storm clouds roll hanging over Lugnaquilla,
Built dream castles from the sands of Killiney’s golden shore.
If I saw the wild geese fly over the dark lakes of Kerry
Or could hear the secret winds, I could kneel and pray.
But ’tis sick I am and grieving, how can I be well again
Here, where fear and sorrow are—my heart so far away?
Dora Maria Sigerson Shorter
(1866 – 1918)
Sick I am and sorrowful
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O! there are spirits of the air
O! there are spirits of the air
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees:—
Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.
With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things
Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee; but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.
And thou hast sought in starry eyes
Beams that were never meant for thine
Another’s wealth:—tame sacrifice
To a fond faith I still dost thou pine!
Still dost thou hope that greeting hands,
Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands!
Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth’s inconstancy!
Did thine own, mind afford no scope
Of love, or moving thoughts to thee!
That natural scenes or human smiles
Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.
Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled
Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;
The glory of the moon is dead;
Night’s ghosts and dreams have now departed;
Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.
This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase;—the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(1792 – 1822)
O! there are spirits of the air
1886
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A deeply moving and brilliantly idiosyncratic visual book of days by the National Book Awardwinning author of Just Kids and M Train, featuring more than 365 images and reflections that chart Smiths singular aestheticinspired by her wildly popular Instagram.
In 2018, without any plan or agenda for what might happen next, Patti Smith posted her first Instagram photo: her hand with the simple message Hello Everybody! Known for shooting with her beloved Land Camera 250, Smith started posting images from her phone including portraits of her kids, her radiator, her boots, and her Abyssinian cat, Cairo.
Followers felt an immediate affinity with these miniature windows into Smiths world, photographs of her daily coffee, the books shes reading, the graves of beloved heroes William Blake, Dylan Thomas, Sylvia Plath, Simone Weil, Albert Camus. Over time, a coherent story of a life devoted to art took shape, and more than a million followers responded to Smiths unique aesthetic in images that chart her passions, devotions, obsessions, and whims.
Original to this book are vintage photographs: anniversary pearls, a mothers keychain, and a husbands Mosrite guitar. Here, too, are photos from Smiths archives of life on and off the road, train stations, obscure cafés, a notebook always nearby. In wide-ranging yet intimate daily notations, Smith shares dispatches from her travels around the world.
With over 365 photographs taking you through a single year, A Book of Days is a new way to experience the expansive mind of the visionary poet, writer, and performer. Hopeful, elegiac, playfuland complete with an introduction by Smith that explores her documentary processA Book of Days is a timeless offering for deeply uncertain times, an inspirational map of an artists life.
Patti Smith is a writer, performer, and visual artist. She gained recognition in the 1970s for her revolutionary merging of poetry and rock. She has released twelve albums, including Horses, which has been hailed as one of the top one hundred debut albums of all time by Rolling Stone.
Smith had her first exhibit of drawings at the Gotham Book Mart in 1973 and has been represented by the Robert Miller Gallery since 1978. Her books include Just Kids, winner of the National Book Award in 2010, Wītt, Babel, Woolgathering, The Coral Sea, and Auguries of Innocence.
A Book of Days Hardcover
by Patti Smith
Language: English
Publication date: 11/15/2022
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
ISBN-10: 0593448545
ISBN-13: 978-0593448540
Pages: 400
Hardcover
$22.99
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Schwangeres Mädchen
Du schreitest wunderbar in mittaglicher Stunde,
Um Deine Brüste rauscht der reife Wind,
Ein Lichtbach über Deinen Nacken rinnt,
Der Sommer blüht auf Deinem Munde.
Du bist ein Wunderkelch der gnadenreichen
Empfängnis liebestrunkner Nacht,
Du bist von Lerchenliedern überdacht,
Und Deine Last ist köstlich ohnegleichen.
Ernst Toller
(1893 – 1939)
Schwangeres Mädchen
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