アメリカ現代詩　Quince Wharf　クインスワーフ: Poem of THOMAS FINK

Showing posts with label Poem of THOMAS FINK. Show all posts

2016/06/02

Thomas Fink Poetry Reading: Yinglish Strophies, Dented Reprise, & And Called it Milk

2016/04/12

HOW MUCH MONEY DO

I have? That's what I thought

I had

when we

started. That money that you

think you have---I couldn't

find it anywhere. I

want to know where the

money is. He made a

lot of

money once.

Evidently, money is not any

problem. He doesn't need it,

but he

wants to

use it. I spend very

little, and that's what makes

it good for me.

But I've got more than

that. They're all coming due.

What do

we do---

take our money out? Mine

may be going up too.

Then why

don't we

claim it? I was thinking

of buying two, three as

he was talking. I'm

spending the whole thing, because

I really don't do that

much, and

it's well

worth the money. I don't

like her to be so

poor. She

owes her

family a lot of money.

She'll get some--more than

she expected.

Give her

some.

I don't know how

much it's gonna cost me.

How much

is it

worth?

2012/08/31

DIAGNOSIS by Thomas Fink and Maya Diablo Mason

I have something sleepy to tell you.

Fallen carrots are feasting on the boardwalk.

Revenge:

he sheds tears to cause suffering.

The last summer has come in from the beach.

Those who want to still the sky call it restless.

A strip of gibberish.

He’s dead now.

Free as a butterfly crushed in a fist.

Indigo steps up.

Make it possible to get sky out of this indigo.

from AUTOPSY TURVY CopyrightⒸ2010 by Thomas Fink and Maya Diablo Mason
indigo direction / Wonderlane
日本語で読む　see Japanese

About Thomas Fink

2012/06/12

DENTED REPRISE Ⅱ　by　Thomas Fink

She’s a

muscular void,

a discrete, intractable ditty.

A tether of drizzled pearls

paste a gel on me

and pee on my pride;

I’d spree on your slide.

This is no season

to subdivide.

We plot to spay the bruise if we

wanna fling taboos.

Angel prose, it don’t appease thee.

Clear students,

open up your skies.

You don’t have

to scribble highbrow recipes.

from After Taxes: Cover painting by ThomasFink

2012/06/01

RED ANTS by Thomas Fink and MayaDiablo Mason

The best reflections he knew how to cultivate:

five-generation barbeque in a red, white, and

baby blue bubble, hundreds of feet underground.

Sublime panorama of heroism buttressing our

choicest department stores and truck- stops.

Yes, that war.

The one with serrated demonology.

Disgusting aftertaste.

What fathered the disgust?

Millions of ants are marching on my great

lawn toward the house that turns out to be a rental.

about Thomas Fink
日本語で読む
from AUTOPSY TURVY

2012/04/24

Glass by Thomas Fink

GLASS

Movie star frames

have no glass.

I drank water

out of the glasses

on your face

and saw your face

through a glass on the table.

How many eyeballs?

Let me see in your lenses

if you're really here.

See the hammock

up high in the trees.

I think a bird made it.

Or it's the moon.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　――from After Taxes

日本語で読む

About Thomas Fink

2012/04/10

DEPARTURE FROM A DEAD by Thomas Fink

end,

sez you,

is going

to be ex-

orbitant.

Indifference

has been felt as hostility, leading to digital canards

that trickle into more holes than major agencies

can track.But

hasn't languor-

ous coexistence without eye contact flown

in some healthy suburbs? Ex- clusion acts

have always

proven un-

American. They pleasure us with the buzz

of historical condescension. And the fresh

resurgence of

disbelief in

military

solutions

might or

might not

make in-

clusion acts

palatable

in some

swing states.

We should be

scratching for

rational self-

defense with-

out reactionary

budgets. An old-

boy imagination's

cell is not easy

to outsmart.

日本語で読む
about Thomas Fink
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 from Clarity and other poems

2012/04/09

HOME by Thomas Fink

That was a good motel,

But now we’re home.

Shut up your terribleness now

because I have a sleeping contest.

Sorry.

I can’t force you.

What kind of life?

It’s resting in the egg.

Is she dead?

Scarab beetle.

日本語はこちら

from "Gossip"

2012/03/25

SOUL FUMES by Thomas Fink and Maya Diablo Mason

Fume / Smoke / Noel Feans

　　　　　　　　Abandoned cigarette fumes.

　　　　I treat

　　　　you

　　　　much

　　　　better than

　　　　you deserve. You're

　　　　not unnoticed. Those

　　　　 imperfect souls

　　　　 who

　　　　are

　　　　not richly

　　　　rebuked will rot,

　　　　will fail to

　　　　improve. Build

　　　　ladder; banish

　　　　me to sky.