By Dan Raphael
This can be my experiment. many of the textual content may possibly glance bizarre, yet that's as a result of the printing now not the compression.
"dan raphael's poetry is recombinant linguistic treatment, an exploration past phrases and through language to the myriad complexity of things...raphael turns out to have absorbed his material after which we could it converse its piece via the medium of his voice...Nowhere is there a extra natural expression of the concept that shape may be the extension of content material. those poems breathe out and in with stressed depth, made but extra brilliant via the poet's urgent have to get whatever the entire approach throughout to the reader or listener. raphael takes us locations poetry hasn't ever been before." -- Charles Potts, The Temple, quantity 1, No. 2
"Dan Raphael's poetic saxaphone frequently seems like horns, bass, and drums jamming jointly improvisationally on the interwoven, gyred-up currents and cusps of this millenium changing into the next... those poems are really distinct and evocative. they're extremely smart Earth poems that face difficulties by means of exploring and through altering the character of the questions. they can be funny and immediately intensely critical. they're folksy virtually of their voice and concurrently a brand new department of excessive surrealism -- grounded in understanding and the inventive power of what is." -- James Grabill, writer of The Poem emerging Out of the Earth and status Up in Someone
"Dan Raphael is likely one of the progenitors of what I discuss with because the "real underground" of the modern poetry scene... just like the better of his contemporaries, Jake Berry or Will Alexander, Raphael takes his language into the rapidly constructing chasms of recent sci-tech terminology, whereas nonetheless protecting his stability of humor. sincerely, in interpreting his textual content, we're prior the tip of the 20 th century. we're glimpsing via a shattered kaleidoscope the socio-economic smash of the Jeffersonian perfect. "...don't admit the wear and tear, keep watch over the chaos." -- Ivan Arguelles, writer of Enigma & adaptations
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Extra resources for Molecular Jam
If you cannot see a physique half it is long gone for now, bringing the fish out in me, a percent left at the back of within the blue syrup gentle, my pine sneakers clacket this tin sky, air site visitors controllers in my entrance the teeth, glistening threads of sinuous urine too wonderful for a word to ruffle shoulders ferment molecules lengthy because the bible brewing sunspots towards my iris, the egg via my dermis with out leaving the shell, biceps hurtling at the breeze various as starlings & fenced produce luggage gauzed in exhaust. eight The Afternoon of the US isn't really lmpossible1 the US on Bicycles what's this rain metal drugs the afternoon of bicycles popping out in their cocoons falling dry onto fields of damaged bottles the inconceivable afternoon, the coruscation of friction in those hush droplets electromagnetically suspended via that unsheened wallpaper, the opposed fluorescence turning shadow into stain, nearly status with the paste of sweat inhaled, the force-feeding mitt of cathode ray mantras on & off on & off again and again, the quiescence misplaced among oil adjustments, painted leopards, clowns in thousandollar matches ripped open to grade institution lecturers, stitching tinfoil into brassieres, necessary marathons like parrots who can purely land in jungles baked barren for burgers & to maintain 3Syearold grandparents hot the clouds holiday like bells made up of previous windshields dozens of faces like undersea, by no means wanting to deep-fry back the six shields of saturated orthodoxy this hammer that unevening flesh department shops the typical habitat paintings all evening to decorate sharp at the back of tinted home windows choosing up its personal odor, spending cells like a shoefull of moldy pence, feeding clean groceries to the crisper's inner politics, legendary plumbing, an associate turns into a mate, american afternoon bicycles w/ its face packed with rice, its face a informed seed peeling into whistles of clockwork birds homing towards pressure backfire or blowout, figuring out your nutrition as far away kinfolk broadcasting a brand new light-weight power that by no means brittles, that is going all over yet away nine Emprairied from undesirable Haircut Kansas to Hungry Horse Montana the black-footed spudrats ultimately had the elements of their wallet, the sleek swirl of fetid larva swooped right into a spastic reggae jogging over the fragile gorge postponing the slender even though ceaseless regularity, a lip like a canoe too stiff to arrive the fromulous arch, cookie corpuscles, as though the rockies a snake with its personal savory time utilized yet no longer emphasised, the sprout in the lungsuck, the roar of point; from Eclectic Alabama to Zap North Dakota the place the bison worship the deep-fried carpet-legs, the earth extra interactive the following, existence at the nook, a rustic with 800 humans, the 3-story tractor a cornucopia of by-products the evening the river was once changed w/ lucite you may swim in, in armor of sunshine, a will like a rubber glove dipped in frozen nitrogen & kissed by way of bee-like neutrons indignant yet too dense to maneuver that method, beribboned in basic instructions the wind ties smoke into knots, what sounds like an incredible sneeze of blue ink is highway maps made on freshly recycled diapers: the Slst nation, the reluctant parallel, a meridian dictated via type silhouetting the sacrificial pique ravenous for visions, betrayed via muscle groups going serious, turning empty beercans into moebius strips: to stay in a city or on a highway together with your identify; to reside in a city you cannot pronounce, a city the place not anyone can see you-walking's iHegal right here, the homes formed like cows; all people falls asleep with their tvs on & the doorways unlocked whereas the nighttime streets go back the bop to biosphere 10 Bird Opened by means of the Wind in a face, the wind, a milky shawl, inhabited through gentle too busy to count number the shredded lives, the encrypted dirt messages falling at the face, plummeting via pores, a dance of natural gravity; then helper cells appear to enquire, to react, to fireside upon or look forward to the trash creditors, a flood of tears, a gang of hooded white cells wind is familiar with merely the path opposed to i am touring, microclimates created by way of warmth radiating from my cranium softened via the anger of cows, the lack of expertise of shampoo makers, hat knitters lack of ability to split warmth from proposal from mild from type.