Trump's Second, Third, and Fourth Terms

I am having a hard time dealing with the post-truth environment tonight. The Russian military is at it again, hacking the 2020 election, the same actors that hacked 2016. The president tweets that he is protecting people with pre-existing conditions even as he is in court to eliminate these protections. Tonight, the constant barrage of lies and propaganda intensifies through new media outlets that outFox Fox (OAN). How easily we have adapted - no outrage, no people in the streets, everyone at home watching their six hours of repetitive hypnotic advertising, binge eating and binge watching. Honestly, I thought we would put up more of a fight. I was wrong. Welcome to Weimar.

Translation of "VOW" by Iranian Poet Mohammad Mostaghimi

Iranian poet Mohammad Mostaghimi (Rahi) has translated a number of my poems into Persian. Below is his translation of my poem "Vow." POETS WANT PEACE!

VOW
We will love like dogwood
Kiss like cranes
Die like moths
I promise

لاريسا شمايلو 2007

پيمان بهار

ما عشق خواهيم ورزيد

مثل زغال اخته

بوسه خواهيم زد

مثل درناها

خواهيم مرد

مثل پروانگان

من نويد مي‌دهم

گزاشتار: محمّد مستقيمي(راهي)

READING FROM MY NOVEL SLY BANG, Feb 5

The Poetry in Prose, the Prose in Poetry: A Reading

Wednesday, February 5, 2020, 6 p.m.

PROGRAM LOCATIONS:

Jefferson Market Library, First Floor
Avenue of the Americas at 10th Street NYC

ASL interpretation and real-time (CART) captioning available upon request. Please submit your request at least two weeks in advance by emailing accessibility@nypl.org.

Wednesday, February 5 at 6 pm

The Poetry in Prose, the Prose in Poetry:  Blurring the Lines

A Reading featuring:

Larissa Shmailo
Alan Baxter
Bonnie Walker
Dean Kostos

Presented in the first floor Willa Cather Room.  All events are free and open to the public.

OVER

Come out of the darkness about depression this holiday.

OVER

On the perfect roof, near a perfect ledge,

A small terra firma with a narrow edge,

No temporizing with last-minute balance,

No handhold, no foothold, no anchor, no ballast.

And once committed, once into the air,

No hovering, no kiting, no waiting there.

The polygonal street and the shining dark cars

Attacked at meters per second squared.

Once over, soon over: a thing done just once:

Like fireworks and New Years’ bells, fast and intense,

Quite finite, soon finished, thought long, slow begun,

And forgotten by others like the old year now done.