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About this poet

Julian Talamantez Brolaski is the author of Advice for Lovers (City Lights Publishers, 2012) and gowanus atropolis (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2011), and coeditor of NO GENDER: Reflections on the Life & Work of kari edwards (Litmus Press, 2009). Julian is a poet and musician who lives in Queens, New York.

Amorosa Erranza

Cosi mi trovo in amorosa erranza.
(Thus I find myself an errancer in love.)
—Dante

All my dark hardiments begin, so furious and so fell. All disarrayed in love I began to speak of Mariners. And when I saw the grove divided into double parts, which ways I took, diversely can I tell but can no ways devise. So in I enterred was, and marvelled at the wandering way. Although my leman, I am in wondrous doubt—tell me, ERE I DIE OF LOVE—which way to turn? Your hands are like pansies your teeth are like tombstones, and all along the way even the labyrinths shuddered. Where can I go to powder my nose safely? Your address makes me feel intimate, yet I undergo the strangest beguilements, I become incredulous.

From Advice for Lovers by Julian T. Brolaski. Copyright © 2012 by Julian T. Brolaski. Reprinted with permission of City Lights Books. All rights reserved.

From Advice for Lovers by Julian T. Brolaski. Copyright © 2012 by Julian T. Brolaski. Reprinted with permission of City Lights Books. All rights reserved.

Julian Talamantez Brolaski

Julian Talamantez Brolaski

Julian Talamantez Brolaski is the author of Advice for Lovers (City Lights Publishers, 2012) and gowanus atropolis (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2011), and coeditor of NO GENDER: Reflections on the Life & Work of kari edwards (Litmus Press, 2009). 

by this poet

poem
socalled swan of avon
n/t but a beaurocrat
buggering the buttercups
goy from the waist up


now soldiers're the ones making offers
and fucking caravaggio posters
maybe the artist had bothered about melancholia


suddenly xe finds xemself walking down
some dark corridor


california was truly the promised land
poem

                                               FOR CACONRAD

 

garbage-gut humans should not continue ourselves

it can only come a frightful cropper

hairbulbs what I mistook to be      a form in nature

albatross w/ plastics crowding thir gut

what julie patton is callin

poem

clock reads 7 at all hours
juncos make selves known in the snow
this time dawdling
I write in horse, but I see in athabascan
when it’s time for elevensies, the clock reads 7
what telling fortune therewith
time is a thing that gets spent, like youth, $ and desire
n/t so lovely as a