By Dan Raphael
This can be my experiment. many of the textual content could glance bizarre, yet that's due to the printing now not the compression.
"dan raphael's poetry is recombinant linguistic remedy, an exploration past phrases and through language to the myriad complexity of things...raphael turns out to have absorbed his subject material after which shall we it communicate its piece through the medium of his voice...Nowhere is there a extra natural expression of the concept that shape might 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 method 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 feels 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 awfully exact and evocative. they're extremely smart Earth poems that face difficulties by way of exploring and through altering the character of the questions. they can be funny and instantly intensely critical. they're folksy nearly of their voice and concurrently a brand new department of excessive surrealism -- grounded in figuring out 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 confer 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 quickly constructing chasms of recent sci-tech terminology, whereas nonetheless keeping his stability of humor. sincerely, in studying his textual content, we're prior the tip of the 20 th century. we're glimpsing via a shattered kaleidoscope the socio-economic spoil of the Jeffersonian excellent. "...don't admit the wear, keep an eye on the chaos." -- Ivan Arguelles, writer of Enigma & adaptations
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Additional info for Molecular Jam
If you cannot see a physique half it truly is long past for now, bringing the fish out in me, a percent left at the back of within the blue syrup mild, my pine sneakers clacket this tin sky, air site visitors controllers in my entrance tooth, glistening threads of sinuous urine too high-quality for a word to ruffle shoulders ferment molecules lengthy because the bible brewing sunspots towards my iris, the egg via my pores and skin with no leaving the shell, biceps hurtling at the breeze a number of as starlings & fenced produce baggage gauzed in exhaust. eight The Afternoon of the United States 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 by means of that unsheened wallpaper, the antagonistic fluorescence turning shadow into stain, virtually status with the paste of sweat inhaled, the force-feeding mitt of cathode ray mantras on & off on & off many times, the quiescence misplaced among oil adjustments, painted leopards, clowns in thousandollar fits ripped open to grade college academics, stitching tinfoil into brassieres, obligatory marathons like parrots who can basically land in jungles baked barren for burgers & to maintain 3Syearold grandparents hot the clouds holiday like bells made of outdated 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 shops the average habitat paintings all evening to decorate sharp in the back of tinted home windows deciding upon up its personal smell, spending cells like a shoefull of moldy pence, feeding clean groceries to the crisper's inner politics, legendary plumbing, an companion turns into a mate, american afternoon bicycles w/ its face filled with rice, its face a informed seed peeling into whistles of clockwork birds homing towards stress backfire or blowout, figuring out your nutrients as far away family 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 right here, lifestyles 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'll swim in, in armor of sunshine, a will like a rubber glove dipped in frozen nitrogen & kissed by means of bee-like neutrons offended yet too dense to maneuver that approach, beribboned in fundamental instructions the wind ties smoke into knots, what sounds like an immense sneeze of blue ink is highway maps made on freshly recycled diapers: the Slst kingdom, the reluctant parallel, a meridian dictated via type silhouetting the sacrificial pique ravenous for visions, betrayed via muscle tissues going severe, turning empty beercans into moebius strips: to dwell in a city or on a highway together with your identify; to dwell in a city you cannot pronounce, a city the place not anyone can see you-walking's iHegal the following, the homes formed like cows; everybody falls asleep with their tvs on & the doorways unlocked whereas the nighttime streets go back the bop to biosphere 10 Bird Opened by way of the Wind in a face, the wind, a milky shawl, inhabited by way of mild too busy to count number the shredded lives, the encrypted airborne dirt and dust 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 stay up for the trash creditors, a flood of tears, a gang of hooded white cells wind is familiar with in basic terms the course opposed to i am touring, microclimates created through warmth radiating from my cranium softened by means of the anger of cows, the lack of information of shampoo makers, hat knitters lack of ability to split warmth from concept from gentle from style.