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Archive for the ‘Nina Alvarez’ Category

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

My swirling wants. Your frozen lips.
The grammar turned and attacked me.
Themes, written under duress.
Emptiness of the notations.

They gave me a drug that slowed the healing of wounds.

I want you to see this before I leave:
the experience of repetition as death
the failure of criticism to locate the pain
the poster in the bus that said:
my bleeding is under control

A red plant in a cemetery of plastic wreaths.

A last attempt: the language is a dialect called metaphor.
These images go unglossed: hair, glacier, flashlight.
When I think of a landscape I am thinking of a time.
When I talk of taking a trip I mean forever.
I could say: those mountains have a meaning
but further than that I could not say.

To do something very common, in my own way.

-Adrienne Rich

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philthy-art-logo-schmoo-size.jpgOh dear friends, thank you for continuing to come to NinaAlvarez.net even though after 9 months of posting every day, I took about 3 months off. I am ready to jump back in and happy to be back.

For those of you who are artists, check out Philthy Art, my other blog about art in Philadelphia, but also about my work doing internet marketing and writing for artspan.com and my new art community in St. Petersburg, FL. 

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To Not Be Here

How I want to wet myself in that languid black well
Where Oppen and Gadamer and the Beats and Roethke
Shook off so easily the eeriness of life.
They had some sort of shelf just hidden from the TV

Or the violent street, there was time then
For poetry, for a person to get lost in an autumn
And never be found again.
Today, there is no time for words,

The flash of good video is too much, they’ve made it
Really good, you know, the pull of a solid show
Is inescapable, and it’s so much more real than this white noise.

Who am I to long for sixty years ago, or for some imagined romance
With a man I kissed one night, in the kitchen where he kisses his
Wife, where the feast of bodies lives on in a big idea that only
Cracks slightly, so much slighter than than a life convinced by longing.

-Nina Alvarez

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As a maker of short films, I definitely consider it cheating to take brilliant film making that was already done, slow it down, add music to it and call it something new. So, I’m not calling this something new, but a study, a close reading of the experience of the macabre.

And what better way to honor Halloween than with a slowed down look at Tim Burton’s masterpiece The Nightmare Before Christmas played to equally beautiful song “The Grand Parade,” by my hometown friend Evan Goodberry. To hear and buy Evan’s music, go to his Evan Goodberry myspace page.

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reachtree.jpgThough I gave up the teaching game two years ago, I am still in contact with some of the students I felt most connected to. Recently, one of them sent me an email, asking about what jobs there are out there for English majors, besides teaching. I have done almost everything you can do with an English degree: taught, tutored, wrote for a newspaper, published my own work, worked for a publishing company, edited, copywrote, and proofread. But it has been a long haul. I graduated with no real sense of how to get my foot in the door to any of these areas. Below is my response to her. I hope it will helpful to college students with similar questions.

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Two of my short stories: “AC/DC” and “If there is no one to listen, there is no one to say it” are published in the UK lit mag Twisted Tongue Issue 7 and available at http://www.lulu.com/twistedtongue. I think downloads of the PDFs are free or you can buy the whole issue in print.

I love the Brits!

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The contest closed Monday, August 20, 2007. Thanks to all those who entered!

at-bean-exchange.jpgWe’re so close, I can feel it.

In a couple days, this site will reach the 3,000 3,500 visitors mark, which is such a lovely thought I get a little choked up. It means that people, lots of people, are still reading poetry and I am honored that many of the poems that I chose, the poems that forgotten high school teachers, unforgettable

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professors, or good, lonely hours have passed into my blood…mean something to you as well.4×1.jpg

To celebrate this auspicious occasion and on behalf of Inconnue Press, I would like to offer a free copy of 4×1, a book of poetry by Ranier Maria Rilke, Tristan Tzara, Jean-Pierre Duprey, and Habib Tengour, to anyone who sends me a poem they love and and tells me why they love it, via the comment section of this page.

I will post the poem and comment…unless the poem is not within the public domain, in which case I will post the first few lines of it and try to find a place to link to online where it is copyrighted.

For privacy reasons, don’t include your address…I will contact you for that later. And no, this is not a way to collect info for marketing (we aren’t even big enough for that to be effective).

 

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Lost in the sky is the fear I have of being the star.

Lost in the light rays stinging is the question that appears as a red wave.

Burst of bud rays is the first ray that thinks it.

First burst of bud rays and I love if I love in it.

Torture is the one that wants you back in the small backwaters.

Slow motion scream with enveloped pockets of wind.

So sure to see what one misses when one is in the one of the thing.

So sure to see it is not what one was but what one is that is it.

-Nina Alvarez

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The Long Line, Breton

We write because
We write because

It is expected of us
(as is love)

Listen, you conspirators
Armed with sheets
I’ve taken it all too literally
Wrapped in dummy blanket

Goethe never had a request
Like yours
He told himself what was enough

We write because
We write because
The sound within us so deep
Anchors and moors a big moon to it.
Gorgeous quest
That can never be completed
Take your stockings off
Let love be your animal.

-Nina Alvarez

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