"Yehy Vaya" is a collaboration between Moldovan electronic music artist Serge Bulat and Russian folk band OYME. The track is based on a traditional Mordovian wedding song and sung in the Erzya language, thus honors the International Year of Indigenous Languages, initiated by the United Nations.
Death, drugs, drunkeness, disaster… polaroids reimagine notorious vacations from literature, news and film on Lake Wequaquet, Cape Cod.
Poetry, like cartography, can condense
the world aesthetically, until we see
that the last line of my poem is not ambiguous,
but lucid, perfectly lucid: “More delicate than
the historians’ are the map-makers’ colors.”
now it's a suburb pull
meat from fire and inevitable
face grease and cigarette
decorative scarf yells from
audience, hierarchy howl
The priest receives them (over) heartily and offers them food and warmth. When they get inside the high-arched candle-lit room, the priest turns into a witch and nails the little girl to the wall.
There are legends and reports
that an ebony creature travels
the woods of maritime Canada,
often scoffed at, never proved.
no, to tell you the truth
I am innocent but
I am pleading guilty
because I need to get out
for my job before next Thursday
this planet, which waits for us, accepts
its name. this planet fails to communicate
its displeasure at the name we've chosen for it;
her moonlets dance; her seas call us
hit one time only! in kansas somewhere
then gone as quickly! squandered shot returns
but now i stay anxious / crack reminds me
every turn in view caresses Cautious
On the iceblink
is a happy hue:
in concert with my chorus.
There is no bother of bliss.
Memory is what we make of it.
Rain as grey as your skin
defines the softer parts of hands
that scrape along brick buildings
like tearing paper.
here. Malady skin, folds
over whitecaps, beneath wind;
sun weight expounding
levels adjusted to carry. Faces devoid
of the dead man who walks
Stratemeyer hired generations of hacks. They wrote under pseudonyms known to millions of children. The kids pictured these authors’ handsome faces, imagined their happy, fulfilled lives. The pseudonyms weren’t pen-names. Those are for individuals. What Stratemeyer pioneered was the house name.
