The Brooklyn Rail

JUL-AUG 2017

All Issues
JUL-AUG 2017 Issue




Depends on how you travel
Depends on kneeling villagers
On borrowed tongues of prophets
Return indecisive      Prague
Smell the ugly jazz
Satellites prearranged
To englobe multiplicity
(these government messengers)
Into well-lit rooms
Traces of color on the wrong photo
The head of an angel
Saints in the doorway
People at chess tables

Bone masks      sticks rubbed crimson
Eyes      oracles textured calcium





News is carried in songs
Long-distance morsels
Rhyme and memorize
Paradoxical green endings
That bathe everyone nearby
Even more than you’d expect
Observe the constraints
Built by generous women

A garden city on simple lines
Formulated far ranging
A human body complex
Of reactionary windows
And notable facades
Literary endeavors
A sought and respected standard of
Practical historical systems
Where colorful objectives are
Juxtaposed with want
In this adjustable supple
Portly dramatic
Tubular insular
Copious national
Spoken circle of might





Yellow humbled cover
Of worthy permission
Trailing unsaid madness
Eardrum of self-loathing
Wrongful young people
Hospitalized term
Silent and stunned they
Go forth to become

They run to ships around
The palaces and leave for
Underwater traps
A void hinged and framed
Office tables haunt the globe
The sirens are calling
And shoot the prize facedown
Last night is remembered
Health insurance      social security
Bad connection      blood & fur
Lime trees      tulip poplars
Suddenly stoned





A certain sector of the marketplace
Involves disadvantages
Widespreadly swapped straight
To the global edge of value
And the sense stays harmed
That way      its sketchy best
Transformed legends of winter
On the fringes of the neverworld
Burn the beautiful letters
In order to get there
The rest of infinity prevailed
Coincidental income
And shaky golden nerves

Relaxed coastal reasoning
Inclined to sensuous license
Toppling tall wild countries





Messenger with a bare name

Her father in the netherworld
That hard red sound sticks
And stumbles a mad yellow
Roar against strange tongues
To understand space partially
The swollen bloodshot homeland
Who cradles the broken sigh?





Carrying a child, carrying a sapling, carrying a sheep, carrying papers, carrying some
The woman’s red dress
A downpour of ownership
Touches her summer cries
The physical avoiding the absurd
A misstep         a shadow
Secretly exchanged
In the wilderness
For the story of that little girl

The question prolonged the sentence



Pansy Maurer-Alvarez

Pansy Maurer-Alvarez was born in Puerto Rico, grew up in Pennsylvania and did her literary studies in the U.S., Spain and Switzerland. She now lives and writes in Strasbourg, France. Her latest books of poetry are Oranges In January (KFS Press, 2016) and In A Form of Suspension (corrupt press, 2014) and she has 4 previous collections.


The Brooklyn Rail

JUL-AUG 2017

All Issues