Conjuring A Language by Kymberly Taylor

Y crashes down, feet first,
between the untended flares,
singeing a few underfeathers.

   She roams
       in the scattering black

          stars off

past exquisite poisons
prisming the parks, a helmet-shrike
testing cinnamon rocks,
a paper ship that in another light
is a boy dreaming

    that death is sometimes a bird throned
upon her landfill, rose-white, jewelled above the spree. Y
sails with boy on his tattered boat,

teaching him decomposition, the ways of styrofoam, scrap iron,
string. How to be incomplete. Flying him

   through raspy metaphoric conditions, recent vocabularies,

    Far removed from his original, he has forgotten it,
become repeated form        precarious,

       dark spot on the other side of say

As Y drops him from her beak, he falls through pearl
  and the odd stray things he has thought about or once held
     in his hands and set afloat upon
      the glittering rupture of a stream

disintegrating into random line, curve, argument, sign,

         index for the possible

[The bird song notations in this poem are composed by Olivier Messiaen and include the songs of Berdin de Malaisie, Troupiale de Baltimore, Grive de Californie, and Cardinal rouge de Virginia for piano, flute, xylophone, violin, clarinet, and tam tam. ]

Issue One


Babylons: Poems by Michael Barrett

Piotr Parlej on Zagajewski & Polish Poetry

Adam Zagajewski

Stephanie Strickland

Reginald Gibbons

Göran Printz-Pählson

John Peck

David Kellogg

Ken Smith

Jesper Svenbro

Kymberly Taylor

Ilya Kutik

C.S. Giscombe

Reginald Gibbons and Rosemarie Waldrop

Samizdat Magazine, © 2000-2001 R. Archambeau

Do not reprint without permission