Showing posts from August, 2010

My Body Is A Word (2:23min)

direct link to SoundCloud: My Body Is A Word by Brenda Clews

Brenda Clews, poetry, voice, mix.
Music, Lena Selyanina's piano solo, 'Summer Morning,' from "Snowstorm Romance": .

direct link to SoundClick: My Body Is A Word

The album of poetry recordings that I am working on seems to be on a theme of love. I don't have a whole lot of love poems, in the 'I and Thou' form. 'My Body Is A Word' is an older poem that I had up at my original and now defunct art website. It seems to work in context of the album, and also, hopefully, on its own.

A tiny chorus of voices, yes, positioned behind the main voice.



My body is a delta
awash with scripture
rivers of language flow over my tongue,
raw with salt.

My body is a delta
of waterways, signs,
inscribed, and gendered,
my body is tattooed
with the blue veins of roses.


I am rain falling on the edges of leaves;
I am earth, wet, a glistening emerald;

What Is Underground Is What Holds Us


You rise out of flat stone
the shield
of your heart.
The moon crosses the sun.
Do we
become light
when we dream?

The folds of your corduroy
like ridges and hollows
furrows where the Spring runoff
sculpts a geology
in a landscape of tundra.
"passageways and connections that
happen deep within us when in relation
to another..." Nancy OttoIn our Klondike, cross and beams
hold the tunnels we dig through
to find the gold in each other,
rich veins tracing through the rock
like sunlight.


Spring is a tendril
of green;
the leaves a papery mass of veins unfolding.

Cliffs of grass by the old mine ripple
in the wind.

We are like those two trees
ancient, weathered, yet
our roots thoroughly

What is
is what holds us.

The deeper passageways
and connections.


I wear the crescent moon in my hair,
the cold northern air;
you are the sun buried in the land,
illumined from within.

The sharp edges
in each moment
bind us.

My Adoni, my Aholi,

even in this harsh typog…

An Antonio Servillo painting

I am moved deeply by this image. Antonio Servillo seems to paint my life as it often feels. Meaning his art speaks to me on deep levels of experience. Life is anything but a giddy, happy run-through. Though there is laughter, without which it would be impossible. The woman in Servillo's painting struggles. Such deep and abiding passion I see in her amidst many constraints.

Salt of the Sea

direct link: Salt of the Sea.
Livio Amato's, 'Dream Opening,' from his album, "Sensitivity"

Salt of the Sea

She said seawards- "Salt in the seas like the blood in tears, a forced forment of waves: our cries, rushed into life, and death, a barge that carries souls to the other side of nowhere." The moon slides into a shell conch, cone, harp, volva that hears our whisperings- breeze, seafoam. This season of weathered wood, amniotic scent. Inner forces drive the ocean. Mystery emerges and recedes like waves opening dreams. Osprey and clouds sail high over surf. Print the soul in the flag to fray. Rocks rubbing in water become sand. Wet sand under the pincers of crabs who burrow. The warp and weave of the ocean slapping at our consciousnesses. You came, on a minion of steel, the noise of condensed crowds. Like a…