Ioanna Carlsen is a Mexican tesuque cane & rush chair maker & poet.
Ioanna Carlsen‘s poems have appeared in Poetry, The Hudson Review, Nimrod, FIELD, Prairie Schooner, Confrontation, Mondo Greco, Quarterly West, Beloit Poetry Journal, AGNI and many other literary magazines. She has been a featured poet at Poetry Daily and Poetry. One of her poems was chosen to be part of Billy Collins’ Poetry 180. Her fiction, featured in Glimmer Train, has been included in an anthology entitled Mother Knows, published through Atria (a branch of Simon & Schuster). Five of her poems have also appeared in a new anthology of Greek-American Poetry, Pomegranate Seeds (Somerset Hall Press, 2008). more »
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Ioanna Carlsen Poems
Over And Over Tune
You could grow into it, that sense of living like a dog, loyal to being on your own in the fur of your skin, able to exist only for the sake of existing.
For a moment it flashed through me, I thought I remembered being someone before now, the her who was me
The music comes on with the lights, the little opera of emptiness begins, the little dance of no one there — just the rooms exhibited
Back in the time when you breathed I would say breath to you and you would answer back, I would say breathe to you and you would do it:
I can only imagine it. You ask me for it — I deny you three times. The cock crows. We marry.
On Reading Cioran Leaf caught in a branch of ice, I am unsleeping, heroic, neither dead, nor dreaming, awake.
Comments about Ioanna Carlsen
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Over And Over Tune
You could grow into it,
that sense of living like a dog,
loyal to being on your own in the fur of your skin,
able to exist only for the sake of existing.
Nothing inside your head lasting long enough for you to hold onto,
you watch your own thoughts leap across your own synapses and disappear --
small boats in a wind,
fliers in all that blue,
the swish of an arm backed with feathers,
a dress talking in a corner,
and then poof,
your mind clean as a ...