NATHAN KEMP IS AN ARBORIST FOR BROOKE ELLSWORTH

Nathan Kemp is taking on the forest of fellow ILK 11 contributor Brooke Ellsworth‘s poem & here we have both the wood  & the trees:

kempbirchtree copy

Joe Milazzo mimics & mirrors Lindsey Hutchison’s Mimesis

ILK ELEVEN asks a lot of your eyes. Here is something else for your eyes: Joe Milazzo imposes & refracts Lindsey Hutchison‘s ‘Mimesis’ — find it find it:
jmilazzo-mimesis

ABIGAIL ZIMMER HAS VISIONS OF CHELSEA WHITTON’S ‘APOLOGY’

Well now, it might be the end of summer but we have some lemonade for you, except it is a video that ILK TEN contributor Abigail Zimmer jewel-made of two-time ILK champion Chelsea Whitton’s poem ‘Apology’:

MEGAN MCKEON GETS YOUR TITLE INDEXED

Meg McKeon, a fabulous scouring glitter hawk from ILK TEN created a cento of titles from the all women all the time times two issue of ILK. Think of this as the hottest library index ever:
We Women
Stefanie as the wench:
Get off your high horse
& fight me like androgyne.
Dear body, I am
the king
of my own
life.
So, I suggest sandwiches,
variety is guaranteed.
Index: nostalgia,
Mayday Parade,
sisters camp.
Dear Jenny
mise en scene
Dear Jenny.
Julia considers
leaving
the house.
Storm watch (no outlet).
Julia rides the bus
along Lake Erie.
Julia poaches an egg.
Apology.
American Vomitoria

LINDSEY WEBB ENGLISH-TO-ENGLISH TRANSLATES ABIGAIL ZIMMER

These ILK TEN responses have actually been making us want to get out of bed in the morning, they are such waves of awesome crashing on down. This time, Lindsey Webb uses Google Translate to reinterpret Abigail Zimmer’s ILK TEN poem:

SISTER-CAMP ON LAKE ERIE: COLLECTION, WINE

Bigger than Michigan, you are in parentheses
tossing history. Here it is hazardous to walk
on anything that grows. Shovels program
friction and vine diseases: there is no
prescription. If you cannot catch the fire, count
before finding—I hope you have enough power
or more light. Holes in the map, how many
deployed? Half from home. Drunk at the time.
We otherwise need water because we
are not numbered. Well, if memory
collides, bright. Wait for the results.

KAT FINCH UNDERWATER WITH BRONWYN VALENTINE

I don’t know how much you’ve been thinking about mermaids recently. At ILK those thoughts have been frequent, made even more electrified by this gem we just received from ILK TEN contributor Kat Finch that goes diving with Bronwyn Valentine’s ILK TEN poem ‘Dear Body.’ GO SCUBA:

 

 

P.S. You can see Nathalia Perozo’s response to Kat Finch’s ILK TEN poem right HERE.

Nathalia Perozo erasing Kat Finch on a high horse

Nathalia Perozo has lovingly burned out the house of Kat Finch‘s  GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE AND FIGHT ME LIKE ANDROGYNE, leaving a new & excellent structure erased from what was before:

 

ERASURE_Get_Off_Your_High_Horse

KIM STOLL TRANSLATING JOHN MYERS

Kim Stoll sent us this delightful missive & including this intriguing re-working of fellow ILK NINER John Myers:

It’s a sort of translation/transliteration, footnoted thing. I have no clue what to call it exactly. Basically, the footnotes are loosely based on the meanings of the Chinese characters for those English words.

THREE[1] POEMS[2]

1.
This[3] is what hunting[4] feels[5] like. Heard[6],
the horse[7] sips[8] at the river[9] of glass[10] figurines[11]
that I[12] built[13] myself[14] for just this reason[15].

2.
This flower[16]
is bleeding[17] right[18]
onto pillbugs[19].

3.
I’ll[20] need[21] it in the original[22] German
Our paper[23] machine[24] is broken[25]
from too much unhouseable[26] sadness


[1] Heaven, earth, and humanity. Orion’s belt.

[2] Words that aspire.

[3] There is contact. Stop and turn around, the grass is silk.

[4] A dog on guard with raised fur.

[5] A heart bitten. The question: Where are you going? This boat cannot endure the unbearable.

[6] Wait until tomorrow.

[7] Showing head, mane, legs, tail.

[8] The mouth sobs.

[9] Streams join.

[10] Jade.

[11] A person stands in an assigned position.

[12] Hand holding halberd.

[13] We all lift together.

[14] A picture of a tree emphasizing the base.

[15] The heart is a conditional.

[16] Time-consuming plant.

[17] A sprouting plant. A vase and a sacrifice.

[18] Working with your mouth. The persistence of a bird soaring with a stone.

[19] Collection of cooking vessels guarded by a dog, insects stealing rice.

[20] A sound from the heart.

[21] Rains arriving as slow as a growing beard. Hands grasping fur coat. Hands girding a woman’s waist.

[22] A bird rising away from the valley people.

[23] Speak in a logical order.

[24] Wood that protects the public. It is subtle work. Shackles.

[25] Stones break. Sorcerers pray for rain.

[26] Knife scraping flesh from bone.

TRACY DIMOND & THE ILK MONSTER MASH

It is possible that you have considered what kind of monster ILK would be if it were, in fact, a monster. Cthulu or Kraken. Chimera or Godzilla. Siren or Selkie.

Good news! Tracy Dimond made us our monster, a monster whose organs are made from the entirety of ILK NINE.

 

There is Only This One Season

 

Galileo was the first to ask Whose brain.

I can teach you

about lighter fluid, but

it’s making my brain delirious.

 

I resent the Internet for telling me

that I am not a plant.

Who do I give this hyper anxiety to?

I dream sporadically of reincarnation.

I wet myself thinking

about the possibility.

 

In the plural space, machinery is

taught to mimic how a skeleton unbuckles.

An animal dismantles softly,

each taxonomy undoes its seamless structure.

 

A small impression steams

shirtless and run through with heroin.

I can usually be found

laughing alone in my apartment.

I’ll need it in the original German.

 

Hopeful for madness,

cover your head with your hands.

What happens if I have compassion on

who we’re fighting?

 

I snitch on myself in confession,

one night, I follow myself,

who’s fallen from her aircraft

like the classical music station

fucked into cheap thunder by static.

 

Anna wanted a hospital.

Wanted a handgun and a

shooting range, the target

to be a grey wolf turning blue.

 

No. I don’t care anymore,

my untrained sympathetic vibrations

a spear in the pool.

Then I would really start to roar.