From the Archive: Amy Ireland ‘The Stranger’ Interview (CAROUSEL 39)

From the Archive: Amy Ireland ‘The Stranger’ Interview (CAROUSEL 39)

Amy Ireland is an experimental poet and theorist, co-conspiring with arcane and esoteric vectors of poetic and theoretical thought. As a PhD Candidate in Creative Writing at the School of the Arts and Media at the University of New South Wales, Ireland’s work develops concepts embedded within the prefix xeno-, denoting that which is unfamiliar, strange and alien. Following this trajectory, Ireland is writing her thesis on xenopoetics, which engages various poetry projects that involve

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From the Archive: Fan Wu (CAROUSEL 39)

From the Archive: Fan Wu (CAROUSEL 39)

FAN WU from Songs Heard on The River Styx Charon Before Breakfast Charon moves along his sloop, fern-heavy with morning sleep.He rubs his eyes then his wrists together.Standing sexless, two words — pistil, stamen — flash across his mind, illustrated like in the Grade 9 Biology textbook he once read for proof of nature’s perfect design, lovewise.An anchor tethers him to the limitless sea.Anther and pollen.Something Lacan once said occurs to him:“Love is giving something

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From the Archive: Michael e. Casteels (CAROUSEL 38)

From the Archive: Michael e. Casteels (CAROUSEL 38)

MICHAEL E. CASTEELS 4 Poems The Cattle Business I was rousting some steers that had taken up residence in the house. I gathered a coil of rope and slung it over the pommel of my saddle. Some of these old mossyhorns had grown up here and had no wish to leave. A brindle steer lurched through the breezeway, scraping the walls with his horns. A twisty creek trickled down the front steps and pooled among

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From the Archive: John Nyman (CAROUSEL 38)

From the Archive: John Nyman (CAROUSEL 38)

JOHN NYMAN For My African Violet Between oscillation and explosion,an iris undone, your graceful fall a flick so swift unhingedand floating: sinkable, the thrust of piling upand the flutter of a tip of a feeler frenzied wanting.Let’s sally down my list: the measurable handshakes,a close furrow (grin to a parasite), chores,a strong caress sent to a friend like you, so in a bright timeI’ll blow further on. • • • Always look at me like

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From the Archive: gustave morin ‘Clean Sails’ interview (CAROUSEL 36)

From the Archive: gustave morin ‘Clean Sails’ interview (CAROUSEL 36)

Canadian ‘para-literary agent provocateur’ gustave morin has been working in the fields of composition & performance for the last twenty years. As a maker of concrete, found, collage, typewriter & sound poetry, his creative practice always manages to the blur the borders between poetry & visual art, offering up startling hybrid works that resist conventional reading. Clean Sails, a 164 page volume of visually complex, next-generation typewriter poems composed using dozens of different typewriters — the

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From the Archive: Paul Dutton (CAROUSEL 36)

From the Archive: Paul Dutton (CAROUSEL 36)

Paul Dutton is a poet, novelist, essayist & oral sound artist, who, over the course of 5 decades, has uncompromisingly challenged the borders of literature & music. Internationally renowned for his solo sound performances, Dutton’s otherworldly voice works have helped redefine the potential of human utterance. CAROUSEL is pleased to present the first appearance in print of a selection of works from this innovative explorer of language in the following profile section — which includes

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From the Archive: Ben Ladouceur (CAROUSEL 36)

From the Archive: Ben Ladouceur (CAROUSEL 36)

BEN LADOUCEUR 461 Margueretta Street There’s the house there’s the way into the house.Hot head blood a difficult decision being responded to.We are hurting men we house and cause great woe.The moss growing by one millimetre every warm year.Harder to tell when you’re away plus I care less too.Inert things proceed no regard for human assent.God will not fail to take such a martyrdom into account.You create a fluid place it inside me leave it

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From the Archive: Chad Campbell (CAROUSEL 36)

From the Archive: Chad Campbell (CAROUSEL 36)

CHAD CAMPBELL At the Surabaya Zoo The last eyes retreat. A shiftworkof waiting for food until morning starts, when she’s led from the brickhutch to the pens. Nearby, a bear stares brokenly at some apples.She stretches out again. Day opens. White tigers are especially rare. Lookhow white she is, how fine her tail, how black the stripes that leapbrail for violent majestic force — the titillation of a hungry shadowloping for you through a field

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From the Archive: Daniel Scott Tysdal (CAROUSEL 35)

From the Archive: Daniel Scott Tysdal (CAROUSEL 35)

DANIEL SCOTT TYSDAL Inside Job – Composed on the occasion of the release of the 9/11 conspiracy theory documentary Tight Resistance The doc shocks; its evidenceis as disturbing as its claim: 9/11was not an inside job. Bush could nothave known X. The CIA could nothave orchestrated Y. The “terrorists” were notactors working from a script by Z (a rumouredOscar winner) and doctored by otherHollywood A-listers. Tight Resistance mounts a new founding alphabetto articulate the tragedy,

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From the Archive: Cara Evans (CAROUSEL 35)

From the Archive: Cara Evans (CAROUSEL 35)

CARA EVANS Fractal i.nothing disappearsevery action fracturesinto a million splinters of the sameaction happening over andover there is no erasureonly variation ii.the word or is nestledin word and eachword is a thresholdthe breath or the storythe sound or the sign the word more is truncatedand trapped withinmemory memorycannot exceed or replicatetwists vainly towarddoubling redoubling redoing all wholes are completed by lack Fractalappeared in CAROUSEL 35 (2015) — buy it here

From the Archive: Eduardo C. Corral + Jim Johnstone (CAROUSEL 35)

From the Archive: Eduardo C. Corral + Jim Johnstone (CAROUSEL 35)

EDUARDO C. CORRAL + JIM JOHNSTONE Alternating Landscapes (Sonoran Desert / High Park) I roll into a high shoulder stand, allknees and elbows —saguaro. • Forget the beautifulmoments:               the theatre drenched              with rain a fox swinging              its cutlass between the sunand sun-              glassed              eyes • Dust devil, tattered sail.              Stray tenderness              stay. • My gaze is directedby counterweights               that mount              like a bruise: birch, hickory,basewood. • To escape the rain I leap                                   into a book.              Terra-cotta warriors,                            gunpowder, a buck:                 its antlers              the Chinese character                            for deer. •

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From the Archive: Robin Richardson (CAROUSEL 35)

From the Archive: Robin Richardson (CAROUSEL 35)

ROBIN RICHARDSON We’re Just Beasts with Big Brains Tipsy on the stoop beside a stone dog, faithful as the hurricane       that claimed his face. It’s okay. The sidewalk’s arching orangetowards a chanting patch of shrubbery; it chants your name. Or does it state the ways of gods, or god, or something worse?I have misread myself for years: open as an infant crow below the worm. At my feet some German Shepherd, older than his owner, begsto

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From the Archive: Matt Rader (CAROUSEL 34)

From the Archive: Matt Rader (CAROUSEL 34)

MATT RADER Lunar New Year’s Day, Year of the Snake – for Eduardo C. Corral The cross steepling St. George’s is so empty.Meanwhile, vultures cycloneTheir shadows motherfucking slowly.Meanwhile, five bisonSkulls on the barn wall sport oneOr two small black annuitiesTerminating where their brainsWould be.Meanwhile, fingerprints, Charybdis, drains. Again,All good fortune is wealth,All ill fortune the ouroboros of luck feedingItself itself.St. George’s is so lonely eveningsAfter the Narcotics Anonymous meetings. Lunar New Year’s Day, Year of

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From the Archive: Kim Fu (CAROUSEL 34)

From the Archive: Kim Fu (CAROUSEL 34)

KIM FU Lifecycle of the Mole-Woman: Infancy as a Human I’ve seen this waist-high grassand weeping tree before, in a drugstore frameand a Bollywood movie, the trunk a pivot pointfor coquettish hide and seek. On the coverof Vanity Fair it had a swing,just two ropes and a plank, a girl levitatingon the tip of her coccyx. Poofy virginalwhite dress, elegant lipstick slash, Cubist chin,she had it all. Someone proposed here,votive candles in a heart, a

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From the Archive:  Matthew Walsh (CAROUSEL 33)

From the Archive: Matthew Walsh (CAROUSEL 33)

MATTHEW WALSH Scenes of a Sunday Dinner on Musquodobit Road They got the meat and pataytas, so all’s right wit the world.Even them cans a vegetables are smilin’. Father’s comin’ upfrom the harbour, he was wit the boys steamin’ them laubsters in the microwave on the backa Reed’s truck. Salt water sweetens em just fine.That rural rum went to his eyes, right red they were,just beamin’, but he’s temptin purgatory, comin’ through her doorlike that,

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From the Archive: Nyla Matuk (CAROUSEL 33)

From the Archive: Nyla Matuk (CAROUSEL 33)

NYLA MATUK On Distance and Heartbreak Gift of grey from Man Ray,my heart was the shape of Australia.If p, then q. Incalculably wide marginalia.Plain, upside, down under, safe as houses. I didn’t trust the data accounts,the ville fourmillante’s thousand mounts.And that old dissonant airbus in the distance.It smarted like a barrier reef of a wound. On Distance and Heartbreakappeared in CAROUSEL 33 (2014) — buy it here

From the Archive:  Michael Prior (CAROUSEL 32)

From the Archive: Michael Prior (CAROUSEL 32)

MICHAEL PRIOR Everything looking different, the night’s time took me so I wandered a twisting a dive, the bends transforming me,embolisms like diamonds hanging in darkness,tissue turning grey, then clear, then fracturedwith streams of white — the wings of a fly,six legs perched upon warm skinlistening to the decompressionof meaning, unfurling iridescentin my hand. Everything looking different, the night’s time took meappeared in CAROUSEL 32 (2014) — buy it here

From the Archive:  Natalie Morrill (CAROUSEL 32)

From the Archive: Natalie Morrill (CAROUSEL 32)

NATALIE MORRILL Mrs. Fannie Winthrop, upon discovering that her husband is an octopus But she decides she mustn’t let him thinkit puts her off. She won’t throw the coversoff the thing, won’t draw undue attention, she,to his way of slithering gellish out their front doorMonday to Friday, radio twittering, him wavinghis hat — “Nice day, Fannie”: his gripslicked rope, the hat a Knox. She bought it for him, she remembers: his birthday, three years ago.Reservations

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From the Archive:  Cassidy McFadzean (CAROUSEL 32)

From the Archive: Cassidy McFadzean (CAROUSEL 32)

CASSIDY MCFADZEAN The Living Skies Struck Us Dead Most of this is coffee and metaphors,and mornings waking up in the dark.When lightning hit the gable,it shook our bed, made the radioshort out, left our fingers tingling,and when I asked you to touch my skinI almost thought I’d see sparks,almost thought we’d both be singed. But others felt it too, the dark cloudabove our houses. We were not alonein thinking light had left its tracesof ozone

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