The Cleave Poetry Webzine [ISSN: 1758-9223]

Posts Tagged ‘Diana Manister’

Bowery Poetry Club Live Performance

In announcement on July 22, 2009 at 8:30 pm

Collaborations
Spoken Word and Music
Janet Hamill and Bryan Hamill, music, performing together from “Body Of Water”
Join them and their special guests,
Diana Manister with music by Steve Cialino
and Larissa Shmailo with music by Brant Lyon
Saturday, July 25, 4 p.m.
Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery, NYC
212-614-0505
$5

We Are Taken In by Diana Manister

In submission on March 4, 2009 at 10:03 pm

yellowwhirllast-copy

(First published as text only in Poetry Revolt)


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Frenzy by Diana Manister

In submission on February 5, 2009 at 10:57 pm

frenzy6x8graphic

This visual poem occurs at a point in my long text poem concerning a combat veteran whose memories of what was done in war are being unsuccessfully repressed. Alfred Hitchcock’s murder mystery Frenzy about a London murderer triggers memories the poem’s narrator would rather not recall. The movie and actual combat recollections mix in the confused mental state the subject is experiencing.

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Dearly Belateds by Diana Manister

In submission on January 9, 2009 at 12:28 am

dearlyeyesfinal6x9

dearlydeparteds6x9eyes1
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Afterwards, Janet: A Murder Mystery in Speech Acts by Diana Manister

In submission on November 29, 2008 at 7:40 am
12janet6x9mrg



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Hubble a Cosmic Cleave by Diana Manister

In multimedia, submission on November 7, 2008 at 7:52 am
Hubble a Cosmic Cleave

Of the years of being
lost in space.           homeless in a
                         placeless place
only the falling
feeling remains          and all the stars
                         whistling away like jet planes

***

Youtube video of Diana performing Hubble at The Bowery Poetry Club on 5th November 2008.


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A Reminder: Diana Manister at Bowery Poetry Club

In announcement on November 4, 2008 at 9:51 am

**I’ll be reading my cleave suite: “Dancing with Mary Shelley and Henry James” at this performance. Hope to see you there! Diana”**

Bowery Poetry Club

Wednesday, November 5, 8 pm

Tone Poem

Featuring:

John Farris
Deborah LaVeglia
Diana Manister
Nick Matros
Joe Maynard
Susan Scutti

$7 at door

308 Bowery Street(Between Houston and Bleecker)
F train to 2nd Ave, 6 to Bleecker

New York

212-614-0505

http://www.bowerypoetry.com/


A repeat of Diana Manister’s spooky cleave suite

In submission on October 31, 2008 at 7:33 am

This is for those who enjoy the spooky: a repeat of Diana Manister’s great cleave suite.

Dancing with Mary Shelley and Henry James

A Cleave Suite

the phantasmagoric audience – all of them having

strangely –  the same face

takes the stage, –  multiples of one man

acting all the parts –  a replicating fantôme

in the dark –  populating the nightscape

of dreaming’s Cartesian theater – by morning melting away

withdrawing into daylight –  uncovered by lightless night

The place, with its gray sky and withered garlands, its bared spaces and

scattered dead leaves, was like a theater after the performance — all strewn

with crumpled playbills

the entity –  I

the first person – me or mine

is it separate or  – just a named hallucination

a wave in a sea of they  – a drop of rain

Whisper Your Name Three Times Into the Wind and It Will Go

to that imaginary land of – signs

titles, drawings & stories -  of love

songs alluding to – April’s fragrance

facsimiles of – r e a l sun

showerless – showers

counterfeit flowers –  bees in the buddleia

always a step away from sensations – feelings and real places

nothing is wonderful but the word -  W O N D E R

leaving behind a sigh –  a n  e x h a l A t i o n

whose name blew away – on a windy day

a word as virtual as signified snow – let it rise as a whisper and go

I saw the master — nothing could be more evident — in the light of an intense

emotion,and I trembled, I remember, in every limb, while at the same time, by a

blest fortune, emotion produced no luminous blur, but left him shining indeed,

only shining with august particulars.

I busied myself with – concocting a tale

a story – that would speak to

mysterious – fears

awakening dread – quickening the blood

I saw a body – made of ghastly fragments

stolen from a graveyard – showing signs of animation

moving eerily – due to its creators skill

the pale student of unhallowed arts – making that progeny conscious

cackling in triumphalive at last

I caught him, yes, I held him — it may be imagined with what a passion; but at

the end of a minute I began to feel what it truly was that I held.

seemingly normal – nodding responses

but hollow inside – cognizant, bright

having no lack of  – emotional

affects yet not  – conscious of being

a self  – in a condition of

rather uncanny – I-less life

cloned with indifference or cloned with a difference

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the

obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve in an old house, a

strange tale should essentially be.

despite disaster –  this single thing

language  remains – survives the damage

panic forms – phrases

sentences – take shape

writing alone escapes – from nothing’s pure night

so

let us go then you and I – along with our alters

under the Titian-white sky

what is the nouveau siècle to its whyless wide

to its dumb sun

all of us subsequents – formed by the story

until the text ends

Wonderful was it thus to see, and thrilling inwardly to note, that since the

question was of personal values so great no faintest fraction of the whole could

succeed in not counting for interest.


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Dancing with Mary Shelley and Henry James A Cleave Suite by Diana Manister

In submission on October 20, 2008 at 6:50 am

Dancing with Mary Shelley and Henry James

A Cleave Suite

the phantasmagoric audience – all of them having

strangely –  the same face

takes the stage, –  multiples of one man

acting all the parts –  a replicating fantôme

in the dark –  populating the nightscape

of dreaming’s Cartesian theater – by morning melting away

withdrawing into daylight –  uncovered by lightless night

The place, with its gray sky and withered garlands, its bared spaces and

scattered dead leaves, was like a theater after the performance — all strewn

with crumpled playbills

the entity –  I

the first person – me or mine

is it separate or  – just a named hallucination

a wave in a sea of they  – a drop of rain

Whisper Your Name Three Times Into the Wind and It Will Go

to that imaginary land of – signs

titles, drawings & stories -  of love

songs alluding to – April’s fragrance

facsimiles of – r e a l sun

showerless – showers

counterfeit flowers –  bees in the buddleia

always a step away from sensations – feelings and real places

nothing is wonderful but the word -  W O N D E R

leaving behind a sigh –  a n  e x h a l A t i o n

whose name blew away – on a windy day

a word as virtual as signified snow – let it rise as a whisper and go

I saw the master — nothing could be more evident — in the light of an intense

emotion,and I trembled, I remember, in every limb, while at the same time, by a

blest fortune, emotion produced no luminous blur, but left him shining indeed,

only shining with august particulars.

I busied myself with – concocting a tale

a story – that would speak to

mysterious – fears

awakening dread – quickening the blood

I saw a body – made of ghastly fragments

stolen from a graveyard – showing signs of animation

moving eerily – due to its creators skill

the pale student of unhallowed arts – making that progeny conscious

cackling in triumphalive at last

I caught him, yes, I held him — it may be imagined with what a passion; but at

the end of a minute I began to feel what it truly was that I held.

seemingly normal – nodding responses

but hollow inside – cognizant, bright

having no lack of  – emotional

affects yet not  – conscious of being

a self  – in a condition of

rather uncanny – I-less life

cloned with indifference or cloned with a difference

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the

obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve in an old house, a

strange tale should essentially be.

despite disaster –  this single thing

language  remains – survives the damage

panic forms – phrases

sentences – take shape

writing alone escapes – from nothing’s pure night

so

let us go then you and I – along with our alters

under the Titian-white sky

what is the nouveau siècle to its whyless wide

to its dumb sun

all of us subsequents – formed by the story

until the text ends

Wonderful was it thus to see, and thrilling inwardly to note, that since the

question was of personal values so great no faintest fraction of the whole could

succeed in not counting for interest.


Bookmark and Share

Diana Manister at Bowery Poetry Club

In announcement on October 17, 2008 at 6:15 pm

Bowery Poetry Club

Wednesday, November 5, 8 pm

Tone Poem

Featuring:

John Farris
Deborah LaVeglia
Diana Manister
Nick Matros
Joe Maynard
Susan Scutti

$7 at door

308 Bowery Street(Between Houston and Bleecker)
F train to 2nd Ave, 6 to Bleecker

New York

212-614-0505

http://www.bowerypoetry.com/


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