from The Limping Woodsman
Aubrey Jones

Poem 1

I have nothing to justify
I have nothing to justify

In a rush of meditation
Mastering the unconscious

Full stop at the end of the rainbow
In a world where all the poor live under the same roof
Here I go

Poem 2

I fill my lungs with air
A flash
An electric idea

Coming from the cosmos
Permits me to dream
Of the masterpiece

I swell like an angry hyena
I hold my breath

Poem 3

Does God really believe
These pure-blooded bastards
Ensnared in their own collars
Speaking in yaps

All dogs have ADHD

I’ll wear out my 9 lives
Blow out these candles
In the blaze of great explorations
I am a feral cat

I hold an atom of gold
In my prospector’s hat

Poem 4

A hummingbird on ecstasy
In a Mason jar
I’m running out of oxygen
The idea ripens
My lungs are freed

Best before such date

Poem 5

Expiration date
Mushrooms sprout from my pencil
My neural alchemist
Transforms my filament

Into fool’s gold

Poem 6

Pulmonary cycle
A misstep of the breath
Respiratory frequency
12 to 20 cycles per minute
There-and-back in perpetuity
Through the mouth of the cannons

Here I go

Poem 7

I will never finish this poem
My volume will not come together

Instant combustion
All the better if the cavalry is late in coming

What my poetry has sown will grow together
At the moment the epitaph is etched
Aubrey Jones is Associate Professor of French in the Department of World Languages at Weber State University in Utah, USA, where she teaches courses in translation, literature, and film. Her research focuses on the analysis of the relationship between feminine subjectivity and corporeality through textual representations, as well as on pedagogies of translation. She is currently engaged in projects centered on the theory and practice of comic book translation, the translation of French-Canadian poetry, as well as the intersection of therapeutic cultures and literature.  


Le boîteur des bois
Félix Perkins

Poème 1

Je n’ai pas à argumenter
Je n’ai pas à argumenter

Dans un élan de méditation
Maîtriser l’inconscient

Le point final au bout de l’arc-en-ciel
Dans un monde où tous les pauvres vivent sous le même toit
J’y vais

Poème 2

J’emplis mes poumons d’air
Un éclair
Une idée foudroyante

Venue du cosmos
Me permet de rêver
Au chef-d’oeuvre

Je me gonfle comme une hyène en colère
Je retiens mon souffle

Poème 3

Dieu croit-il
Ces bâtards de pur-sang
Prisonniers de leurs propres collets
Ils articulent en jappant

Tous les chiens sont TDAH

J’userai à la corde mes 9 vies
Soufflerai ces chandelles
Dans le brasier des grandes explorations
Je suis un chat sauvage

Je tiens une mole d’or
Dans mon chapeau de prospect

Poème 4

Un colibri sur l’ecstasy
Dans un pot Mason
Je manque d’oxygène
L’idée murit
Mes poumons se libèrent

Meilleurs avant telle date

Poème 5

Date de péremption
Des champignons poussent sur mon crayon
Mon alchimiste neuronal
Métamorphose mon filon

En or des fous

Poème 6

Cycle pulmonaire
La maladresse du souffle
Fréquence respiratoire
12 à 20 cycles par minute
Aller-retour à perpétuité
Sans broncher
Par la bouche des canons

J’y vais

Poème 7

Jamais je ne finirai ce poème
Mon recueil ne se rassemblera pas

Combustion instantanée
Tant mieux si la cavalerie tarde à venir

Les semences de ma poésie se regrouperont
Au momento de graver l’épitaphe

Born in Edmundston and living in Upper Madawaska, Ontario, Canada, Félix Perkins wanders and loses himself between his Wendat, Italian, Spanish, and Québécois heritage. Fresh out of school, he has a passion for nature and plans to focus his post-secondary studies on Aboriginal environmental perspectives.


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