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  Guy Kettelhack has authored, co-authored or contributed to more than 30 nonfiction books. His poetry has been featured in Outstretch, Van Gogh’s Ear, Melic Review, New Pleiades, Malleable Jangle, WORM 33, Triplopia, David Taub e-motion, Poetry Life & Times, Poetry in Emotion, Das Alchymist Poetry Review, the PK list, The Rose & Thorn, Heretics and Half-Lives, Desert Moon Review, Hiss Quarterly, Danjerasu, Autumn Sky Poetry, Words-Myth, Loch Raven Review, Bellows, About.com’s Spring Anthology 2007, Juked and Anon. Two of his poems placed in IBPC competitions in 2004. His poem “Alter Ego” was selected as a quarterfinalist in the Lyric Recovery competition in March 2004. He won the Margaret Reid Poetry Prize for Traditional Verse in November 2004. 20 of his poems appear in the New Pleiades Anthology of 2005. Book 1 and 2 of “Soho Poems & Drawings About Drawings” (collaboration with Norman Shapiro) can be found at ufemisms.com. He lives in NYC.  


Fall 2007

Table of Contents - Vol. III, No. 3

Poetry    Translations    Interview    Essays    Fiction    Book Notes & Reviews

 

Guy Kettelhack

 

Body Language

Your muscles, limbs and torso think, and speak –
mercilessly delicate and unapologetic,
they regale, declare – gesturally fostering
opinions past the brink of the acceptable: too
possible to be believed; articulations far beyond
the tolerably bright: they weaken me – deceive:

I cannot fight their lexicons and libraries –
conjunctions: glinting, slick – soft juncture of the lips –
tight linen skin – swift prepositions: flicking wrist,
translucent blink – the diction of a pinkness like
a mist when fingers snap me out of stasis, script
the air – the gilding care with which they lavish

purely fleshly points: the tender awkward syntax
of the shoulders – jointed to arcane vocabularies
in the slender spine – in shy subordination
to the sweet inclining theme of you, the wash
of wafting clauses in the dream of you: completely
there – beyond all reach. You ruin speech.

 

I Sing For My Father

Sometimes I sing – like him – without
the least impingement – as if his
warm vibrato reappeared to flourish
in the hollow of my throat: and its
miraculously flowing swing permits

a small smug happy thing in me
to gloat: ha! – I can do it, I can do it,
I can – shoo it out the door to cry
and croon – implore – fly here,
fling there, emancipating air – no

yearning for an outcome anymore:
all gorgeously replete. His sweet
remembered voice begets my own
and he is back with me alive in
a duet. He won't allow me to forget.

 

Guy Kettelhack

Poetry    Translations    Interview    Essays    Fiction    Book Notes & Reviews

   
     

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