LOCUSPOINT | Vancouver: vertigo west | KIM MINKUS

vANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA 30 MAY 2007
VANCOUVER'S VERTIGO WEST poets First edition Editor's Note: Jen Currin Meliz Ergin Collette Gagnon Brook Houglum Helen Kuk Kim Minkus Emilie O'Brien Cristina I. Viviani Jen Currin poetry resources in VANCOUVER Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design's "On Edge" Reading Series The Kootenay School of Writing University of British Columbia's Creative Writing Department Simon Fraser University's Writer's Studio Vancouver Public Library's "City Poets" Series Rime Rhizome Café Spartacus Books Pulp Fiction People's Co-Op Bookstore Duthie Books Vancouver International Writers and Readers Festival Douglas College Capilano College Kwantlen University College Langara College OTHER CURRENT LOCI BOSTON CHICAGO DALLAS LAWRENCE MADISON PHOENIX SAINT LOUIS SEATTLE ABOUT LOCUSPOINT About the LOCUSPOINT Project Managing Editor's Letter Join our Mailing List	Kim Minkus THREE POEMS ["This is an open air experiment"] ["set one=surveillance"] 28 Logos About Kim Minkus ["This is an open air experiment"] This is an open air experiment. When you crouch down and look close you can see the details and what is written and unwritten and written over It is very hard to separate instructions from messages Some constraints or parts of constraints have changed the syntax have removed the object from the system the result being that expression has no side effect . this is an unscheduled meeting of details elements caution other elements elements load other elements there are still little moments of glamour . This is a reference that is binding a constraint expressed as an instant a future work a little interference until one day story ["set one=surveillance"] set one=surveillance the premises are open to partial expressions insert as salt simple and uniform delicious in its tissue this is a union not an intersection there is a trace of decline and many ways to be broken set two=tantamount or almost equal but not quite it is all so cryptic get to know your neighbours you can never have too much information still how lovely she is she smells of vanilla and cardamom so twisted her hair resistant black set three=the remaining details there are too many keeping safe along the way if true if else it will be off balance too high to tell just one story avoidance is always an option this is a pretend warzone but we had sugar last time 28 logos prophecies are rich dog food for the masses beware of horses that eat snakes in the grass do not become enamored of your wife do not turn your back on your slave what of my brothers, husbands, sons cut down like burnt crops no temples no paid tribute no sacrifices the oracle has finally erased them it all began with abduction supplicants or not witnesses or not to that thing that destroys utterly and completely like our enemies we inflict famine on ourselves sold women out in the open lit bonfires waiting for the smoke of intoxication we save our honey to embalm the dead and stand with our hands wide open not lame not crippled not ugly we are that bird, that dog that mark the dead grave diggers who know the extent of the sea I know human happiness never remains long in the same place my fingers crawl across my skin into my eyes It’s tisis - retribution for the death of precious things I know we let ourselves be scraped down stuffed with myrrh cassia frankincense we are the singing women that hurl abuse that care for the eel the otter the bear and stumble with our eyes open we move upstream with our young stabbing the river that mid-heaven following the foothills and gorges I am contaminated like the others I wash before the sacred before the gilded tomb with my eyebrows shaved when I enter the sanctuary that smell of cloves, crushed and burnt hides the smell of entrails, we are the bridges across the fire The leaves will not drop my sisters it is our glory to make tall and good-looking children they are the ointment we spread we drench ourselves in them diviners of the flesh we are the vagabonds we produce and lament we feed them they can’t get enough of our spices and rich stews we stuff them full of tragedy all the while preparing their coffins One of those leaning days I will remind you that I am a daughter of the river half maiden half serpent blind to rapture I eat milk and flesh together torn from the thighs of rams still I have heard of that country where the air fills with feathers some days when I am down in the mud I dream of it the river is my ally I am yoked to it send your envoys to me I will serve them in my underground room What we really want is something occupied by bees it is the custom of my people to observe their cunning their slavery the dancing boundaries they keep it is said that the women of our enemies are murdered over the graves of their husbands and in their eyes are seen the images of the tyrants we know it is because they are the poets and inventors of fables It doesn’t matter which way the wind is blowing these acts of great cruelty are Lemnian deeds there are no penance for these the garlands of war give no protection where are the archers when we need them those that grasp at affluence and turn their faces into the wind the daggers keep coming down the fights at sea our only freedom is to burn with our husbands No success is ever enough to satisfy a man it was all decided by a dream no talk of virtue only of defiling only submission they had already made their resolution to act as scourges to pull themselves along the salty river we are mere ornaments sisters they left us at the headlands and moved forward with nothing Who we are all this coming together we are the conquered we are seven my sisters dispose of the bodies of the dead as they wash up some whole some broken we are all barbarians we are zealous and fear disfavour we look for rewards the unspoken deeds certain of us are violated to death a few will wear the crown of olive but we are seven The answers are hidden inside you it is a craving they lust after us little do they know we bear soft men others of us are barren we are known to turn on each other as the true spoils of war there is no refuge with us if you come down to the ravine beware of the wolves we have called them out look for the anointed among us there and know we are not humbled A poet and Librarian, KIM MINKUS is also a PhD candidate in the English Department at Simon Fraser University, where she is specializing in contemporary poetics. In April of 2006 Kim was awarded a fellowship to King's College London. Her latest review appears in the online journal Jacket 28 and she has poems forthcoming in the journal West Coast Line.

	CURRIN \| ERGIN \| GAGNON \| HOUGLUM \| KUK \| MINKUS \| O'BRIEN \| VIVIANI