November 24–30, 2008: Alex Galper and Kendall A Bell

week of November 24-30, 2008

Alex Galper and Kendall A Bell

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Alex Galper
alexgalper@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Alex (Brooklyn, New York) has been writing poems and short stories since he could remember Immigrating to America at the age of 19 did not change it; to the contrary, majoring in “Creative Writting at Brooklyn College and being mostly influenced by American poets created a fusion of Russian pessimism, Jewish humor and Western literary traditions and philosophy Translations of his poems appeared in over 30 magazines in the USA and the UK In his homeland, he is considered a cult underground poet whereas mainstream Russian literary magazines ignore him for luck of respect for rhymes, heavy erotic imagery, and being “too American”

Alex Galper web links:
http://spdbooks.org/details.asp?BookID=0970722443
http://languageandculture.net/chapbook-galper/chapbook-galper-00.html

The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Alex Galper and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


less than a second

the car in front
slammed on the breaks : halt!
i learned to keep a distance
and stop
inches away
intuitively glance into the rear view mirror
a jeep is coming
up on me from behind, fast;
the driver is on the phone
in seconds he’ll notice
that i’m at a standstill
but it’ll be too late he’ll slam into me
with the full force of
rear collision
i’ll be thrown forward, 
driving my front bumper
through the one parked in front;
there ain’t nothing to do now
will the bags work ?
i lean back and press my head against the headrest less than a second left.

translated from Russian by Misha Delibash.

elementary cell

a beauty she strolled
into the office
demanding the state pay
for her sex change operation
since her elementary nature
her cellular being is trapped like
a caged nightingale
without a way out of
a 100% homosexual male
who’s already got
the world’s best boyfriend
who is to be her husband
the day after
she gets that dick
sowed on.

i listened: as the fan
pushed stale warm around
the room
i quoted Lao Tzu to her:
“are you capable of understanding
that you know nothing?”
she rushed out of the office
like a scalded animal,
shouting:
“i’ll file a complaint! how dare you!
you’ve got some crazy assholes working here!”

translated from Russian by Misha Delibash.

Kendall A Bell
kashleybell@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Kendall A Bell is a native of Bergen County, NJ who transplanted to Burlington County (Willingboro, to be exact) in early 2001 His poetry deals with the frustration of everyday life, teetering dangerously on sanity’s edge and the hope of better days His work has appeared in numerous print and online journals, most recently Drown In My Own Fears and Gold Wake Press He was nominated for Sundress Publications’ 2007 Best of the Net collection He has self published eleven chapbooks of poems, with another forthcoming in December 2008 He has also recorded two spoken word cd’s He is a co-founding member of the Quick And Dirty Poets, Co-editor of the online journal Chantarelle’s Notebook and the publisher/editor of Maverick Duck Press He is a football and music fanatic and resident codger
Visit Kendall’s website here: www.kendallabell.com

The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Kendall A Bell and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

something useful

the same tests
end with the same results:
negative

think about anything else:
the piles of dirty clothes
the unfinished garage
bills piled in the office
the birds loudly chirping for food
the unused nursery
and ideas to turn it into
something useful
something that will bloom
in this dried out garden

the perfect stolen girl

it could be the lips
in what seem like a permanently pursed position
that draw me in when I should be paying more attention
to more thoughtful matters

it’s easy to notice
how simple sweaters can make someone adorable

her skin somehow looks soft and smooth
even in the year’s coldest months

start to think of any way possible
to steal a touch
satisfy a curiosity
or a long standing desire

think of vows
then shut it all off
try to control your breathing
when it’s just a mere separation of inches

she’s not the kind to do such a thing
blinded by devotion for a fool

it will be a slow torture
as the months go by
sharing small spaces
and letting your mind create the perfect moment
the perfect taste
the perfect crescendo