Giving some love to the Library Sunday, 12/2

LOOM

AN ARTS/LITERARY ZINE

CO-CURATED/PUBLISHED BY NOEL’LE LONGHAUL  &  JESS X CHEN

To live at all is to live in last days.

Loom is: 

1. The first appearance of an object seen in darkness or fog, esp. at sea.

2. To indistinctly see the presence of something massive, imminent, and threatening.
3. An apparatus for making fabric by weaving yarn or thread
4. a bi-yearly hand-bound arts, poetry, and literary zine.

Loom is: 

A collection of maps (poems, visual art, essays, and fiction) featuring thoughts towards the end of the world, and the end of one's life. The curation of these is intended to help build a better world as this one ends.

Let them be one star in the constellation that only you can name.

Let this constellation guide you towards a world that only you can build.

Loom is: 

Co-curated and published by Noel'le Longhaul and Jess X Chen, who are striving to come to terms with their own perishability and the temporality of the phenomenal world. They are trying to find and enlarge doorways into a better world with each map they make, each word they say/sing, and each moment they live.

Loom is: 

A beginning of all these journeys, as the end is always looming.

Please email your visual art, poetry, literature, essays, music,

(anything you want) to loom.artzine@gmail.com by Dec 31^st, 2012.

Hogwarts Poetry + Performance

David, Nathaniel, Eric, Joe, Jessica 

Hufflepuff

Esme, Galya, Sarah, Lynn

Gryffindor

Alicia, Hilary, Jessica, Valentina

Megan, Denise, Saras

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

The Dumb Waiter

Slytherin Magnetism

Spell

POUND ON PENNSOUND

here

Tenets of Imagism (1916)

1. To use the language of common speech, but to employ always the exact word, not the nearly-exact, nor the merely decorative word.

 2. To create new rhythms -as the expression of new moods -- and not to copy old rhythms, which merely echo old moods. We do not insist upon "free-verse" as the only method of writing poetry. We fight for it as for a principle of liberty. We believe that the individuality of a poet may often be better expressed in free-verse than in conventional forms. In poetry a new cadence means a new idea.

3. To allow absolute freedom in the choice of subject. It is not good art to write badly of aeroplanes and automobiles, nor is it necessarily bad art to write well about the past. We believe passionately in the artistic value of modem life, but we wish to point out that there is nothing so uninspiring nor so old-fashioned as an aeroplane of the year 1911.

4. To present an image (hence the name: "Imagist"). We are not a school of painters, but we believe that poetry should render particulars exactly and not deal in vague generalities, however magnificent and sonorous. It is for this reason that we oppose the cosmic poet, who seems to us to shirk the real difficulties of his art.

5. To produce poetry that is hard and clear, never blurred nor indefinite.

6. Finally, most of us believe that concentration is of the very essence of poetry.

The Bridge

To Brooklyn Bridge
by Hart Crane
How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him, Shedding white rings of tumult, building high Over the chained bay waters Liberty-- Then, with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes As apparitional as sails that cross Some page of figures to be filed away; --Till elevators drop us from our day . . . I think of cinemas, panoramic sleights With multitudes bent toward some flashing scene Never disclosed, but hastened to again, Foretold to other eyes on the same screen; And Thee, across the harbor, silver-paced As though the sun took step of thee, yet left Some motion ever unspent in thy stride,-- Implicitly thy freedom staying thee! Out of some subway scuttle, cell or loft A bedlamite speeds to thy parapets, Tilting there momently, shrill shirt ballooning, A jest falls from the speechless caravan. Down Wall, from girder into street noon leaks, A rip-tooth of the sky's acetylene; All afternoon the cloud-flown derricks turn . . . Thy cables breathe the North Atlantic still. And obscure as that heaven of the Jews, Thy guerdon . . . Accolade thou dost bestow Of anonymity time cannot raise: Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show. O harp and altar, of the fury fused, (How could mere toil align thy choiring strings!) Terrific threshold of the prophet's pledge, Prayer of pariah, and the lover's cry,-- Again the traffic lights that skim thy swift Unfractioned idiom, immaculate sigh of stars, Beading thy path--condense eternity: And we have seen night lifted in thine arms. Under thy shadow by the piers I waited; Only in darkness is thy shadow clear. The City's fiery parcels all undone, Already snow submerges an iron year . . . O Sleepless as the river under thee, Vaulting the sea, the prairies' dreaming sod, Unto us lowliest sometime sweep, descend And of the curveship lend a myth to God. from The Complete Poems and Letters of Hart Crane, edited by Brom Weber. New York: Liveright, (1933), 1958, 1966 poets.org wikipedia