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Lubna Safi
Blue is the blue of distance, "the ink that I use is the blue blood of the swan" (Cocteau), of the sea, of the faraway, a discriminating blue, of your eyes, of memory...

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"Rainbow" performs a demonstration of Soffici's manifesto for renewal, both urging the artist to wake up, revive, and take their place at the center of things, like a wizard or an alchemist, and doing so himself with the poem. Poets, like painters, he shows us, would need new techniques to respond to this radically new century. But rather than the aggressive techniques the Futurists advocated—the violent imagery and bombastic declarations designed to wrench Italy into the new century by force—Soffici chose color and expressive typography to reproduce the vibrancy, disorientation, and sensory overload of early twentieth-century life.

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Ardengo Soffici (translated from the Italian by Olivia E. Sears)
The day sinks into the scarlet basin of summer And there are no more words For that bridge of fire and jewels Youth you’ll pass like the end of every play Tant pis           Never mind        I’ll make myself a magnificent suit out of old posters

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Laura Cresté
I tend my own but cheat, buy them full-grown from the nursery,                  leaves round as saucers, in the way of daughters                                    fearing their mothers like them less each year we grow older.

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Laura Minor
Everyone wants someone to crawl back to;                  everyone wants to forgive the rose for dying.                  You used to make everyone jealous of my laughter,                                   turned every moment vignette, borderless and fading.

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Alyse Knorr
Today they color the arteries red and the veins blue, dreaming of their scrubs and their stethoscopes, strangers to Keats and the plague they'll soon grapple. Today the answer is not: Someone once kissed this spot, so tender behind the knee, but, Gracilis, plantaris, extensor hallucis longus.

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Lisa Robertson
              The day I cried for Baudelai    re I had been drinking a little                          the discovery that th    ere is no orthodoxy —                              it took place in wh     ich hotel room?

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Therese Estacion
My body  moves in prone mode  exposing some truth stored in our limbic systems            Perhaps I am a heroine in the iron mud

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Julia Kolchinsky Dasbach
slow bone in front of the other, unsure which one of you is going where or how to name your joined, persistent motion.

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