The Works of Robert Snyderman
Robert Snyderman was born in Pennsylvania. He is a young poet. Just put together his second book. He is interested in learning how to live in a new way. His memory is in Brooklyn New York, where his brave friends run a small press and journal. They call themselves The Corresponding Society and every thing is a pilgrimage.
All Poems © Robert Snyderman
Sequences From "Meadow And Torrent"
I am introducing a sequence
To you who would not have advertised me. August 2007
And some time in July 2008. An irritable blessing.
Let the astonishment happen first. then guerilla warfare.
hostages and minimalism. Then, stigmata
in response to the pride of the climate. Thunder or Rain. Lightening or Shelter.
Man or Woman. Politician or Hobo. Conceptual Stigmata or Useless Sanitation.
I am introducing a sequence.
To you who would not have advertised me. I bought the violin in July 2007.
The Meadow raised me to be violent
only intensely ignorant, each human
is always alone with another human.
Why write about the violin?
These are my questions...
These are my aid...
To you who would not have advertised me.
October 24, 2008. I took a bus to Philadelphia. abandon the home.
I am introducing a sequence. To you who would not have advertised me
is an experiment for the idea of youth. written with haste. patient haste.
the civilization of the meadow
that raised me
is not aware
of the existence
of patient haste.
written between authorities.
written for authorities.
not written for possible burdens
(human solitude, unearth. earthly orgasm)
not written to relinquish possible burdens
I am introducing a sequence. An after life. A drum.
Why Meadow? you have defied
the human voice, or sound in general
is homeward and deformed
sexual solitude if the context
the bodiless and animal-like
among autumnal familiar
paranoia. your hair is the same
your husband is sane
because he understands
that he is regretful.
Is your father a husband?
Is your hunger a human?
Hunger Birth. Why Meadow?
Mortality in Philadelphia
12:03 am abandon meant
A professor of pity. A student of pity.
eye-urine. Why Meadow? I was
an upright human, until the wilderness
does not approach, Until I refuse
to apologize. The Civilization. The snoring dark,
not yet irritable,
and not yet seductive.
not hot fire inside hot fire.
The thematic licking.
ruined you portable.
The portable end.
Why end? When did the
become the talent?
woman of sun machines... Often sun machines.
Sweeney do not stagger round-n-round.
The horse does not speak clearer than you
Although the silences are similar:
Fertile and Mutinous – you don’t take enough of that river
She drinks from between the enormous fertility of
The horse does not cough up
Of white man soul hunted. Memorize the sex exit.
A Human Abundance. You holiness search the find.
Share light and unnecessary pain.
Then the pregnant becomes math.
He who throws a rock in to the Connecticut river.
sun machine and rail road track.
He who does not remember that day.
Too many useful drugs.
You are being watched
By an exact anarchist.
I haven’t met her yet. Someday in the university of the future:
Fertile and Mutinous, Healthy with fatal intentions.
Human blood must form The Mouth. Noose Carnivals mouth-like
Noose Pendulums mouth-like
The Inventor of Life. The Suicide Genius.
But myth is myth are portals of severe warmth.
Pearl Harbor. The child of both sexes stares.
Disease and Research.
Hobo scientist. Blood piss. Hereditary death.
The Logic! The Humor!
The newest disease and peasant language
My grandfather told me days ago,
his mother was born in the Yoral Mountains divide Europe and Asia Russia
Russia Then. Then. My mother is born in San Antonio, Texas.
The American Indian As If the sun had murdered
us into the temperature of the human eye. Disorientation ,
happened vivid breathing , a collapse, The World Trade
decentered. The human mouth that does not imply
censorship = The newest disease The visual strategy,
Decapitate the poets! if there are any poets left,
nameless yourself. One poem. I manifesto the Jihad
of endless naming, between publishers,
chewing new hells into the familiar birth control,
the familiar trap
gasp and clever
bleeding gap. A cancer of new hells.
A river of hostages,
the imaginary ejaculation weeps, The trees fall, That is the symbol.
soldier the turban
shock the corpse and tortured with bravery
Who is the lung? Who is the body? humiliated with bravery,
Who is the self? Who is selfish?
Who has not surrendered?
Who has not invented old logic?
Resurrection is not a type of silence?
High School was not a burden?
Sweeney isn’t getting married to Adrian?
And I am not silence? And I am not the Yoral Mountains?