Poetry
Jeremy Sigler
How much does
a barking
tree overhear
in winter when
its leaves
disappear their
orange organics
grow brown
this town has
lots to say
but nothing
to mean I
mean everything
meanders all
at once the
snow is melting
back to brown
a few white
shapes withheld
from water
wonder what’s
up beyond the air
and this intensifying
season will
bring something
really new
when the seeds
crack back
through brown
down layers and
next time I
wont let the
dancer meander
too far from
the motion
Contributor
Jeremy SiglerJeremy Sigler is a poet, critic and teacher living in Brooklyn, New York. His long-awaited analysis of the poetry of Carl Andre is forthcoming from Sternberg Press.
RECOMMENDED ARTICLES
The Tree of Life
By Charlotte KentJUL-AUG 2020 | ArtSeen
Online exhibits provide a different viewing experience. If all these works were in the Lower East Side gallery, you might walk in, look around, occasionally watch one of the time-based works, perhaps put on headphones for sound, and meander to the next piece. The online configuration asks for greater engagement, something that surprises many by requiring a conscious commitment to the work.
Printing in the desert and listening to radio preachers
By Martha TuttleFEB 2022 | Critics Page
Recently, I had the pleasure of working with my friend Kyle Simon, who has started Farrington Press outside of Joshua Tree, California. The press is off-grid, meaning it functions on solar power, and the water and materials Kyle brings in strapped to his pickup truck.
Shokoofeh Azar’s The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree
By John DominiAPRIL 2020 | Books
Which version counts as the truth? That dangerous term? Plainly, Azar would answer both, arguing that the Old Gods still hold value, “still alive and reacting,” even as she recognizes how “mysticism didn’t offer any simple solutions to murder, plunder, poverty, or human injustice.”
My Beautiful City
By Thomas HeiseMARCH 2021 | Field Notes
In the spring of 2020, as the plague was sweeping the city, I found myself several times a day staring at an Instagram page dedicated to the furniture and household goods New Yorkers were tossing to the curb. Amongst the flotsam and jetsam were steamer trunks, benches of reclaimed lumber, numerous upright pianos, boxes upon boxes of books, a fainting couch with flower upholstery, glass vanities, bar stools, two Noguchi coffee tables, stand-up globes (I counted at least three) that hatched open at the meridian so you could store liquor inside, seemingly every fiddle leaf fig tree in the five boroughs, and other bric-a-brac and impedimenta and whatever else could be quickly discarded in a desperate effort to get out of New York as fast as possible.
