Author Archives: dianeosiris

Fractured Birds Moments like fractured birds when I cannot speak. The flight of my voice from one human to another paralyzed in quartz or in sleep rumored to be sleep. There are moments & there are no moments— tiny husks of time fallen beneath my branches, beneath the arches of my feet, as another selfContinue reading “Alan Britt”

La paix des arbres Dans les arbres  parfois, les histoires des nouveau-nés s’enroulent aux branches. Il faut, pour les deviner, faire la nuit ces rêves qui traversent les flammes sans brûler. Alors seulement est-il possible, sous la Constellation du Feu, de voyager les uns avec les autres et d’inventer, même sans parler, la Paix desContinue reading “Marie-Christine Masset”

Meet you at the Osiris: a Parisian café in the American Wilderness I live in the boondocks of upstate New York, just south of the Canadian border. From my deck I watch an Adirondack River flowing slowly towards Lake Champlain. For blue jays, cardinals, chickadees, Canadian geese, squirrels, chipmunks, ground hogs, deer, fox and beaverContinue reading “Musings from Alexis Levitin”

from the sequence Gleams, translated by John Taylor * on the asphalt-blood network the ashes of places expect to travel as sacred dust. * lungo la rete di sangue asfaltato le ceneri dei luoghi aspettano di viaggiare come polvere sacra. Osiris 90, 2020

Translated from the Danish by Thom Satterlee There weren’t so many lilacs earlier in the fall nor a wind so strong the roofs have been covered with a thin layer of frost she has to hurry to give one last look at the calendar with all the blank pages OSIRIS 91, 2020

EDITING AN OLD POEM Lost in a place  where angular words  lodge in my throat, half–formed thoughts dust down from their stanzas into a pile on the page. A loose thread of dangling participle ravels the poem, opening  a door in its wall where sunlight shifts over mimosa leaves, emptying their veins to the paper.Continue reading “Patty Dickson Pieczka”

Méditation 2  Tes sourires, les lueurs dans tes yeux, tes tremblements emmêlés. Tous tes visages disséminés dans le littoral du temps, leurs teintes insouciantes, leurs poussières lourdes. Tous tes possibles inachevés, rivières errantes au creux de tes âges. Chacun de tes balbutiements pour arriver au chant.  Quelques miettes d’enfance au creux de ta main, tuContinue reading “Sylvie Poisson”

ÉTUDE 21 so we spoke, well into the night, of selves mingling, meetings held in the mind, trying to find a way through the words, to where there were none, no one for what there was to say: the blackberry, say, bearing the weight of a poem, the distant fruit of forgetting, the bare facts of beingContinue reading “Ray Malone”

Comment serrer le diaphragme Nappes de sons. Salve de silence. Nuit dilatée. Les danseurs s’éveillent à l’aube. Muscles tendus. Dans un tournoiement de lumière. De souffle. Les notes palpitent. Rythme infini derrière les yeux Clos. C’est pour oublier. Écarter la mort si proche. Pour passer un nœud coulant au cou du désespoir. Car les matinsContinue reading “Jean-Yves Reuzeau”

Cold in March Pine tree candles glowing at dusk are extinguished Crows gathering palm fibers  cluck like gravel on snare drums I sense your furtive voice at my shoulder tracing indigo words of longing by folded sleeves This apple tastes as bitter as the sky tonight Osiris 93, 2021