- **My poem, “Chess” won an Honorable Mention in “The 2012 Allen Ginsberg Poetry Awards” sponsored by the Poetry Center at Passaic County Community College! My first Honorable Mention. So excited ! **
- June 3, 2012 at 1pm -I’m reading as part of the HOWL Festival in Tompkins Sq Park in NYC: https://www.facebook.com/events/335451453191992/
- July 21, 2012 at 2:30 PM – my reading series, COUPLET will be featured in the The 2nd Annual New York City Poetry Festival ! Additionally, I’m reading in the Underwater NY reading at the festival, too!
- I’m pleased to announce that three of my poems have been accepted for publication in three different online journals: Ping Pong, Patsola Review and Everyday Genius.
- Check out the Feature on me at Vol 1 Brooklyn ! Thanks so much Joe Winkler!
- I was the guest blogger for the week of January 15-21 for The Best American Poetry Blog. Check it out or click here for the direct links.
- I am a contributing writer for BOMB Magazine’s BOMBLOG and a Poetry Reviewer for The Rumpus. Check it out now on the “Publications” tab.
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When fishing for dates, it’s easy to plunk it/sink it/ flunk it.
Yes, it would be easier to just stick our heads through the murk
& see what lies below the stink & the stank, but it’s better off
you are surprised when up comes the pucker. Yes, it is comical:
how many times you can bring up the trash & how many
ways that trash still smells like trash. It doesn’t matter where you fish.
[Or phish.] Because it’s all the same baloney. One woman’s
garbage is another woman’s gold. I can sit here all night fishing out
old wives’ tales and common clichés. Afterall, you know
What happens when the fishes are sleeping…
[…the dead arise….]
I don’t mean dead as in mobsters-dead or gangsters-dead but
The Ghosts of the Dated Past. All those goodfornothings
& nebbishes; numb-nuts & dimwits you choked back banter with.
they rise to the surface, like gas. Like a little teeny fart. But,
let’s turn to the past. This is ancient: this desire for companionship.
I’m done waiting for a bite or a nibble. I want a big gulp. [& not a Slurpee]
I want to be taken down deep, twenty, thirty, fourty leagues.
Bring me a whale; or a sea-urchin.
[Heck, get Ole Loch Ness on the phone…]
I’ll take a sea-beast over a man-child, anyday. Just someone with a spine
that’s aligned & doesn’t need to be held up by these hands of mine.
© Umansky 2012
Posted in poems | Tagged men, dating, fishing, computer, poetry, monster | Leave a Comment »
People are moving towards another and an
other; towards a re-awakening delight.
Using techniques of the automatic; I can say:
this is as beautiful as chance.
Think of the reclining nude as traditional
as reinventing light through ligaments
through flesh.
*
We fasten our inners to our outers; outers to our inters all to
enter the electrified common room of common life. (leave your
shoes at the door).
We are fascinating:
our bodies
our meetings
our minds
our hits
our counts
our printings
our data
our art
our thoughts
our gestures
our need
our need
our need
Our need
© Umansky2012
Follow @lady_brontePosted in poems, Uncategorized | Tagged time; science; technology; humans | Leave a Comment »
Luster,
came away in one of those not-so ways& I want that Luster, here. Back. Keep your handling to your hands. You’ll mind me if I want you to mind me & I don’t want your minding … now or….yet….
If I say it won’t be, do you think that it won’t be because I say it that it won’t be because I am a Lady? I can be all close-like,
all wet-legged & bellering. (& is that luster coming away or my way?) because I’m not one of those women but I can stand the things I can stand & I’m trying to whet this. I’m not saying it’s not puzzling, but I can go where I want. No one’s got me. I’ve got it all inside this, here. I am playing my instrument & recording every tune.
©Umansky 2012
Posted in poems | Tagged faulkner, luster, prose poems | Leave a Comment »
The lessons are primal and of the prime. The confusion is international.
You need to gristle the blade and chuck what’s lame all to shoulder these facts:
The stakes are tough, but Boy, I’ll tell ya, they’re tender.
Enter your code, and enter the locker. It is a universally acknowledged truth,
that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want.
Boy, the best place to source your specifics is in the Connective.
(are you connecting, daily?)
The locker is full of parts. We need to be anatomically correct before
we are anatomically considerate. What are you looking for?
(Hungry?) This is a universe of scarcity but not this city. Is your heart with your head?
Organically speaking, we all feed in the same place, in the same way. I want. I want
something with flavor and texture. Something marbled and good-loined. They are all engineered the same: all specimens of the flesh and the mind.
If you want to be relaxed –right there in the middle–take an interest.
Show some excitement. So much is available. Here: take a number.
Don’t you want to know more about your pickings?
© Umansky 2012
Posted in poems | Tagged meat; men; locker; poetry; dating; 2012 | Leave a Comment »
Men need their bondings and bondages.
Some can’t rub two dimes to make twenty cents.
Don’t with the lacking and the shellacking.
It only gages a time where being counted on becomes being counted for, and then counted against.
Soon enough, you’re on your way to being some dude’s algorithm. We’re all in
the Count.
Hardcover the truth. It’s easier than relying on the flimsies. Forget being diplomatic.
Oh, I could tell you a story of two halves that did not equal a whole.
That story is dissatisfying, and terrifying. I always put forth the best image first and mine is language. Communication is a darn good skill, and I’m so skilled, I may as well be
a warrior.
Men don’t know how to function f(x). They pine for that shattering; that chattering; and that flattering that they think we need them, but I can build with my belief. Let’s not take this too seriously. They jangle down their ropes, just above our heads and we lift out pretty little mouths for a small nib, and it’s gone.
That jerk was germed.
We open and reopen and we outside the inside because we know the benefit of counting.
There are legitimate dangers but that’s just how the story goes.
© Umansky 2012
Posted in poems | Tagged VIDA; the count; dating;gender; poetry; | Leave a Comment »
The Wonder Years
“[my kids are playing house] and are currently waiting for Fresh Direct”
– a Facebook status
1/
Dick and Jane are playing house. Dick is playing with his father’s Ipad, “Honey, my Fantasy team just won the season.” Jane ignores him. She picks up two spatulas and pretends to flat-iron her hair. “That’s great, Dear, can you order Fresh Direct when you’re done?” “No”, says Dick, “I have to prep for a meeting. I need to Skype with China in two hours.”
Jane sighs.
The next day, after an hour of killing each other in World of Warcraft with Tom and Paul on the Internet, Jane begs Dick to come into the kitchen with her. She puts her hand on her face and pulls her skin very taunt: “Look, I’m Mom, try to make me smile.” Dick laughs. He says, “Okay, you be mom and I’ll be dad.
Jane: “Hi, Honey. How was your day?”
Dick: “[typing furiously on a pretend Iphone] “Fine. I’m in the middle of something.”
Jane sighs. She pretends to burst into tears and then turns her back, and pretends to take a small pill and is magically happy again. She flits around the room and smiles. “Oh, That’s great, honey. “
Then, she sits down opposite Dick and pretends to take out her iphone and both stare into the white screen.
2/
Dad comes home. Dick and Jane don’t come downstairs. Dick and Jane watch the DVR upstairs. Mom and Dad talk. Dick and Jane don’t hear Mom and Dad talk. Dick and Jane are hungry. Dick and Jane complain to Mom and Dad. Dad tells Dick to order pizza. Dick and Jane take Dad’s Iphone and order pizza. Dick and Jane run down to the basement. Spot follows Dick and Jane.
Spot lays on the floor. Jane places different objects on Spot. First, a Kindle. Then, a juice pack, Then, Mother’s left Louboutin, and finally, the Wii controller. Spot is mad. Spot gets up and barks. Dick makes a video of Spot. Jane watches Dick make a video of spot. Dick uploads the clip to YouTube. Then, Dick and Jane go Viral.
© Umansky 2012
Posted in poems | Tagged childhood, children, futuristic, games, house, kids, modern, technology | 2 Comments »
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