Bob Heman

 

photo by C. L. Rogers

 

 

(USA)

 

 

WAKING

 

in my dream

i remembered a

dream i had

forgotten but in

my dream it

was no dream

 

Brevitas 2010 event book

 

 

SLICE

 

the light

beneath the door

is not correct

 

the man

rearranges it

in his sleep

 

Cannot Exist

 

 

ENTER

 

i

am

fed

when

sleep

enters

rabbits

allowing

distances

previously

undescribed

 

 

SHE

 

she punished him

for something

he did

in her dream

 

First Literary Review-East

Brevitas 2011 event book

 

 

WHISPERS

 

whispers « whiskey »

or « whistle » or

« witch willow »

to the man

to the many

men who manage

to be complete

in the company

of women in

the company of

the trees they

cannot remove

from the dream

 

Otoliths

 

 

DOOR

 

they stand around and mock her

the doctor and the baker who was taken by surprise

she closed her eyes and wept

something that was sleeping slept no more

the door was finally opened

she ran outside and saw things dreaming

she was screaming but she made no sound

and all around the little hearts were beating

 

Gandhabba

“Dreaming”

 

 

DREAMING

 

she had the dream of the paddle

she had the dream of the yellow mountain.

she had the dream of the sinking king.

she had the dream of the wedding ring.

she had the dream of the vacuum cleaner.

she had the dream of the empty street.

she had the dream of the parakeet.

she had the dream of the heavy cloud.

she had the dream of the big nose.

she had the dream of the burning rose.

she had the dream of the yellow heart.

she had the dream of the baking bread.

she had the dream of the floating head.

she had the dream of the wounded pig.

she had the dream of the bloody glass.

she had the dream of the big mouth bass.

she had the dream of the butcher’s mouth.

she had the dream of the running water.

she had the dream of the drowning daughter.

she had the dream of the missing band.

she had the dream of the other skin.

she had the dream of the ugly sin.

she had the dream of the six toads.

she had the dream of the last brick road.

she had the dream of the talking tree.

she had the dream of the frozen knee.

she had the dream of the awkward silence.

she had the dream of violence.

 

Lost and Found Times

“Dreaming”

 

 

FLOOD

 

It catches you off guard, hurls you to the ground.  You cannot see.  Your fingers clutch the soil.  In another moment you do something that takes the rest of your life to explain.  Your mother does not understand.  Twenty years later your brother still spits whenever your name is mentioned.  You grow old all alone.  And older still.  Your relatives think you will never die.  One of them brings you some homemade cake.  It tastes kind of funny.  That night you dream of a man who walks in the wake of a flood.  His shoes make sucking noises in the mud.  He has no memory.

 

 

Wormwood Review

How It All Began (Quale Press, 2007)

Bob Heman

clwnwr@optimum.net

 

from THE WATERS OF SLEEP

 

 

SMOKE

 

I exhale.  A deep white smoke appears.  I look to the window where a woman has a flame coming from her hands.  But then it’s an unlit match.  I call out « mother » even before I see the woman.  The woman is not my mother, but rather someone else.

 

Lost and Found Times

 

 

TURKEY

 

Four men keep robbing the same store over and over again.  One is later killed by an elephant after he is lost in his car in a maze of one-way streets.  He (I may be him while he’s driving) means to circle the block in his car, but the one-way streets lead him further and further away from his destination.  Finally he makes a turn and finds himself in a dead-end area surrounded by hill-sloping trees.  In the distance is an elephant.  It overtakes him.  Kills him.  He has a map in his hand.  The car is gone as two boys in a helicopter grab for the map.  Identification of the dead man leads to the i.d. of others including one nicknamed « Turkey » who seems to have liked and did eat turkey during the successive robberies.

 

 

BODIES

 

The bodies of my grandmother and grandfather (they seemed to die naturally) are in my folks’ house, but they don’t know it, and I’m trying to pack them in the garbage, along with the teddy bear I had as a child, without my folks or anyone else knowing.  I’m afraid I’ll get caught and blamed somehow.  I want to sneak them out in boxes with the other stuff I want to get rid of, but everything I come across I want to keep.

 

 

FUR

 

« Nothing about this place ceases to amaze me, » I was saying to my companion as we soaked in the cold water wearing the skins she had only so recently procured.  They were from an animal that seemed to be a cross between a bear and a beaver (the front half, bear – the rear half, with tail, beaver).  We had seen one only moments before, crawling above us on the wall and ceiling as we shivered in the water beneath the white cliffs that seemed more and more to resemble the sides of a giant tub.  We had been on our journey for a while, and had become quite chilled by the time she had produced the pelts.  We slipped into them as easily as we would a coat.  The fur was heavy and waterlogged but somehow kept us warm, even though the fronts did not close.  Actually they were very warm, but the weight of the soggy fur seemed to totally entrap us.  I found myself huddling closer to my companion, my unprotected chest pressed against the wet fur on her back.  It was then that I spoke.

 

First Literary Review-East

 

 

Here some links:

 

to the Thin Air Video interview

 

 

to his books:

How It All Began

http://www.quale.com/How_BH.html

 

Demographics, or the Hats They Are Allowed to Wear

http://www.quale.com/Demographics_BH.html

 

Cone Investigates

http://issuu.com/pradapoet/docs/cone_investigates_by_bob_heman

 

to his performances:

 

Bob performing at Blue Mountain Gallery (NYC)

 

 

 

 

reading from the Serpent Variations at New Year’s Day Event

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

____________________________________________

 

Bob Heman’s bio:


Bob Heman’s poems, prose poems and « cut-outs » have been published in numerous anthologies, catalogues, textbooks and journals including An Introduction to the Prose Poem (Firewheel Editions, 2009); The Best of the Prose Poem: An International Journal  (White Pine Press, 2000); Scenarios: Scripts to Perform  (Assembling Press, 1980); Writing Poetry (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1983, 1994); Loose Watch: A Lost and Found Times Anthology  (Invisible Books, 1998); Animalidiversi: antologia di poesie contemporanee sugli animali (Nomos Edizioni, 2011); Felmetztelen muzsa, Half-naked Muse (magyar konyvklub, 2000); Dinner with the Muse (Ra Rays Press, 2009); and Play Book (Prototypes, 2007).  He is a frequent contributor to the Australian on-line journal Otoliths.

 

His books Demographics, or, The Hats They Are Allowed to Wear and How it All Began are available as free downloads from Quale Press.  His collages, drawings and « cut-outs » [« participatory cut-out multiples on paper »] have appeared in a two-person show at the Brooklyn Museum, in a one-man retrospective of the « cut-outs » at BACA’s Downtown Cultural Center, and in group shows at New York galleries in Chelsea, D.U.M.B.O., Williamsburg, Gowanus, Cobble Hill, Brooklyn Heights and the East Village, as well as in shows in Toronto and Los Angeles.  During the late 1970s he was an artist-in-residence at The Brooklyn Museum.

 

Since 1971 he has edited and published the often experimental magazine CLWN WR (formerly Clown War), one of 84 « important magazines » honored with annotation in The Little Magazine in America: A Modern Documentary History (Pushcart Press, 1978).

He lives in Brooklyn, which was once a separate city, but is now part of New York.

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