John Biscello

Review of Carnet d’AmeriKa

Posted on November 21, 2016 by John Biscello

“To be human is to transform; to be human is to name, then name anew. I must remember the inseparable nature of word and action.” Erin Currier, 6 November, 2004

In a sense this passage became one of Erin Currier’s self-fulfilling mantras, its ethos guiding the trajectory of her life and art. As an insatiable seeker, with the ambulatory zeal of a flâneur, Currier has literally “walked the walk” in collecting trash from different countries around the world. Her epic scavenger hunt, keyed to alchemy and renewal, has given rise to a dynamic body of artwork which continues to grow and attract followers and collectors worldwide.

To read the full review, appearing in the inaugural issue of Riot Material, click here.

Posted in Artwork, Press, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged Erin Currier, John Biscello, journal, Latin America, Literary, magazine, political, riot material, socio-political | Leave a comment

Floor Plan

Posted on November 20, 2016 by John Biscello

mms_picture-2

Photo shoot of novel-in-progress, Nocturne Variations

Posted in Books, Prose, Uncategorized | Tagged blueprint, book, John Biscello, Literary, nocturne varations, novel, photo, process, work | Leave a comment

Review of Raking the Dust on Book-Tastings

Posted on November 17, 2016 by John Biscello

Grateful for the appraisal & support, especially since I am seeking a new home for my orphan-child, after my publisher recently closed its doors.

“And the award for Best Indie Read So Far goes to…..Raking the Dust by John Biscello. I was totally blown away. In fact, I was so impressed, that I actually resent the fact that this hasn’t been picked up by a bigger publishing house.”

To read full review, click here.

Posted in Press, Uncategorized | Tagged book tastings, John Biscello, love, passion, Press, publishing, Raking the Dust, Review, Surrealism | Leave a comment

Catalog

Posted on November 17, 2016 by John Biscello

The sea is the sea but it is also a sound recording of the sea,

it is Memory, shroud and fathomless, and freighted with echoes.

It is the case history of forgotten species and myths,

the ghostlight of dead stars.

Posted in Artwork, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged black, catalog, echoes, Literary, memory, rothko, sea | Leave a comment

Wraith

Posted on November 17, 2016 by John Biscello

In a brief lighted instance,

a rending flicker, he measured

and recalled, a rumpled

and well-worn patch

of dark velvet, sun-warmed,

and touching the skin of teeth

to Memory, he grieved her,

fashioning haunt

from thin fabled air.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged dark velvet, fable, grief, John Biscello, Literary, love, memory, Poetry | Leave a comment

Duende

Posted on November 14, 2016 by John Biscello

“The duende . . . Where is the duende? Through the empty archway a wind of the spirit enters, blowing insistently over the heads of the dead, in search of new landscapes and unknown accents; a wind with the odor of child’s saliva, crushed grass, and medusa’s veil, announcing the endless baptism of freshly created things.” — Federico Garcia Lorca

Prayerfully

wresting the nightsong

from dark wind

tasting

lips,

she, bewitched,

annoints and rivets

the god-sworn wound,

its rose an excruciate

impossible to bear

without ceremony.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged bewitched, dark spirit, duende, goblin, inspiration, John Biscello, lorca, medusa, Muse, wind | Leave a comment

Disclosure

Posted on November 13, 2016 by John Biscello

In perpetual flirtation

and basking courtship

with Beloved,

I, warming to petition

and gospel,

humbly sign my name,

if only to ghost an echo

channeling undisclosed remains.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged courtship, devotion, gospel, John Biscello, love, passion, petition, Poetry | Leave a comment

Beginner’s Yoga

Posted on November 13, 2016 by John Biscello

“The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind.” — Shunryu Suzuki

Lying on the mat,

picking up with fresh ears

a preschool earplay symphony–

caw, bark, vroom, ding-ding.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged beginner's mind, John Biscello, listening, preschool, shunryu suzuki, symphony, yoga, yoga mat, zen mind | Leave a comment

Bird’s Eye View

Posted on November 11, 2016 by John Biscello

(For Leonard Cohen)

As the bird on the wire

trills its last delicious

electric notes,

the vibrato hum

begins to resound

in Heaven.

Posted in Artwork, Uncategorized | Tagged bird, bird on a wire, Heaven, John Biscello, leonard cohen, Literary, memoriam, music, song | Leave a comment

Endanger

Posted on November 11, 2016 by John Biscello

In the Beginning,

when all was scrim and nostalgia

to be, there was the Word,

a dark sensual organism

prefiguring Symbol,

and in the mouths

of babes desperate to dream aloud

and chasten their hunt for meaning,

the Word became a necessary sea, fathomless

and freighted with Memory,

to whom the voices

endangered their silence.

Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged endanger, gospel, John Biscello, sea, voices, word, words, writing | Leave a comment

“To be human is to transform; to be human is to name, then name anew. I must remember the inseparable nature of word and action.” Erin Currier, 6 November, 2004

To read the full review, appearing in the inaugural issue of Riot Material, click here.

Photo shoot of novel-in-progress, Nocturne Variations

Grateful for the appraisal & support, especially since I am seeking a new home for my orphan-child, after my publisher recently closed its doors.

“And the award for Best Indie Read So Far goes to…..Raking the Dust by John Biscello. I was totally blown away. In fact, I was so impressed, that I actually resent the fact that this hasn’t been picked up by a bigger publishing house.”

To read full review, click here.

The sea is the sea but it is also a sound recording of the sea,

it is Memory, shroud and fathomless, and freighted with echoes.

It is the case history of forgotten species and myths,

the ghostlight of dead stars.

In a brief lighted instance,

a rending flicker, he measured

and recalled, a rumpled

and well-worn patch

of dark velvet, sun-warmed,

and touching the skin of teeth

to Memory, he grieved her,

fashioning haunt

from thin fabled air.

Prayerfully

wresting the nightsong

from dark wind

tasting

lips,

she, bewitched,

annoints and rivets

the god-sworn wound,

its rose an excruciate

impossible to bear

without ceremony.

In perpetual flirtation

and basking courtship

with Beloved,

I, warming to petition

and gospel,

humbly sign my name,

if only to ghost an echo

channeling undisclosed remains.

“The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind.” — Shunryu Suzuki

Lying on the mat,

picking up with fresh ears

a preschool earplay symphony–

caw, bark, vroom, ding-ding.

(For Leonard Cohen)

As the bird on the wire

trills its last delicious

electric notes,

the vibrato hum

begins to resound

in Heaven.

In the Beginning,

when all was scrim and nostalgia

to be, there was the Word,

a dark sensual organism

prefiguring Symbol,

and in the mouths

of babes desperate to dream aloud

and chasten their hunt for meaning,

the Word became a necessary sea, fathomless

and freighted with Memory,

to whom the voices

endangered their silence.

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