the poetry that matters

Nina Karacosta

Nina Karacosta was born in Athens, Greece. She is an actor and a poet who lived 15 years in New York and has recently relocated to Paris, France. She studied poetry at the Poetry Project and the Poet’s House in New York.

She has performed her poetry in the Bowery Poetry Club, the Poetry Project, Cornelia St Café, Waltz Café, Stain Bar and many other venues. Her work appears in “Pomegranate Seeds, An Anthology of Greek-American Poetry”, Best of Stain Anthology, Surreal-zine, Upstairs at Duroc, The Melancholy Dane, and The Smoking book.


North, where lies the wisdom of ancient shamans

arrow         arrest       arrant       arm       ark                c r o s s i n g   I n k a c h i r i a s
            blue                         beaver             n     e       e      p a s s
 b              been               beatle                o              k        1 5 .6 0 0  f e e t
     e                     before                          o              o                          
        n                                                       g      z       r             i n t o  h i g h   A m a z o n
   b        e                                               a               t
b      l        v                                       l                s                   r a i n f o r e s t   w i t h
           a        o                                       a         h
    r        s         l                            e                s                       o r c h i d s
                 p          e                   u                 u
         a           h          n            l       l          r                          a n d
             v          e          t     b                   b                              
                             m                                                                 h u m m i n g b i r d s
                    a              e       b             f
                           d                          i
                                   o           b

   a                a                 a                  a              a
   l                 m                m                n              m
   b                e                 o                 c               u
   a                n                  e                 h               l
   t                 i                   b                o               e
   r                 t                   a                r                t
   o                y


It would have been alright under metropolitan control, black bird
  fennel, coriander, cumin, saffron, juniper-berries
    a hunter is someone who listens
      a careful tremor always
         unable to just submit but
             a hard long smile it sometimes makes
                 you a sudden lover and me
                    i could teach prosody there but nobody
                          wants to cultivate in groves on the islands of Zanzibar
                                embedded in certain ways self to self with me : how will we
                                     metronome the names and vibrations of things
                                               walking as I’ve walked before
                                                   half-blinded, muted from earth to satellite
   promiscuity is not the same plan resolving differences of desire.


                                                 Circe’s Domain

                                                                      You sit one-eyed over my roof
                                                                      teeth of the wild, sword in right hand
                                                                      far-away a young hope holds an umbrella.
Shells were deaf
storks and serpents were mute
and memory was numb and liquid.

I remembered the prophesies
by the shutter, my face projected as in (a) screen
where scorpion and salamander were mating
under the three turquoise windows
and the full round round white moon
                                                   and in the Turkish minaret
                                                   behind scriptures
                                                   while cloud was curving sky
                                                   my future was cursed.

Oh I have missed you
Blue nightmares
with spears in
your hands
and faces that go

                                                Only the dog knew you were here.


Can’t talk about it

She uses the surgical knife
hand steady
cuts what she calls
dead skin
and roams around the edges
the raw flesh
Doodling at the edge of the white paper
I want to write about burning three fingers
and ending up in the emergency room
but instead keep doodling

                                                                                                                   The skin is a fruit
                                                                                                                           lily and river

                                                                                                                                            I am
                                                                                                                  a corridor of rain

Psychotropic Hurrah

i     can       maybe        write          a pow wow           poem

                    of  peyote and aproportioned calmatives

                   i can maybe storm the photospheric pinion
                   compose the papyrus in the iron room
                                    and embroid ebb tides

                   magnify all dull
                                           into steaming cazoes
                   rearrange the Nagual into its upstairs countertop
                   and exit the protons into million fireflies
                                          Fahrenheit mercy

                    not a stack, not misidentified puns, not a sonofabitch ha ha
                    velocity       of                                            radio  icicles

                    brain made of                                             attic cylindrical frenzy
                                              leaking oils, no variety
                                              the outwashes

                  done analgetic membranes, done dimness, done mittohondria

                  only fluid flesh.


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