semantikon feature literature
Sep. 2004
Mark Flanigan
works

AUDIO
biography

Cincinnati native Mark Flanigan has been writing and performing for over 14 years....Works from his collections Wrong-Way Poems For One-Way Streets, Not Necessarily God Stories and Next to Nothing have appeared in a variety of independent publications.

He has also co-written a screenplay (“Midway,” with Brian Keizer), edited a literary publication (omnibscure) and worked to develop, produce and curate various gallery shows and performance readings -- notably, VOLK/c.s.p.i. and Intermedia Series readings at the Contemporary Arts Center and the Weston Art gallery.

Flanigan’s monthly column, “Exiled on Main Street,” appeared for over three years, first in x-ray, and upon his resignation there, at semantikon.com.

Performances of his can be found on “the Volk/c.s.p.i. spoken word series CD (2001),” which he co-produced, and on the CD “One Night Only (2002),” both of which can be purchased at semantikon.com’s artist exchange.

Through the fall, Mark will be touring the Midwest on a supporting book tour for the publication of his works in the annual review in the stomach. Flanigan and musician Steven Proctor are also at work recording their first album together why, available in winter 2005.

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Mark Flanigan, Cincinnati, Ohio, poet, performer, editor, poetry, minute poems, performance artist, audio clip, steve proctor

MINUTE POEMS

1. Enlightenment at the Buddhist Temple
2. Codeine Dream
3. All the faces...
4. In A Blue Mirror
5. The Night watchmen
6. Apostrophe
7. Untitled

 


Enlightenment at the Buddhist Temple

nine Buddhist monks dead.

the newsman
says
nothing was taken,
nor were there
any signs
of a
struggle.






*****
Codeine Dream


I feel nothing
but the pain.






*****
all the faces

looking for one
I don’t recognize

impossible
in a painting
this familiar






*****
In A Blue Mirror


some mornings
everything seems so clear.

these are the most frightening.






*****
The Night Watchmen


only we are aware
of that murmur in the distance;
only our thin, blue hands
rest
upon the cover
of that old-leather scroll;
only we, with the sun
at our backs, are pale as Nosferatu,
yet far from being
one of the dead.






*****
Apostrophe


I could speak of my concerns
but that would be betraying myself.






*****
Untitled


Whisper to a stone
your strength and

suddenly

your shoulders
are heavy