Loud singing at speed
"Love is productive," writes Leif Høghaug, a diligent ant in the Norwegian contemporary literature field, with poetry collections, an anthology of Norwegian worker poetry, and now with a major exercise in the re-writing of American Julian Talamantes Brolaski. It is a productive love of literature that drives Høghaug. I don't know anything about Brolanski, so I read the term first, and meet there – in Høghaug's enthusiastic and reference-rich prose – the poet, linguist and country artist (!) Julian Talamantez Brolaski (b. 1978), who writes in a quivering and direct oral poetry. : "Fuck me hard, shit in the black-eyed pack that you know I am a pleasure whore come and take me now in the rock and hill, thirsty where I was when I was happy to see you forget poetic skin, and puke you. When people make fun of the mouse, come on, darling, sew that makes me dress up and call me jinta di, look away from habits both here and there.
Brolaski uses a kind of anarchist bastard language.
Gentlemen, as you tease, you, oh! cufflinks, I shudder with desire and I think no listen steal less, you. So hold me tight as hard as you can handle the whole tea I howl beibi fuck me hard. ”It is only Øyvind Berg who has written something similar here in the country.
"I will say dive rassar what Love is your plug he belar, so dazzle your gate while you hang there in the truging wilderness without help from the bøgaste crew." In this quivering and singing poetry of Brolaski, you can only forget normal syntax and perpendicular words, for this is skewed and shaky, and. . .