Jim Culleny is the Poetry Editor of 3 Quarks Daily. After a stint in the navy, Jim received a BA in Art Education from William Paterson University and did graduate work in art at NYU. He taught art for several years in NJ public schools in Newark and Bergen County. Taught a little bit of everything else during two years at a remote residential community school in New York’s Adirondacks. Was a social worker in Lower Manhattan before Soho was Soho. Made a living most of his life as a carpenter, designer, and builder. Did regular radio commentary for about 10 years during Morning Edition on WFCR.FM in Amherst, Mass. and some for NPR on All Things Considered. Played and sang his way from rockabilly to jazz in numberless band permutations over a period too long to believe. Came to poetry through songwriting. Has had work published in The Third Muse Poetry Journal, the Christian Science Monitor, Penthouse Journal, and in 5-Minute Pieces, a chapbook published in Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts. He’s also been writing a regular op-ed column for the past 12 years for the Greenfield Recorder along the beautiful Connecticut River, and is presently making a living as project manager for an Architectural firm. Jim lives with his wife, Pat, of 31 years, and his 17 year old granddaughter. He has three daughters and four other grandchildren. Email: jimculleny [at] comcast.net
Burning Bush At twenty I danced the tops of walls Najinsky of the double top plate bent in-two like an onion shoot unbending up through an earthen gate lifting sticks to be put in place nailing their tails held against my boot walking the wires of gravity’s net as a spider commands the filament web…
3 Small Poems A Good Poet's Boots a good poet's subversive—not to the point of blood in the streets…………………………. necessarily but to the point of burrowing beneathhis garden of conceits like an insistent voleand killing those weeds at their roots everyone in this waycan walk in a good poet’s boots ~~Cabin Fever besides the Biblethere…
That's All She Wrote There sits my selfnear a window in the sunits feet up on a sill There, beside the begoniawhose rose-tinged leaves are satin,succulent and still then, as now, taking down and making up the tale of itself,a concocting troubadour in sight of a star above a pine,past noon remembering,telling the story of…
Who made you? ,,,…………….,, God. What else did God make? …… God made all things.Why did God make you and all things?………………. —Catholic Catechism for Small Children Catechism God made the worldas much an open seweras a blazing emeraldin space Why did godmake the worldwhirl, was itgrace? And why me,part darkpart bright Why did godconcoct…
Actions always planned are never completed.……………………… —Democritus Carpenter's Shoes Yesterday I told myself I’d finish on Sundaythe project I started two years agobut I can never trust myself to carry throughwhen it comes to carpentry, soI swore an oath this time and pricked my thumband smeared a blood spot on my forehead like a tilak,faced…
who gets the thing that makes you tick The world goes round. One dayyou find someone who knows—who gets the thing that makes you tickgets it right and gets it quick No words can tell the joy in thisYou might as well be mute before a fire,rapt in its flame— Enjoy its heatListen to its…
Water Snapping Off Your Skin That water snapping off your skinin a shower its warmth is the same energystoked in the sunIts stoker is coy and cruel behindthe mask of creation behind a bright sunrise a fierce fire in his fist Is the one doing and undoingdamning or undamningburning and unburningThis fire was never begun…
For insulting the Quran, “'Thousands of peopledragged a Pakistani man … from a police station …(and) beat him to death,' police said Wednesday.”Insulting Books Is it even possibleto insult a book? Has it a soul within its leavesa heart that beatsan eye that winksa cord running through its spinedescending from a thing that thinks? Is…
Lolla Rossa in a field behind our houseLolla Rossa transfigured in morning lightbecomes at the instant a groundhog just on haunches dropsand scuttles under the shed becomesthe very lightthat shaped her— becomes the very particles or waves(as the truth may beor both) which transcendentallyshow themselvesto us herein this roomand out therefifty feet down the slope…
Tell Me Something I Don't Know Don’t tell me the earth’s a sphereand the sun’s kiss planted there amounts to half-day terminal bliss with a dark end or that winters have to do with anglesmystics have to do with angelsand lovers are about orbiting passionsthat whirl like eclipsing binaries—star pairs that pulse across light yearsto…
Schrödinger's Cat being in two states at once in a box alive and not —am ISchrödinger’s cat? rutting for grub nose to the groundstill, I can hear the high art of sparrow sound & catch sweet honeysuckle moleculesthat here and now aboundin a sea of duplicity or worsewhere neurons catch disparities in versein the nets…
Tomorrow.. (listen below) Often the guard will just take a rest his eyelids come down he drops his chin on his chestdon't blame him tomorrowdon't blame him todayhe only does what he canto let himself get away Like I choose your eyesand I choose your hairand I choose your skinah, what a lift to somewheredon't…
Talking With My Guru—1.0 Nothing & Emptiness G: What exactly do you mean by emptiness?Me: I mean nothing.G: Why then are we wasting time discussing it? Take your tiny Tao shearsand snip emptiness out of Webster’sand heave it into the void. It’s anotherself-serving euphemism like timeor collateral damage Cut wood, draw some waterand stop sound-biting…
DroneI speak a simple tonguedirect and to the point I have no second thoughtscluttered with misgivings I don't mince wordsI come from clouds under a flag of stateI hunt outside the natural order as cold and heartless as a hawkbut without its natural exculpation I bring regal retribution:a creator of corpses, I am the Count…
Further nothing is further than a horizon on a day at sea storm surge nil, line beyond the rock of swellsand slap of sea on hull the horizon,that crisp ringthat noose a scalpel cutbetween gray and graybetween realmsit cleaves high and low it's a rift we never breachbut ever keep our eyes on the edge…
The Architecture of Memory Every room has its story— the back of the house is darkestbut light floods the porchwhere we sit after a long dayrising now and then from its steps,momentarily leaving our drinksto wander back through old doorsand rummage among the stuff we’ve stackedagainst walls and under bedsreaching for the odd objectwe’d just…
Much Occurred. Yesterday I burned some brush took all day dragging piles I’d cut during two previous weekends. what a workout ticker tickin like crazy head in a straw fedora outwitting melanoma generating smoke, much occurred .by Jim Culleny, April 2006
Confluence of Friends We sit under the stars in wicker chairsOnly the light of galaxies reaches us,that and the spare, streaked flash of meteorsin August. The dust of the Milky Way,a cloud of packed suns separated by light yearsdisappearing behind the house roof southand the trees north at Halberg's garden,looks no more than smudge-likein this…
Limbo big moon sky dish amber as a goldfishlate summer, duskish,mirror of our sun disk cherry tree in our yardmany limbs akimboholds you in its trellis as you wax in heavenandwe wane in limbo. big moon at night isa bubble in a jinn fizz,the genie in a quiz thattrumps the ciphers of a math whiz…
There is no defense for a man who, in the excess of his wealth, has kicked the great altar of Justice out of sight. —Aeschylus Drought Having done their green workthe grasses say to the sky,We thirst The sky is blue and silent,clouds tease. They slidesilently under a brilliant sunhoarding their wealth they are the…