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
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…
Time Loops. “I don’t think I ever was a child.”……………. –Coleman Hawkins, top sax jazzmanJazzman Idon’t thinkI ever was a child WasI a child?I don’t think— IfI ever was a childI’d know. …..Idon’t. Idon’t even know, jazzman saidif a child ever was Child,jazzman said, I don’t just thinkI play jazz man Halberg's Rooster Up the…
Questions Philosophers Ask:#1-Why Does the World Exist? there might just as well be nothinginstead of the risible sun which makes me laughwhenever it comes up coincidentallywith the punch line of a joke that alsocould not have existed had someunknown condition not broughta comedian to a point in the cascading events of amillion million millenniato imagine…
Key and Gate Heading out the doorI forgot my keyand time is short it’s latebut I’m going nowherein this keyless state Last night the moonphasing out againwith its back to utter reachesseemed for a secondlike a key or switchneeding a turn or flickto open or startsome thoughtI don’t know what butimminent nonethelessbehind the moon’s backthrough…
Speed and Trouble Sunday……………… —my head spinssuddenly it’s Saturday again wind whistles through hoursdays are bullet trains yet in this garden long as the space of a light yearcrows drop in to listen for the bristleof worms making way belowthrough a sea dark as biker leathersblack as predator feathers I love these crows……………………… —being sowe-are-masters-of-this-row…
Storm whips crack over theback of Massamet lurid lightcolor of lime May spits crazycat calls throughthe wet lips of June croaksbig threats groans like distant trainshauling mayhem up slopes sky, a mad gymnast of electricitytumbles and casts boltsthat land like T-Rex bonesupon a timpani drums thump down undercircumambulating blasts of Jericholet-loose spirit uncorked jinnflattens new…
Boy in an Apple Tree Grappling with Happiness sun through leaves shadowson his faceas on a dappled stallion time was a tick, a heartbeatdrawn outlong as the orbit of Uranus 84 to 1 of our yearsslomoheartbeat that sustains us in a capsule with companionsin a memoryin a moment that contains us thread of something through…
My breathing system seems to be:these lungs within; without: those trees……………………….. —Inspiration. Conjoined There are mountains in this pic of withered leaves—as from a satellite and voids in shadows they recede but I see brittle peaks bright spinescurling from dead stemsdry as earth desiccated by the practicesof men: light filamentsthat have broadcast life and breath:…
Another Piece of Eternity I’m peeling back a page reading a new dayby the light of a new sun.mom died years ago, or was it yesterday?.I once read something similar by Camusbut was too new to understand that time bleeds.its dyes are not fast but runbetween years and sometimes like old cloththe colors of time…
Topology I love the space of your soulthe way it tends up and outlike that wide field in Conwaynear the sugarhouse which one spring blossomedwith dandelionsso dense and profuseits rising humpin the morning sunwas a mound of goldwhose brilliance was more fabulousthan that most coveted ore I love the niches and covesof a soul that…
Easter I should be devotionalin my mother’s waystanding at the mouth of a tombwith its rolled stoneempty as the night sky between starsempty as the space within atomsbecause, they say, a man diedbut beat death and wouldbequeath immortalityto those who believedeath can be beat entirelyso that bodies may embrace in heavenso that what was so…
Knot maybe you think I do not knowmaybe you think I could not bemaybe I am not where I gomaybe you are not here with me.perhaps the moon is nothing oldperhaps the sun is never newperhaps all stories have been toldperhaps there is no being through it could be everything is hereit could be everything…
Breeze I dreamt I wasdreaming in Chineseso didn’t understand my dreamthough it’s calligraphy was clearas the brushed strokes of breeze. the characters Lao Tzuclimbed behind closed eyes but said as little as they couldmounting nothing hill obliquely vanishingbetween two skies. I came upon a Buddhasitting circular and wise as a pictographwithout a word silentlyloquacious mutely…
Fresh Brim-Feather Inside the eye of a new stormare you lost? came the question;came as a little nesting tornado, awindy Matryoshka tuckednaturally within another;a wind like the tiny tempeststhat lift street leaves from gutters in fall—a miniscule funnel by standards ofTornado Alley butif you’re small (as smallas a small thought)the small question,are you lost in…
Bolts of Light The Sami have a hundred words for snowI have fewRivers of nuance flow from familiarity I know the bite of my own barkToothless as a frog I sit upon my stoneI croak across my pond, the sun,early spark and setting emberknew what I have knownknows what I remember,has seen it all, collecting…