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
No Joke Regarding quantum chance, why (or more simply) does the world exist, and if it does, is it funny? There might just as well be nothing instead of the risible sun which makes me laugh when it comes up coincidentally with the punch line of a joke that also could never have existed had…
“It was only when my father died in 2016 that this deep truth of human existence hit me: there are two basic categories of people, the living and the dead, and the members of both categories are equally people. Some people are dead people, in other words.” —Justin Smith-Ruiu, from 3 Quarks Daily Knot There are days…
—Two poems separated by 5 years have come together
Celtic Knot maybe you think I do not know maybe you think I could not be surely I’m not where I go surely I am here with thee but maybe moon is nothing old maybe sun is never new perhaps all stories have been one maybe there’s no such thing as through could be everything is here…
When Bach was a Busker in Brandenburg When Bach was a busker playing for humble coin he’d set up his organ in the middle of a square regardless of pigeons, ignoring the squirrels who sat poised at its edges waiting for their daily bread and work to build its impossible structure of intricacies, assembling its pipes…
The Politics of Wind There is something that loathes a vacuum, high pressure to low, breeze is of disequilibrium, there will be calm without it. The greater the absence here the fiercer the blast from there, the more thorough the vacancy there the deeper the absence here. To breathe, lungs must be partially void, it’s in…
