Joseph Torra appeared across Issues 5, 8, 10, 24, 37, and 38. This page gathers the surviving texts and titles from those archival appearances.
Two Poems from After the Chinese — Issue 5
One autumn day, I traveled to Dragon Gate with Mei Yao Ch’en and Ou Yang Hsiu. In the evening, we boated on the river. After drinking and reading many poems, each of us composed a poem to fully express the pleasure of the occasion.
Approaching a mountain pass
the boat lags in the current
as the sun slowly sets. Rapids
too shallow to navigate, we drift
the middle flow cups in hand
contemplating the landscape.
At an island mid-stream
we set ashore. I carve
a pipe out of a pear
offer my friends
hemp to smoke.
I hang my feet
in the water. Mei
plucks water chestnuts.
Ou Yang smiles wide,
wields his brushes,
composes a new poem
shouting out lines
“Red trees line both banks.
The Thousand Caves stand
silent in the evening mist.”
Pine trees shiver in vapors.
Waterfowl bob and float.
A brook trickles
among rocks. We three
come beyond the world.
Far off in the city
lanterns are being lit.
On a rainy autumn day, in an old Dodge Dart, Joe Dunn, Stephen Jonas and I drove cross-country to visit Jack Spicer.
made it
far as
Lowell
when the
Dodge died
2 from After the Chinese — Issue 8
Issue 8 lists Joseph Torra under the entry 2 from After the Chinese. The surviving record preserves the entry title; the individual poem texts are absent from the current archive.
from After the Chinese — Issue 10
Issue 10 lists Joseph Torra under the entry from After the Chinese. The surviving record preserves the entry title; the poem text is absent from the current archive.
Poem for Del Ray — Issue 24
My study is
low and small.
A thinning
moon my guest
in the window.
March gone—
April’s come.
How many more
chances to
welcome spring?
I hardly
see my friends
these days. So-
cializing leaves
me weak, snares of
talk entangle.
Yesterday’s
disputes could
not separate
black from white.
Ah, we delight
for such a
short while. I
shiver to
think about it.
from Duck Tour: The Movie — Issue 37
A world of shitty idealism prison night falls on the Longfellow icy wind whitecaps on the Chuck no stars no sodium only shelled scallops enough to roll on the sidewalk the camera shifts to rider’s-eye-view dodging people shout obscenities at tourists any misfit with a wand of ash worn as might imagine wrote the poem after seeing his dog doused with oil set to flames so many names so many administration buildings and bars automatic things nothing ever seems real but burns into you all the same they say the machinery supports it but traffic’s shut down to one lane both directions
* * * *
At Revere Beach they leave the sand sculptures to the elements sinking to everything the ocean ever puked up a ripening extension of things sticks to the crotch of swimsuits UMASS Boston disintegrates second by second built forty years before the Big Dig Whitey’s brother Billy became president after Rich Parson’s wrote “There’s No Surfin’ On Dorchester Bay” then Billy carried off the last of the good bricks disguised as lyrics printed with chalky fingers on blackboards at night hieroglyphs float just below the surface things you know by heart never empty these Irish hate each other more than they hate the Italians who don’t hate anyone more than they hate blacks now Columbians Haitians Brazilians Mexicans Muslims who knows what else you learn to hate everyone
The Farmer Panics — Issue 38
Who owns
which galaxy?
Which galaxy
more planets?
Who drives
the white pickup
with gold
hood ornament—
pearl inlaid
steering wheel?
One town over
they paint porches green.
Part of a nine
year plan to
bring corn syrup
to them there hills.
Handful of
seeds, yeast
and a beast—
make shooting star
out of firefly.
On clear days
smell the money
in that chicken shit.
Browse the Past Issues chronology for the surrounding issues.