James Brantingham — The Monarch Review — Page 2
Kindle vs. the Book – James Brantingham
Friday, July 22, 2011 17:27 — 3 Comments
Connections When Dante addressed his readers, O tu che leggi…O you who read, he wrote to a very limited readership– only the wealthy had the time and leisure for an education. And at that, the language the literate did read was Latin. Dante wrote the Commedia in the Italian vernacular.   According to Erich Auerbach, it wasn’t until Dante’s time that ordinary language in medieval Europe had an alphabet. The door creaked open to modern literacy. As importantly, Dante established a relationship between the author and the reader by speaking directly to the reader—for the first time according to Professor Auerbach. […]
The Peace Sign – James Brantingham
Tuesday, July 19, 2011 14:12 — 1 Comment
Richard started The Craft Guild in Manitou Springs in the early ‘70s– at the tail end of the hippie days. There were several varieties of craftspeople who worked at the store; many of them were very talented people. The shop sold hand-made leather goods, brass goods, bead-work, real hand-thrown pottery, outstanding custom made gold and silver jewelry, and even clothing. The street-side display window also showed off a 12†tall carved wood peace sign—the peace sign salute with the raised two fingers, not the circle with the jet inside. It was the only item in The Craft Guild that was […]
Vera Cruz, 1964 – James Brantingham
Thursday, June 16, 2011 14:26 — 5 Comments
The dirt floor was swept clean by sunup;
The Freedom Of Silence – James Brantingham
Wednesday, June 1, 2011 15:42 — 4 Comments
I tossed the remaining potato chips on the ground near my van. The sudden seagull stood guard nearby and said “quack quack.†That’s where this story started: I was intrigued by his opening observations. Seagulls are well known for their sleep shattering screeches and less for their more subtle quacks. This gray crumb beggar, this bi-avian polymultiomniphage definitely said, “quack quack.†He/she (I don’t know the difference, and I’m not sure they know without checking) quacked twice, just like a duck. In an effort at inter-species cordiality, I echoed, “quack quack†back to the seagull. Fortunately, no one overheard this […]
Bone Trap – James Brantingham
Tuesday, April 26, 2011 14:01 — 1 Comment
I’ve lost track of time; it is meaningless to count the hours in the grave. The seasons sweep over the cemetery like spindrift over ocean waves. The sun bakes the brittle, skeletal grass each summer in turn. Leaves drop in autumn and vanish into the soil, food for the always hungry worm. Snow hides the gravesite each winter with great precision. No one has dropped flowers here since I was laid to what should have been rest. I remain here, a spirit caught in mid-stride, stuck to the bones that once carried me around the world. My foot is caught […]
La Do̱a Vieja РJames Brantingham
Monday, April 4, 2011 13:31 — 4 Comments
A bruising shuffle of knees
A Chocolate Calculus – James Brantingham
Tuesday, March 15, 2011 14:47 — 6 Comments
I sat down on the back porch, a too short message in my hands—no road ahead, none behind, just the view of my back yard fence.
The Last Eye-In-The-Sky – James Brantingham
Thursday, February 10, 2011 15:07 — 3 Comments
Ray was the last “Eye-In-The-Sky†Traffic Reporter. Traffic cameras and the internet had put him and his kind out of work at last.
Van Gogh’s Shoes – James Brantingham
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:49 — 0 Comments
A 1959 Plymouth Fury leans heavily onto Market Street from 17th – bumpers sagging, suspension shot, carburetor clogged, body bent and chrome peeling off like flesh after a July sunburn. The driver is too young to understand the angst attached to this garish horizontal impersonation of an idealized rocket.
Watermelon Heaven – James Brantingham
Thursday, February 10, 2011 14:45 — 4 Comments
The crossroads on Mexican Highway 15 sit worn out and creased at a wide spot on the road just like a folded crease on a map.
The answer isn't poetry, but rather language
- Richard Kenney
