Born in Chicago, writer and filmmaker, Marina Pilar Gipps, daughter of an Argentine mother and British father was awarded a Master of Arts Degree from the English/Writing program at The University of New Hampshire-where she worked with Charles Simic in an independent study. Prior to her studies in New Hampshire, she attended the summer MFA Writing and Poetics program at The Naropa Institute (aka. The Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics where she studied with Allen Ginsberg, Robert Creeley, Jackson MacLow, Anselm Hollo, and Andrei Codrescu among others.
Her most frightening Naropa experience was giving a poetry reading immediately after Ginsberg in a coffee ... more »
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MARINA GIPPS Poems
A Day at the Pink Beach
An umbrella being dragged at the day's end. A seagull churns its wings, avoiding sunlight,
Planet of Six
Six people were born: three pink, two blue, and one yellow like a jaundiced newborn's ass...
Where does that closed door go? It mocks me, a small child, my parents inside. They tell me they are sleeping when I know
As he plans his next victim...
His night shadow moves slowly & causes some more destruction as he lights another johnny player, making god go further in silence.
Somebody died shamefully and left me all their money. And so it was, I tried to live just like them Only to die just as wrecklessly. I was a ghost for Halloween
Elegy in the Wind
A hymn trapped in the wind after countless Sunday morning mantra, heckling me until losing a piece of soul. My unpurged confession appearing finally in epitaph.
Women In White
In paintings, women in white dresses promenade, picnic, recline on couches, converse over tea, and sew in sunny parlors.
A Man Who Disappeared and Came Back Agai...
It was a man who disappeared and came back again; somewhere in a dream, blinded by obscurity. A man who walked in, sat down, throwing his coat to the ground as the elves shook below the seat cushions.
O Catholic guilt! His distant mother was cremated somewhere in Italy.
The Necromancy Whim
All the townspeople disappeared except for a man with very rotten teeth. Fetal positioned on his manifesto, he can proofread in his sleep.
A Clean White Shirt
He had a clean white shirt on when he died. The mystics were pleased- No trail of saliva,
Lanes of sky slag between telephone lines. Broken roads burning off the day's lingering heat.
I'm in Alaska and My White Mercedes is M...
I was going to school at U of A and all the classrooms were closed, the libraries closed. All the thoughts in books shut-out.
You weave in and out one last time. A secret loneliness led you back to me. I filled your void with more toxins before you rose up on your moonlit spindrift.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
A Day at the Pink Beach
An umbrella being dragged at the day's end.
A seagull churns its wings,
the hard flight of Icarus.
Pink swimsuits blown in the wind,
in search of due course.
Time is needy, a bronzed babe walks by, a regular
statue of Liberty, her flesh turning to
green palor as the water cools.
In this empty beach dream of deepening sky,
the wet Kremlin and White House
are eroded as our childless hopes.
An old woman collects
seashells-caverns of poverty
to be sold to our deaf ears.
The ocean roars of stolen property.