Biography of Ann Cotten
Ann Cotten is a poet, prose author, and translator. She was born in Iowa in 1982 and moved to Vienna in 1987. She studied Germanistics at the University of Vienna and has been living in Berlin since 2006.
Since 2000, her poetry, prose, essays and illustrations have appeared in anthologies and journals such as Die Rampe, Kolik, Zwischen den Zeilen, and Schreibheft. Her first collection of poetry, Fremdwörterbuchsonette (Suhrkamp), came out in 2007. She also published a book on concrete poetry entitled Nach der Welt: Die Listen der Konkreten Poesie und ihre Folgen (Klever Verlag) in 2008; a collection of poetry called Florida-Räume (Suhrkamp) in 2010; and her first full length book of work in English, I, Coleoptile, (Broken Dimanche Press) in collaboration with the artist Kerstin Cmelka came out in 2010.
Ann Cotten Poems
Strange fugue (panic)
And the people came and looked on, holding their rings in their fingers. How they talked! 'Where would the lie be, then? ' and again, 'Where would be the lie? ' For unwittingly the songs had found the subjunctive, a present milder
Chinese market of dings
Rise up, swell illusions, cutoff cables, tragic flowers, uneven equals. Oh you kiss, you smouldering blooming kiss of bad craftsmanship, and oh you human eyes.
Papa, Child, Cold War
When I learned how you put my little half-sister to bed and how in good moments I converse with my lover, I realized: Did you talk with me in my early years
Endless wall-to-wall carpet (of the VIP ...
The crop of this expanse is stubble, no, how do you say, loops, simulation of fat land. Diplomats walk on them and so do we. Every loop rears its head once - ah fleeting youth! -
The Oil must leak. The tongue must toil. Man must use both tongue and oil.
They're sputtering like motors with no clue, the oil wants to get out and spits words only to lose them like dead good mousers.
Address to the beds
Beds, lend me your ears! I did consider writing this in verse. For a while it seeded a good idea to me. Which disintegrated, of course (my opinion).
Hits, grabs, takes my breath away
Late clamours in and we spit on the fence, where Mister Leach is banging Cary Grant, bunching their evening dresses and a bird keeps saying 'Hobts ka Wohnung?'
The shape of the eye and the cowardice
Leap through the Styx, a quicksilver curtain, an advance, a breakfast. You close your eyes and pierce the surface of the water. Now you are in another world. Like words,
De atra bile
A terrible claw has hit me it lives in the picture carpet don't ask me I don't know what it is but it is
Instead of a translation: On Madame B. a...
Trade will always be the same, but you can always leave. Hercules & Atlas Bleed the Lily gently, palpitate the Thorny Rose, The Tulip dreams, the sturdy one, upon her sweetened rows.
The most curious of animals
They are not there for anyone to live on and really, they can only do things wrong. They swallow hooks with little pain but monofilaments get them first.
lets see if we can get clear about the s...
All swans are called Reinhard. Not really, I know they just look like it. Like a certain look. And so - - - - - - beep - - - crumbs and they are merely what they might think (no no no). They wear glasses
Your name is far and wide, and yet it was sometime, I mean, not long ago you were a new lesion. And now I hardly see a word before seeing you in the place of everything I miss. Laughter
Your name is far and wide, and yet it was sometime,
I mean, not long ago you were a new lesion.
And now I hardly see a word before seeing
you in the place of everything I miss. Laughter
falls at your feet and leaves you standing stark naked.
What does this mean? You were a stranger five minutes
ago, and now you're wearing wreaths of cheap sonnets
upon your name. You throw them on the ground, leaving.