John Kannenberg: photographs

John Kannenberg: photographs

John Kannenberg: Photographs

John Kannenberg: Photographs

John Kannenberg: Photographs

John Kannenberg: Poems

Lamp during daylight
burns brighter for a moment
blinks off, unnoticed.





—————————————





shooting star in a sidewalk sky





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In the grey clearing under a canopy of pine, oak, and maple
we walked on brown needles
until crispy leaves, now forgotten by their branches, 
began to fall around us and
I stopped.

I had to listen.

The silent flutterings, invisible impacts melting 
into the undergrowth
were lost upon the bird and the lonely car off in the distance
both deaf to this momentary theater of slow motion gravity.

You kept walking, but I wasn’t alone.

Our isolation
was a ligature
connecting no-sight and no-sound:
a fragile ball of sibilating yarn unwound
within the labyrinth grooves
(dusty, sedimentary)
stretched between the things
that you never heard
and I never saw.





—————————————





/

A breeze, not yet brumal
sprinkled across our fingers like the leaves of an unfinished book
as we stared at massing clouds:

wispy tortoises
fuzzy elephants
nebulous rabbits

the nearly imperceptible glissade of an impossible bestiary
backed by a soundtrack of airplanes, helicopters,
and psithurism.

//

The sun was rising
but our ears ignored cycles
of rise and fall, off and on;
the auricular is always there even when the luminous is not.

///

Beneath the trees, a curious scent of pepper
brushed against suppressed fire
as if the petioles of the forest’s offspring would spark
when we stepped on them;
they popped like
microscopic
firecrackers
in any case.

Within waterless eddies of that frosty wind
they danced around our feet
in imperfect circles
begging us to join them
if only we would listen.





—————————————





The glowing full moon hummed,
following me as I walked
past the buzzing street light
under the whooshing train on the rattling tracks
and around the man with the clicking cigarette lighter.





—————————————


--John Kannenberg

Call for Works

"There are thoughts we can only have while walking...our minds are motion-sensitive and they are site-specific. We think, shaped by the places through which we are moving, and the ways in which we are moving through them."
--Robert MacFarlane


CALL FOR WORKS: for the month of May I will be guest-editing TRUCK by leaving the keys at home and the vehicle parked by the side of the road. Taking to foot (to truck, to convey, exchange or guide), I am looking for:

1) Walking-based works from walking artists, psychogeographers, poets, photographers, scribblers, and sound artists.

2) Texts actually written or composed while walking, scrawled in longhand in a moleskin notebook or thumbed into a smartphone.

3) Found poetry from signage or graffiti witnessed in the landscape, remembrances of scents carried by the breeze, or reflections on the ever-changing soundscape encountered on the walk (what Steven Feld refers to as Acoustemology, knowing the world through sound).

4) Essays, manifestos, conversations, or reflections on the landscape, the walking experience, constrained walks, mapping, field recording, soundwalks or other interventions.

5) Responses (exquisite corpse, remix, starting point, negation, sampling) to the following prompt:


    We buy ugly houses. A nun in a rusty
    Cadillac blows past a stop sign. Sunday

    morning in the Richmond. My window
    is a watercolor, the ringing of blue bells. *




Work accepted for the month of May may be published under a Creative Commons license so that others can sample the work and feed the results back into the conversation.

Send text in the body of the e-mail, along with links to photographs, field recordings, or video clips to glenncbach at gmail dot com.


*Prompt includes texts sampled from Glenn Bach, Helen Frosi, John Kannenberg, and Marc Weidenbaum

photograph by John Kannenberg