"A Vision of Home"
by Juan-Paolo Perre

[Read by the author]

This evening I was sat alongside a garrulous boulevard.
In a coffeehouse chain of little to no repute,
Pressed up against tempered glass and concrete road
I made the best with what I had.
And on that road was a queue of machines
With starlights to steal anyone's attention 
And likewise curved neon lights
Spelling out slogans in man-made voices:
“I am.”, “We are.”, “We have.”, “It is.”
Farther off but not out of view -
In a recessed spot of someone else's domestic life
I saw a dim light shine through windows opened wide.
Not a glaring light of real necessity
But a kind of burning Sienese hue.
And in this place the walls’ corners
Were sharp and purposeful but softened
By the glow;
Sure but forgiving -
With pieces of ardent décor dependent upon them:
Walls more cushion than geometric plane,
More blanket than ballast.
Then I imagined another city.
One where I might set this place
Down into and me in it.
My windows too would stay open 
Like the ones here are -
Not from absent-mindedness,
Neglect from a workday’s weariness
Or a humbling lack of economies
But to reward a striking lack of villainy
Or reflect some other more simple calm.
And as I looked again, from time to time,
With all these things in mind
For a while all noisy litigations ceased
And the harsh racket of this place surrendered and released.



"A Vision of Home" - Poem by Juan-Paolo Perre

From the poet and narrator, Juan-Paolo Perre:

"The past year has been a significant one for me. The end of 2014 saw the release of my début collection of poetry, "A Confederacy of Joy", the result of a prodigal return of sorts to poetry after 30 years of polishing other parts of my mosaic-ed life.

I dedicated the book to the poet Philip Levine who had been a guiding force in my life and a kindred spirit since being introduced to his work by the poet Jon Davis, then editor at the literary magazine CUTBANK, in 1981.

His death on 14. February of this year came as a heavy blow to me in particular. You see I'm not sure if my mentor ever got a chance to read my book, the book that was informed in large part by him and dedicated to him.

I have a tradition on Labor Day of each year to revisit his poem, "What Work Is" and to post it widely across social media in an offering of my respect and esteem to his resounding visionary voice. This year, tinged with a mix of sorrow, gratitude and recollection, I've decided to record this spoken word version of his powerful poem."

Please listen and share freely.

Siena Press
[Los Angeles - London UK]
7. September 2015

WHAT WORK IS
BY PHILIP LEVINE

We stand in the rain in a long line
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work.
You know what work is—if you’re
old enough to read this you know what
work is, although you may not do it.
Forget you. This is about waiting,
shifting from one foot to another.
Feeling the light rain falling like mist
into your hair, blurring your vision
until you think you see your own brother
ahead of you, maybe ten places.
You rub your glasses with your fingers,
and of course it’s someone else’s brother,
narrower across the shoulders than
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin
that does not hide the stubbornness,
the sad refusal to give in to
rain, to the hours of wasted waiting,
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead
a man is waiting who will say, “No,
we’re not hiring today,” for any
reason he wants. You love your brother,
now suddenly you can hardly stand
the love flooding you for your brother,
who’s not beside you or behind or
ahead because he’s home trying to   
sleep off a miserable night shift
at Cadillac so he can get up
before noon to study his German.
Works eight hours a night so he can sing
Wagner, the opera you hate most,
the worst music ever invented.
How long has it been since you told him
you loved him, held his wide shoulders,
opened your eyes wide and said those words,
and maybe kissed his cheek? You’ve never
done something so simple, so obvious,
not because you’re too young or too dumb,
not because you’re jealous or even mean
or incapable of crying in
the presence of another man, no,   
just because you don’t know what work is.

Philip Levine, “What Work Is” from What Work Is. Copyright © 1992 by Philip Levine. 
Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.

Source: What Work Is: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1991)


"What Work Is" by Philip Levine - Read by Juan-Paolo Perre

The poem, "A Nomad's Ode to His Muse" read by the author from the poetry collection, “Carmina: The Nomad Odes & Other Poems” by Juan-Paolo Perre soon to be released by Siena Press.

"A Nomad's Ode to His Muse" by Juan-Paolo Perre

The author, Juan-Paolo Perre, reads his poem, "False Alarm" from the upcoming book release, "CARMINA: The Nomad Odes & Other Poems of Longing" on Siena Press.

False Alarm

What a fool I was to think it was over,
Could be over, ever over. I was foolish
To think that the fibrous ganglia
That have grown us together, grows us together
At a miracle’s speed, so fast that light and sound
Are discomfited for their seeming languor,

That that mass of nerves made love which joins us at spots
Common and deadly vital could be so easily untangled
Without tearing at crucial organs, without one or both
Of us suffering some mortal loss in body
From that which is propped up in meaning
By the steady heartbeat of our timorous souls.

I admit now my ignorance. That the stuff, part glue part oil
That glides us and binds us, wraps us up tight but still
Leaves our willful limbs curiously free and
With full range of motion, is serious stuff, the stuff
Of a trillion births, is gravity’s cause and effect, is science, religion,

A thousand philosophies, the planets in their orbits,
Stars exploding then collapsing inward on themselves,
The arts both dark and fine, real things that only live on in faith
And that invisible force which quietly slumbers
Under all things, hidden yet second-by-second
Shows itself, clear as day.

False Alarm

The poem "Easter 1989" by Charles Wright read by Juan-Paolo Perre for The Poetry Foundation.

"Easter 1989" by Charles Wright read by Juan-Paolo Perre

The poem, "A Psalm for the Brothers of the Death Squad Mfg. Co." by Juan-Paolo Perre, read by the author.

"A Psalm for the Brothers of the Death Squad Mfg. Co." by Juan-Paolo Perre

"Scribo Ergo Verba Mea Sunt" (I Write Therefore My Words Are) by Juan-Paolo Perre read by Adam Alexi-Malle

"Scribo Ergo Verba Mea Sunt" [I Write Therefore My Words Are] by Juan-Paolo Perre read by author

Juan-Paolo Perre reads his poem, "A Map of the Poem" 

"A Map of the Poem" by Juan-Paolo Perre read by the author

A Massacre Carol:
The Tragedy at [insert here]

[16. December 2012]
[15. April 2013] rev. 2

Juan-Paolo Perre


Every now and then handfuls die
not the petites morts of indulgent hands -
the world’s oldest profession
but by world-weary murdering ones
who practice the age-old passe-temps:
making a brutal orgasm of flesh
Forcing us to see that even they are made
in some form or another
in one or another god’s image – deconstructing creation
eager – fearless to throw the first stone.
Godliness needs be contained from child’s play.
But how from a seething populace
of reapers? Greedy hands with satchels empty
of germinating seed and nurseries in a high-gloss blue
barren of young ready for sowing.
I’ll have not another special televised report.
No cheerful, gorging, gluttonous newsmen
in need of ipecac nor freelance art directors 
grateful for some little work
whose “BREAKING NEWS” chyrons envy 3-D.
I’ll have no drooling witnessery
proving late that reflexes
at the knee are indeed intact.
No yuletide destruction
of sacrificial paraffinic forms –
handheld or melting under flying buttresses,
No surplus offerings for rites of spring
nor collected signatures
to urge career-driven, time-stamped civil servants:
The greatest reapers of all –
made in our own image
of prodigious flaw
and shortcomings lauded in shows of sponsored reality.


"A Massacre Carol: The Tragedy at [insert here]" by Juan-Paolo Perre

Poet/Musician, Artist & Actor. Author of the poetry collection, "A CONFEDERACY OF JOY" [Siena Press], winner of the 2014 Legacy Poetry Prize and the forthcoming "CARMINA: THE NOMAD ODES" & "OTHER POEMS OF LONGING" - Editor of the litmag, IL PALIO Review @ilPalioReview [SIENA Press]

Juan-Paolo Perre

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