Main Entry: sot·to vo·ce

Pronunciation: "sä-tO-'vO-chE
Function: adverb or adjective
Etymology: Italian sottovoce, literally, under the voice
1 : under the breath : in an undertone; also : in a private manner
2 : very softly -- used as a direction in music

Thursday, September 30, 2004

sr mp | paris Posted by Hello

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

the healing

this is an audio post - click to play

The Healing

My feet ache with happiness
The circled tangos we turn
through foreign city, down
avenues broad, the metro.
I am flush and light as Medea.
The sun shines through me
My body thickening,
Filling with fertility.

How is it we can be
So free of it now.
It has left us, dear, pray gone
The thick rope to the past
Has been cut. We glide
In our new found freedom
Live at last as others
Only more so, each falling
To the other.

Lick clean the wounds.
Heal now the old sores.

secret | audio poem & photograph

this is an audio post - click to play

three tangly trees
photography by owen hartford

poem by sadi ranson-polizzotti


It’s not what you think:
The smile deceives – a thief.
It brushes against, holds
While the other hand
Palms the bright blade.

Do not be deceived.
Such saccharine lips, they
Conceal the sharp cry;
Shattered eye, salt wet
The heart’s deluge.

It drowns the breath.
Last beat, certain death.

It is over.

Ritual | audio poem - sadi ranson-polizzotti

this is an audio post - click to play


Why do I disappoint.
I have sought and found
All the unguents, foreign
Vessels of the lovely.
Each night I draw
The bath. Marinade
Myself fertile. My arms
And legs bear lilies.
The gingersnaps you see
Are not imperfections, no!
They are fine and sweet
powdered sugar. Taste
I have spun my hair,
pale and blonded
Honey. It tents us when we kiss.
Love, I have the nightly song,
The litany, danced the vesper
Ritual. Praying I
would soon see
the shape of you
Edging down the road
That which leads to my
Door. I am clean and pure
As any saint. My Klieg light
Blinding. Once I was warned
Never to prepare for any
Man. How it debased me, so.
How they do I glow; ruby-
Lipped, child-hipped
A fertile mama, real lover
Whose scent catches
Your sails as you draw
Your vessel to me.
When the stars fall
They burn and flare brightly.

I glow, butane blue
bright & burning.

grand pressigny

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Grand Pressigny

The climb is dizzying
Each step closer to cloud
They whisper promise of rain
As you whisper promises hot
To my neck. I blush to the sound
Of it: what you promise to do.
I weaken at each word
Fall and rise to your touch.

I wonder who stood
Years before us, fought
For this land, as you once
Fought for me. Pushed
Back the boundary,
Take what is yours as I ran
To the bell tower, took
Firm the rope, and set
The clapper in motion
It licked each side ringing
Alto and sweet.
My bell tolled only,
For you, for you. For you.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

call home | paris, 2004

this is an audio post - click to play

that i have.

Call Home
Paris, September 22, 2004

In three hours, Paris will simple be
and we, we will be gone, our tea cups
dry, our linens stacked, bags packed.
We leave, the heart of the bed faintly…
still… of love. We journey home to a land
that even now is still foreign.
Still, my tall and pale tapers
burn, waxed and white with holiness
They spark from Notredame to Sacre
Coeur, bridge our return, we go step-
-to-step, arm hooked in arm this park,
this air, this sky, this day, this path,
this Paris, this place that we now
call home.

the abortionist

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The Abortionist

All the weeks of gentleness
of thinned fabric fluttering
kissing bare knee, skirted
sun blonded so in love.
This means nothing.
I saw her, pass, slip
from the sky, oily slipped from the sky
dark yolk she drips.
At Notredame I thanked God
but, damn now I see it.
the hard horns pricking
nimbus, as she reels
down her mauves,
the pinks, as she blanches
the light.

See it return:
The American sun, it has
no mercy or discretion: looks
at everything as if all were

It is back, we drag blacks,
your dark collected beauties,
the oily fetus that weighs
as we walk.

The journey is rough
with such baggage. Yet you insist
we have lost it, yet plainly I
see it. Discern her oriental cackle
the cellophane crackle. It nicks
the nerve, needles the vein,
hypodermic. She sucks her
bloodlust. Licks the lip crust
then retreats to her transparent
sac. Tomorrow I will abort her
out out out!

don't you go thinking

this is an audio post - click to play

Don’t You Go Thinking

Listen you, don’t you go thinking
You know. Always it gets us into
Trouble. Some rum-tum rubble of
What you thought I’d be, think I am.
Would that I were that! So not
As you see, veins open, I bleed
On my knees – your virgin suicide,

You’ve always had me wrong.
Elsewhere you seek your dark
Pride, a bride to take to bed
But not to mommy. I’m as holy
And as filthy as the best – worst –
Those you think so above me.
I levitate them, then walk
On their backs, take from each
What I want.

I’m your bright electric whore
The blue madonna too - so pray.
Pray tell: Who did you think
I was when you did me: some
Saint, stiff with holiness.
Oh baby, I can surprise
With the best.


this is an audio post - click to play


sweet, untouchable, marble
and solid. it’s always to you
that I turn. you’re a fast-pace
runner, streaking joy through
my street, your bicycle wheel
click-clacking the play card we
pegged on your spoke. remember,
how we spoke on the roof, drank
tea. remember that? remember me?
you’re the touchstone, the reference
the referee, always with some sage
wisdom, your old Cherokee
blood turning in your vein
versing down your arm, the steel
plate that says, Someone here
died. When you died, I died too,
I felt it, felt you leaving shouted
No! and you returned as if by some
magic incantation I had conjured
you home. Touch stone, never leave
say you’ll always be with me.
Twin, thin, greyed and lovely
cousin, brother, lover. I turn
to you, in the night, in the day
light I sway and when I fall it is
you who is there to break it
as if you know I would shatter
on impact. you’re the one,
the number one fan, the one
who always understands the sparks
that light so bright to you they
are the Champs Elysees, they say
all roads lead to Paris. I see you
biking fast around the columns,
lighting up the night.
this is an audio post - click to play

i'm | poem

this is an audio post - click to play


I’m not the one you thought
oh no you figured it out you
thought but ho, you were
wrong to think, such thoughts
they steer off course,
a car I once crashed
but on purpose, a field,the cows
look curiously on and I sat
head to the wheel and sang
my mourning song. the long-
held tears sprung forth, well-springs
fresh Spring is about to appear
they say, and all I can think
is the truth that I know that
in the greening of trees, more
hearts will die, the month of May
a fade day. There’s nothing
nothing at all to recommend
this mindset. It bangs, bleeds in
a contusion that nobody sees
as it seeps throughout the skin
and the grass flows mournfully
southward to a town i once
was in, where I felt it all would
begin. It didn’t. Or wouldn’t
our couldn’t. One of the n’ts
that suggest You have failed.
The car idles. Coughs its exhaust.
Nothing has changed, except
now spit tire mud, stuck in a field
No help, no person in sight. Find
a phone box. The line will be busy.

You have been warned.

new poetry!

See new poetry on tant mieux. visit and select New Poems 2004. Or, simply click here.

new poetry eZine - calling all writers!

sotto voce has long been in the business of publishing the work of talent, both new and established. Previously, we ran a publishing house called Lumen Editions (you can look this up on Amazon) and published work by Max Blagg, Marguerite Duras, Grace Dane Mazur, and many, many wonderful authors. Some of these authors were known, and for others this was their first publication. All authors received great critical attention for their work and sold well on their print runs.

While we have never before ran an e-zine, it's about time! To that end, we begin with a very Oulipo project that we've called Dinner Party Poems. If you are unfamiliar with Oulipo, we suggest you Google the word to find out a little bit about what we're about before submitting. In short, Dinner Party Poems are centered around strict word game rules: for example, you and a partner choose six random words and must use each word in a poem of any length. Other games including asking someone for a first line and then you finish the poem, using the first line. As you get better and better at this, you move on to sestinas with predefined words and so on.

We have no comment on any particular style; all styles are welcome. What we do ask is that poems are not pornographic or prejudicial. Express your opinion by all means, but if it is in either of those categories, there are plenty of other places for your work. All we want is the best you have to offer. Check out the site before submitting, then send your work if you are interested to Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti through the Contact Us link from tant mieux. With your work, be sure to include the six words you used for your poem, or any new word game you developed to help hone your craft - these details are important. Without them, your work will not be considered.

Since Dinner Party Poems is our first foray into the e-zine world, we expect this to grow into offshoots, and in the very near future, tant mieux and sotto voce will each have an e-zine for poetry and good short fiction or creative nonfiction (five page limit).

write, submit, venture forth, and be bold!

october, 2004

sylvia; the film

It took three separate viewings before I felt I could say anything about the film “Sylvia” starring Gwyneth Paltrow as Sylvia Plath and Daniel Craig as Ted Hughes, and it was only after reading yet more biographies, both of Plath and Hughes that I felt I could comment with any authority. The film is lukewarm at best, and though technically it gets many of the major details correct, what it lacks and what it does not show with a ny real authorative voice More>>>>

on being blue: a review of the film Bleu

Who cannot feel such sorrow and empathize with or for the beautiful juliette binoche and her suffering in the film Bleu, part of the color trilogy (“Trois Coleurs”).. I can’t think of anyone who would lose both husband and child and not feel as she feels, which is so beyond depressed that she retreats deep within herself to a place that is icily cold and utterly untouchable. Here, she will sit out her deep freeze – assuming that there is an end in sight. If there is, it seems very, very far away in this film, and one wonders if anyone, anywhere, could ever recover from such an awful accident. more>>>>>

Sunday, September 26, 2004

unbearable france | lightness of being

Home comings are always hard, and this was perhaps among the hardest. Leaving Europe, every time is like leaving home, and although i have lived in America, i still find... More..

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Thursday, September 09, 2004

this is an audio post - click to play
this is an audio post - click to play

love's whore

this is an audio post - click to play

chopin's fugure - poem

this is an audio post - click to play

stadium self-pity | new on auntie sadi's advice for girls

I hate to advise anyone to be depressed or to wallow, because as a general rule, walling is for the self-indulgent among us and those who go about creating their own drama. So, this post warrants some clarification...more>>>>>

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

this week begins the work for which i invite all readers to check out when time permits. this will be part of an ongoing project writing up to the hour news stories. you can check out hearsay blogs at, which is the home page and will lead you through different sections. Check it out when you have the time. sotto voce will help provide content for all sections but mostly for religion, legal and IT, with a few feature stories in IT and health every now and then. if you have a great news story, please contact me through the comments section, or submit your story through the hearsay website. likewise, if you have a reliable news blog, submit your blogsite through comments here or at hearsay. check back with hearsay and sotto voce for news items. for more information on hearsay, contact the site owner directly through the provided url. in the meanwhile, look forward to breaking news, and as always, more breaking news and cultural comment and criticism from our sinistar cabal of bloggers at Blogcritics at

rock on.


Monday, September 06, 2004

audi blog - dinner party poems - friends

this is an audio post - click to play

this audio blog relates back to the poem that can be found at september, 06, 2004, sadi ranson-polizzotti

Friday, September 03, 2004

#1 audio blog | life in twilight time

this is an audio post - click to play

read along to this post by going to and selecting the poem, Life in Twilight Time. For more poems, check back regularly. Note that all poems are blogged at The Cabinetist at the url provided above and more work is available at

#1 audio blog | new poems

this is an audio post - click to play

medusa in oil
love's whore
funeral for a friend

three poems from the same time period. you can listen to these with RealPlayer and they should also work with Windows Media Player. Check back for more live blogging of new poems as well as more number 1 audio blogs from Paris this September.
this is an audio post - click to play
this is an audio post - click to play

Thursday, September 02, 2004

commute to a lover

Commute to a Lover

The signal house is a perfect square
of brick and copper drain pipes
patined green from Nor’Easters
that sent station masters rushing
to close windows at exactly
the same moment my train sloshed quickly by
on rims electrical, time enough
to witness this minor struggle
in the slate of late October.

Ivy overgrown viny thing.
Brick thick with scales,
slick and languid as the
monster dipping in and out of
my dreams that ring
with the Edinborough brogue
of my grandmother,
“Esther—Where are you going?”
Her black alsatian pulling
across the wet park grass.

She lights a Rothmans.
Exhales her smoky disapproval

the mistress's tale

A long time ago in a remote village (as begins any Grimm fairy tale,) I fell in love with a man who was not my husband. And, besides being a mistress in the first place and knowing this was wrong, this was against the rules, (more on that later), i fell in in love with my lover; this was not part more>>>>

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

tante mieux | part of sotto voce

please visit the latest edition to sotto voce, tant mieux web site at

you'll find random notes from travels with a computer or cell phone or just about anywhere one can block. check both sites regularly, and please do come to tant mieux - it's new and looking for visitors. srp

tante mieux | part of sotto voce

please visit the latest edition to sotto voce, tant mieux web site at

you'll find random notes from travels with a computer or cell phone or just about anywhere one can block. check both sites regularly, and please do come to tant mieux - it's new and looking for visitors. srp

please check out more published work at, where i have made the home page several times. feel free to comment on the site.