Understanding the world
is like dissecting a moth.
I have to carry fire
to the pit
and pretend no one
is watching us
through the thicket of trees
and torn plastic Walgreen's
bags. Even then, eyes
catch the moths and I
sitting in the dusk,
sipping embers.
I'm trying to understand
engineering with a fire
and cat.
So I sit with a tabby
and moths dive from crow's
nests and loop through the flames.
Lighting like vigil
candles, I grab one
from the air and the cat
snatches with his fangs.
Soot smears our lips
And I pretend to know
engineering, grasping make-up
instead.
I had fun writing this once I had an idea of what I wanted to do. I read through several poems from Ruefle so I could get her voice and thoughts. I think it helped to let my voice sort of know how to use hers, if that makes any sense. It feels like something of mine, made from another person's thought, or something like that. It was fum, anyway, and I think I'll include it in my packet.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Le Livre De Ma Vie
I love you.
But who is the I
and who is the you?
Mr. Potato Head
Mr. Potato Head
Please accept the pressing in
of your eyes.
Here are your glasses.
A book for the evening.
In the book a person
is smiling at you.
Smiling and smiling
like a mother over a baby.
Remove the pipe from your mouth
and smile.
Help me behave,
weeping in the dark earth.
"Le Livre De Ma Vie"
Mary Ruefle
Trances of the Blast
Published by Wave Books
This particular poem caught my attention because of the sparseness (in comparison to some of the others that I saw), as well the use of Mr. Potato Head as an image. That's not something I usually read. But again, I'm swayed by the last few lines, which are surprising in a good way and leave such a powerful and unexpected image and thought at the end. It makes me, and I'm sure others, go back and look over the poem with this in mind, looking for more hints of the undertone.
But who is the I
and who is the you?
Mr. Potato Head
Mr. Potato Head
Please accept the pressing in
of your eyes.
Here are your glasses.
A book for the evening.
In the book a person
is smiling at you.
Smiling and smiling
like a mother over a baby.
Remove the pipe from your mouth
and smile.
Help me behave,
weeping in the dark earth.
"Le Livre De Ma Vie"
Mary Ruefle
Trances of the Blast
Published by Wave Books
This particular poem caught my attention because of the sparseness (in comparison to some of the others that I saw), as well the use of Mr. Potato Head as an image. That's not something I usually read. But again, I'm swayed by the last few lines, which are surprising in a good way and leave such a powerful and unexpected image and thought at the end. It makes me, and I'm sure others, go back and look over the poem with this in mind, looking for more hints of the undertone.
Favors From The Dead
The dead did Tristan many
Favors. Everything he asked
For, he got. When his talking
Phone was hit by lightning,
He asked his departed uncle Buster
To fix it, and the phone was
Talking again within minutes.
When he asked his great-great-
Great-grandmother to send him
A care package, a fruit basket
Dropped on his head. These
Were only two of the many things
He asked for. When his partner
Died, Tristan found himself being
The lone survivor of an alien race
Of two. His partner had left him
A note, "I leave you my space-
Suit. I will see you again." Tristan
Didn't really know what to make
Of the note, but he started to build
A shuttle in his house. At every
Turn, Tristan asked his partner
For help with the building, and
He got it. When it was complete,
Tristan was excited, and proceeded
To try and launch. But launch, he
Couldn't, and so he asked his partner
For more help. But this time, his partner,
said no. Frustrated, Tristan stamped
His feet and pleaded, but the answer
Was still no. Exhausted from his
Antics, Tristan went into his bedroom
And locked himself in. He crawled
Into his closet as if he were crawling
Into a womb. He noticed something
Shiny in the back of the closet,
And realized it was his partner
Spacesuit---he really did have one
After all. So Tristan put it on
And fell asleep. He dreamed of
A frozen field of souls, and then
He was one of them. When he tried
To wake up, he couldn't. Tristan
Was ready to acknowledge the magic's
Presence, and so he wandered off
Into the cosmos, searching for
His partner, searching for the light
That he had read about in books,
Which now collected dust on his shelves.
"Favors From the Dead"
Noelle Kocot
The Bigger World
Published by Wave Books
This, out of all of her poems, seemed to get to me the most. I loved how purposeful the spaces seemed to be, and the images, especially toward the end of the poem, were some of the most powerful to me. The way it ended left me with this sad, wistful but oddly satisfied ending I like to have with some poetry, and it all just sat well inside my stomach.
Favors. Everything he asked
For, he got. When his talking
Phone was hit by lightning,
He asked his departed uncle Buster
To fix it, and the phone was
Talking again within minutes.
When he asked his great-great-
Great-grandmother to send him
A care package, a fruit basket
Dropped on his head. These
Were only two of the many things
He asked for. When his partner
Died, Tristan found himself being
The lone survivor of an alien race
Of two. His partner had left him
A note, "I leave you my space-
Suit. I will see you again." Tristan
Didn't really know what to make
Of the note, but he started to build
A shuttle in his house. At every
Turn, Tristan asked his partner
For help with the building, and
He got it. When it was complete,
Tristan was excited, and proceeded
To try and launch. But launch, he
Couldn't, and so he asked his partner
For more help. But this time, his partner,
said no. Frustrated, Tristan stamped
His feet and pleaded, but the answer
Was still no. Exhausted from his
Antics, Tristan went into his bedroom
And locked himself in. He crawled
Into his closet as if he were crawling
Into a womb. He noticed something
Shiny in the back of the closet,
And realized it was his partner
Spacesuit---he really did have one
After all. So Tristan put it on
And fell asleep. He dreamed of
A frozen field of souls, and then
He was one of them. When he tried
To wake up, he couldn't. Tristan
Was ready to acknowledge the magic's
Presence, and so he wandered off
Into the cosmos, searching for
His partner, searching for the light
That he had read about in books,
Which now collected dust on his shelves.
"Favors From the Dead"
Noelle Kocot
The Bigger World
Published by Wave Books
This, out of all of her poems, seemed to get to me the most. I loved how purposeful the spaces seemed to be, and the images, especially toward the end of the poem, were some of the most powerful to me. The way it ended left me with this sad, wistful but oddly satisfied ending I like to have with some poetry, and it all just sat well inside my stomach.
Grandmother
Red
hat on red
hair.
A woman
whose
penchant is books
and
arm candy. She wears
a
white dress and holds a novel
to
her nose when the garden
erupts.
Dirt
and flowers
set
on fire. Shrill wailing
all
the way from Vietnam.
Earth
steals her
bones
and hair
and
the words from her book.
It
was romantic.
It
had something about
birds.
Red
hat on grass
blades.
Gnarled roots and vines
curling
around her
walking
space.
Did
she feel the sky
grab
her throat
or
the vines
creep
around her lungs?
When
the air
left,
did she
try
to breathe
anyway?
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