Friday, February 13, 2004
[Doubts about re-posting the entire poem below with only one minor change defeated my wish to preserve the original version; I don't want to be too redundant. Thanks for the comments, Erin. Anyone's advice/critique is encouraged.]
new poems continue...
[Yeah, so I once acutely disapproved the use of a pun in the title of a villanelle. There was a dreadful alumni speaker at Colgate senior year deluded enough to suppose we'd enjoy hearing his shitty poems. He called one of them "Nashvillanelle," and spoke the title like he was unveiling something righteous. I fully cede all rights to cleverness or originality in the second title of the poem below, partly because I don't want to be a sanctimonious hypocrite, and partly because I just can't deny my own impulse to pun.]
Living and Working at a School
...but I used to want to be an oceanographer, or Villanale
Ale rose in this mug like a fat skyscraper
adoring a rolling bartop laugh. Tycoonish,
sinning in currents through doors to escape her.
Bored with a cigarette rolled from her paper,
surrendering sweat to a t-shirt. Cartoonish
ale rose in this mug like a fat skyscraper.
Oh mother, you promised the pain wouldn't taper,
molesting my face 'til my touch is moonish--
Lover, my liver, keep kicking through doors: escape her.
In the mattress, smooth the ridges where our napes were,
legs flapping like a landed fish in the moon.
Ale rises in this mug like a fat skyscraper.
Settling here with sand in my blood, I shape her
from views of that race when dunes shift.
A dead river with dead doors; I've escaped her.
My hands are an oven heating tears into vapor,
sunk in this balm as low as the woundless.
Ale will rise in this mug like a fat skyscraper.
Wind hold your breath; don't sweep away her door's escaper.
new poems continue...
[Yeah, so I once acutely disapproved the use of a pun in the title of a villanelle. There was a dreadful alumni speaker at Colgate senior year deluded enough to suppose we'd enjoy hearing his shitty poems. He called one of them "Nashvillanelle," and spoke the title like he was unveiling something righteous. I fully cede all rights to cleverness or originality in the second title of the poem below, partly because I don't want to be a sanctimonious hypocrite, and partly because I just can't deny my own impulse to pun.]
Living and Working at a School
...but I used to want to be an oceanographer, or Villanale
Ale rose in this mug like a fat skyscraper
adoring a rolling bartop laugh. Tycoonish,
sinning in currents through doors to escape her.
Bored with a cigarette rolled from her paper,
surrendering sweat to a t-shirt. Cartoonish
ale rose in this mug like a fat skyscraper.
Oh mother, you promised the pain wouldn't taper,
molesting my face 'til my touch is moonish--
Lover, my liver, keep kicking through doors: escape her.
In the mattress, smooth the ridges where our napes were,
legs flapping like a landed fish in the moon.
Ale rises in this mug like a fat skyscraper.
Settling here with sand in my blood, I shape her
from views of that race when dunes shift.
A dead river with dead doors; I've escaped her.
My hands are an oven heating tears into vapor,
sunk in this balm as low as the woundless.
Ale will rise in this mug like a fat skyscraper.
Wind hold your breath; don't sweep away her door's escaper.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Living and Working at a School
Dorm Duty
What service do we owe the night
when morals like bells weave the night
so swingingly we rush the night
go arguing the anger of the night
dinner waves to the riders of its night
meek guitarstrings slide from her mouth like night
wishes are edging out masks tonight
dimes count as pennies just for this night
drains whistle to the celler all night
someone's dirty brother walks into work at night
men are questioning their hair all night
bright are the mirrors with stretches of night
fog is kept in its saxophone with holier stretches of night
eleven is the age to be this holy, holy night
tomorrow, will they catch the howls again they lent to the night?
will they sound older after tonight?
will they deepen overnight?
should the whiskey dance or wrestle with sister night?
pencil music, rabidly pattering study status, further shades the night
mother sister cousin doctor cowboy redlight drafty pancakes night
In patient books, pages sing to themselves tonight.
Dorm Duty
What service do we owe the night
when morals like bells weave the night
so swingingly we rush the night
go arguing the anger of the night
dinner waves to the riders of its night
meek guitarstrings slide from her mouth like night
wishes are edging out masks tonight
dimes count as pennies just for this night
drains whistle to the celler all night
someone's dirty brother walks into work at night
men are questioning their hair all night
bright are the mirrors with stretches of night
fog is kept in its saxophone with holier stretches of night
eleven is the age to be this holy, holy night
tomorrow, will they catch the howls again they lent to the night?
will they sound older after tonight?
will they deepen overnight?
should the whiskey dance or wrestle with sister night?
pencil music, rabidly pattering study status, further shades the night
mother sister cousin doctor cowboy redlight drafty pancakes night
In patient books, pages sing to themselves tonight.
Sunday, February 08, 2004
Current Media
books:
Ten Little Indians Sherman Alexie
The Portable Chekhov
Pride and Prejudice for the fourth time; for/with the seniors
music:
Loveless My Bloody Valentine
(it really does sound like the cover: filtered, pink, jangled, guitarished, amazing)
Ladies of the Canyon Joni Mitchell
The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths
(specifically: "Unloveable," "Ask," "Still Ill," and "Cemetry Gates")
Miles Smiles Miles Davis Quintet
New Adventures in Hi-Fi R.E.M
("LEAVE" "Undertow" and "Electrolite")
Endtroducing... DJ Shadow
dvd queue:
La Strada
various contemporary S. Korean films, at the behest of my Korean students
McCabe and Mrs. Miller
books:
Ten Little Indians Sherman Alexie
The Portable Chekhov
Pride and Prejudice for the fourth time; for/with the seniors
music:
Loveless My Bloody Valentine
(it really does sound like the cover: filtered, pink, jangled, guitarished, amazing)
Ladies of the Canyon Joni Mitchell
The Smiths, The Smiths, The Smiths
(specifically: "Unloveable," "Ask," "Still Ill," and "Cemetry Gates")
Miles Smiles Miles Davis Quintet
New Adventures in Hi-Fi R.E.M
("LEAVE" "Undertow" and "Electrolite")
Endtroducing... DJ Shadow
dvd queue:
La Strada
various contemporary S. Korean films, at the behest of my Korean students
McCabe and Mrs. Miller
new poem
Living and Working at a School
period a
a child calls to another child indecently
because the dictionary comprises the biggest words in the smallest print.
a white man falls on the ice. gravity does not favor his wrist bones.
a wrong wind gets caught in the faces of the passing like their eyes
are the front-windows of school busses.
secretaries are barking around the supply room
five children of the same hairstyle are not reading what has remained for them
but they are reading the instructions of our litigious scape
a man calls to a secretary indecently
because the school busses are of the same white style
and only windows remain for them
five wrongs supply the scape with children and errors, unified
their eyes are five more wrongs; with lust they lead their hands.
everyone's parents are parked faraway in houses with old eyebrows
(to whom are you dangling your legs or legends?)
we all...
[takeoutyouryoushouldbereadytoquizfriday-
-new--ity-sonorousgrandmother]
...get caught
Living and Working at a School
period a
a child calls to another child indecently
because the dictionary comprises the biggest words in the smallest print.
a white man falls on the ice. gravity does not favor his wrist bones.
a wrong wind gets caught in the faces of the passing like their eyes
are the front-windows of school busses.
secretaries are barking around the supply room
five children of the same hairstyle are not reading what has remained for them
but they are reading the instructions of our litigious scape
a man calls to a secretary indecently
because the school busses are of the same white style
and only windows remain for them
five wrongs supply the scape with children and errors, unified
their eyes are five more wrongs; with lust they lead their hands.
everyone's parents are parked faraway in houses with old eyebrows
(to whom are you dangling your legs or legends?)
we all...
[takeoutyouryoushouldbereadytoquizfriday-
-new--ity-sonorousgrandmother]
...get caught
