|Donner Party, around the kettle, waxing poetic.
You smiled like the beget of love
through a young Ingrid Bergman and the Mona Lisa
Something about your eyes, even
flat.captured in the melancholy of black and white,
spoke to me the things you never could;
skimming through an unloved copy of American Poetry
Your charred offering, whole worlds, generations
old morals, away.
Sixty years ago, yeah darlin
I would have used myself down to the cells
to be that deadly lust
thrust like a sonnet, under your tongue.
I could have
That's what I
I would have pulled manic lullabies from your lips
and kissed the tracks down your thighs
until they became the Boston stars.
We would have read the past
through those ebony constellations.
Bipolar halos in streetlights
Hands held cupped,
Love overflow thy needle-point palms
I would have made love to you, to you
to you, sweet Anne.
Take from the value of my touch
and make it yours.
enter me entirely.
Lay still, sweet Anne, sigh
still, and bare, and think
Friendships, fathers, daughter, suicide. Silence
broken clocks in bare rooms.
Carbon dated headstones
Friendships fathers daughter suicide entombed
She slept, then dreamt, no more,
And I was born sixty years late,
come to know you like some lust-spun anthropologist
digging holes to Cleopatra.
A woman like that,
you must have known her kind.
As for me, I think your work
will always be close to my heart
In the same ways that human flesh
is so nourishing to a starving man.
to harbor my sadness.
I feel most akin to you
when I don’t feel like myself.
11 Jul 08
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hmm, is this about Anne Sexton. i think she's a poet but
i'm not really sure. nice flow. nice writing.
thanks and welcome to PC.
um, i think the question mark lost its head after Sexton?
oh there it is...
Good eye. :D
you are on a quest to drown yourself in the imbroglio of Love angles where in reality you are disentangled Angels -- you may lose yourself in this way as they say it is ALLways all or nothing -- where Nothing begets the All that is -- you're allured to metaphor in metaphysical ways I'd say where your metonym are smilies of what'd you'd say at a musical disposition -- to not feel your self when feeling some one else is deliciously merged
"ebony" is kind of in the way of "constellations"-- makes for constipated reading.
I disagree with you, unknown. I like the way it reads, and the way the words come off the tongue. And I feel that removing "ebony" from the line would through off the flow.
well, maybe a replacement?
I think of ebony as being a shiny black surface- like that of a piano, the contrast being very specific. Out there in the great unknown is a more colourless extreme where only "nothingness" seems to suit, but even then language does not suffice to ably describe that kind of void.
Herion tracks. Not literal stars. Not literal space.
there is a lot to digest here,
so i am having a hard time consuming, and commenting on the whole.
beginning with line 27, i felt the poem shifted, as if you were writing a different poem. in that case, the voice didn't sound consistent.
i like your passion and intensity, but find it untamed and a little repetitive in areas. but saying that, is not meaning to offend. this is a good, heavy poem, but it just might go on too long.
you've captured a true, obsessive feeling in the end, and i do very much like it.
also, line 20 is great line.
this poem is very manic.
thanks for letting me comment.
oh yes i forgot,
why all the white space when the poem is finished?
i see the period way down there, but it looks odd.
Thanks Jenna. Yeah, I'm still playing with this one. It ends, but it isn't finished, but really I left all that space there just for aesthetic reasons. I didn't like how the page goes right from poem to the blue links at the bottom of the page.
I'll work with it. Thanks for the feedback.
I should say, that since this poem is inspired by, and written for Anne Sexton, it feeds a little bit from her work. Especially in lines 27-34. So that may be where you're getting that "two different poems" vibe. This is sort of a fanboy poem, and if you aren't familiar with the subject then, you might not entirely get it.
But then agian, that's not the point of poetry. You make your own connections, so it doesn't really matter if you "get" what I'm writing about here. I'm going to shut up now :P
I love it. It's so dark and gothic, the descriptions so visceral and raw. It reads like a 60s beat poet's dream. I would pull l54 up to the previous stanza instead of leaving it as a line on its own, simply because whilst reading this, I don't feel a great persona coming through - it's more an address than a self-relating piece, you know what I mean?
Good job man.