In Confessional, Poetry, Prose on August 5, 2010 at 9:31 am
I went to Very Small Dogs yesterday, and read it. It had been awhile. In the meantime, Joseph Young had added much sublime stuff. This in particular is something I could read in a 300-page volume bound in stamped leather, or faux-leather, or something fancy or serious. Something that, after finding my place, moving the ribbon marker aside, and reading, I could just shut and enjoy the weight of in my hands while leaning back in my chair, full and quiet.
I also read one of my favorite stories by someone I sort of know, Mike Sposito’s You and Your Plane Crash at Stirring. I first read this years ago, and came across it again yesterday, and was once again so struck by the pitch-perfect tone, the black black humor, and the elegance of the writing. It’s a sort of diorama of a couple whose contempt for humanity has transformed into contempt for each other, to the point where an event as dramatic as a plane crash in their garden becomes just another setting to one-up each other and inflict pain. Think Garp, with fucked priorities.
So, I’m considering a project involving this blog, and poetry, which I will post about tomorrow. I had originally planned this project for April, National Poetry Month, but my world got put awry that month, so I’m considering September now, which should be safe. Who knows? Anyway, that’s a tease.
In Celebrity, Poetry, Prose on July 15, 2010 at 10:46 am
Your Dog Dies
it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you’re almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you’d never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you’re writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.
I’m sorry, rollerfink. Kid was the best. He’s with Corey Haim (Rambo’s Little Brother!) now.
In Art, Confessional, Poetry on July 4, 2010 at 10:27 am
Ana Carrete has collages! They are freaky and good and weird, uniquely creative and profound. I love the color and composition of the one above, and another, titled kitty-cat-lady has a slight Dargerish vibe (plus genius, minus creepiness) that appeals. Anyway, I just love Ana C. There’s always something with that girl.
For Independence Day, and The Best American Poetry, Reb Livingston presents Rebecca Loudon‘s poem, What I didn’t say when the gasworks shook their iron tails in my direction, and makes my soul feel like a drum.
There are two fans facing each other across this room, each on a pile of books. They are competing, but I like them both the same, and couldn’t do without either. It’s the billowing curtain between that I really love.
In Art, Music, Poetry on June 4, 2010 at 4:40 pm
Rebecca Loudon has a brainful of 15 Queer-Winged poems posted over at PEEP/SHOW– they are amazing. Shattering. Necessary. Go.