avant le déluge
August 5th, 2022Here is a poem of my own to begin. I wrote this one last night in an instant, as it will become clear:
“OUT OF THESE WOUNDS, THE MOON WILL RISE”, Jay Hopler
I quite like how he brings us back and forth, *dreaminess* into what you’d like is a more attentive lover, I suppose, then more *dreaminess*, back wishing upon stars, though we’d only wish for the impossible.
“Love, Whose Pronoun is We, Collect Me”, Shira Erlichman
This poem is lovely. Antonia remarked, and I agree, that she writes very sensually somehow. How beautiful. How good. Entertained by the line a ten year fling and isn’t all of life that? But how could I fight this bliss of fists? Ugh. Bleh. I like this a lot.
As a side note, this website is some other random CS dude who hosts through github pages and moonlights some poetry and I am glad for the solidarity, lol. Which reminds me of how much I like the word stolid and all that it implies and associates with.
Franz Wright is really very good. How tender he is with himself here, and I am very entertained by the way he tells the other in himself that he is going to buy it a sandwich. How good.
Interlude, I’m listening to this as I write this a whole week later, but stumbled upon Regina Spektor’s Tiny Desk and it’s nice. I’m particularly entertained by this whole idea of deluge, especially the apres moi, le deluge, I mean I’ve been fond of the phrase and word for a time and it’s nice that she made a song about it. She really does play around with the words and all and it’s cool to watch. I think I shall try to explore her a bit more. Funny too, because I found her through a shared, perhaps slipped bit of vulnerability from someone I’ve not often gotten much vulnerability from. Good.
I really should write this more regularly, but, life. Goal is to integrate this into my more daily routine. Which is to say to remove more of the clutter and make space for things like this that really do make me feel good and help me feel and reflect, as if I don’t already do enough of the latter. Anyhow.
“Macrophobia: Fear of Waiting”, Jamaal May
This is just a bit that I came across, though there’s a spoken word poem there I think that I’ll try to watch at some point when I’m not scrambling to backlog seven days worth of poetry and love before scrambling to Ktown or something because NYC. Life is rich. Life is rich!
I love. ‘nuff said.
Now, a little bit from John Berger’s From A to X which I haven’t read but like a lot of these other bits that have been showing up and I imagine will continue to, come from this quaint little instagram account called @fossilisedflowers, which, funny @ using “s” and not “z”, and how I started using that on realise and criticise and so on because I loved The Script in middle school:
It’s not myself I hand over to you – that would be too simple – what I hand over to you is yourself, yourself loved in every part
And I mean, yes. This sentiment is good.
I mean, shit, this is a funny poem. I laughed out loud.
“rochelle”, Reuben Jackson
No link for this one, but I really liked the opening line, i want to have / an affair / with your / poems,, cute.
Some parting thoughts. I bought a bar of soap today, supposed to be unscented. The basic Dove bar. I can only describe it as smelling like a sneeze. What in tarnation.
Cumuli boil over and blot the horizon bleary. It looks to rain tomorrow, the air cracking cool. My favorite hoodie awaits me.
Not even you, with your absent arms, can make me feel grown-up and gone-on today. Clouds *are* for children, you silly rabbit! Perhaps this will find itself in a future poem, though it’s awfully prescient of the “Definition Study” one you’ll see in a day or two.