Tags: art as object, art as experience, writing of art, loving of art, rhyme, metaphor, narrative, alliteration
Here’s an attempt of mine at a poem describing some artistic experiences in a somewhat narrative progression.
I read to save my soul
James Bowden
I crumple onto my bed
task lists flying round my head
and settling, landing, bleary upon my breast
I poke open youtube
shudder past last night’s bon iver
to get to the song whose meter
my internal dialogue this whole week
a little boy in boxing shoes: HAM ON RYE
I thumb through worn pages, neck smeared with sky
til it all collapses in and I am left to
two nouns, the best sentence I’ve run today:
I’m pretty sure I just impulse-bought depression
don’t worry–she’s used.
The song mentioned as internal dialogue is “Presumably Dead Arm”–you can probably see how the flow of the song might parametrize one’s thoughts. The book in question is Charles Bukowski’s Ham on Rye. This poem was written before this anthology was conceived of, which goes to show how prevalent this topic was whether I realized it or not.