I, II, III (the buzz)
JonJon, B, ADC--you've inspired me. See it here. Some chaos from me to you.
This poem was a real struggle to produce. Thanks a lot, self.
I. the buzz
she cleans up well, but not without
a mess; just days ago, she ate her way
out of a weevil. wasps are fools
for the filling. tsk-tsk. cycle through.
pop the skin. age. prick a partner, then again
inject some eggs. the slow project quickly
speeds ahead. the sway of summer
whey, hips in heat, shush-shush.
II. you go on ahead
without cochlea, I'd come loud
every time. escapee from the eardrum
doldrums, the fruit bat divulges
his secret to nocturnal feeding:
with no sound there
can be no unsettling.
Pamplona's the only place Ms. Plath
couldn't push balls-out
past the bull. so what
hibiscus pouts its pollen
unabashed? fleur-de-lis,
a design done up in more
machination than Bündchen
daily musters. mollusk-sting the
achilles. sea-bottom out. sashay.
sway baby, sway.
III. we're past patina
once feared as a lifer of the Last Judgment, even Cujo
succumbed to blunt force trauma. if I come to it,
she said, save the damn bullet
for the angels, draw back the dredges of flesh
and drill up the juice. the weird go pro
with rejuvenation; a Judean date palm
previously extinct can be convinced to sprout
after 2,000 years of stasis. save for
Botox injections. still, most days
with the devil are spent anchored
stolid to the sand. bottom
out, become married
to a minor current.
reinvent the outro,
but don't dare
die too long.
aesthetically, I'm digging your terser verse! the big and the scary have been taking over my life recently but I vow upon my yeatsean soul that I'll comment on all poems posted as soon as I can...Sunday, most likely.
ReplyDeleteI will have comments and a poem for you before the night is through. and i initially was freaked by your assignment, but something sprawling and messy is currently slithering from my brain.
ReplyDeleterunning behind but the love is there, here's what i think about some shit.
ReplyDeletea.) you're bad-ass, the assignment was fantastic, your labyrninthian assignment and much of your poem caused my brain to fire a thousand ways. mwah.
Commentation timeation:
I have to say, right off of the bat, I just love the aesthetics and the feel of the poem. the title sets me off in the right place, for sure, and the terse, measured but playful syntax I’m way into.
I’m worried about the first stanza, because you start with a mystery (who eats out of a weevil) then you clarify it immediately, but meanwhile you’ve displaced the whole thing to three lines down. I think part of the difficulty for me is that the “she cleans up…” bit is a.) immediate judgment and b.) not really all that dynamic of an intro. eat out a weevil and I’m hooked, but the first line lacks the punch the section title leads me to expect.
first section, especially from tsk-tsk on, gains a wonderful drive and momentum, yo, it really dances an excellent little subtle staccato dance, and you really sell the language. BUT, and here’s my main question about this poem, is that you use a very certain sort of alliteration in the poem – you do it in threes, and I can see the mimesis, but it becomes something not playful but expected. the rhyming works similarly as well. nothing wrong with that, but it becomes something not thrilling, but almost a running trope, and threatens to turn your poem into something light and whimsical. which, from all I can gather, it is not necessarily so. the “pop word word word prick word partner word” construction happens a lot, and maybe that’s the only one that should be changed up, to keep it feeling less like a waltz, more like thrash dancing in a beehive.
+300 points for shush-shush, your eyewords fuck me silly.
I like a lot in section two, but the line breaks are kinda punny and clever… a bit too much. to break after “come loud,” that next line has to come packing something that makes me say FUCK. “every time” is expected, and clever, but you got me lovestoned™ then showed me your lisa frank trapper keeper, ya know? and it’s an interesting idea, that without awareness of sound, the volume of sex would be immaterial and therefore let’s whoop it up, but that can degenerate into a kind of summer-of-love silliness, and that’s a fine motherfuckin’ line.
ReplyDeleteI almost think you’re over-breaking your lines. I want divulges and nocturnal feeding closer, I want design and machination real close together, I want those letter-stems rubbing cuneiform. the “with no sound there / can be no unsettling” makes me think of that death cab for cutie song, and I’m so sorry my mind went there, because it’s a real keen ideograph you give me there. and, this might be me, but Bundchen only seems to be here to be sneered at, and that makes it feel flimsy.
You use sashay, plus +50. sway, baby, sway? I have a personal vendetta against “baby” in poems, so I’m not qualifies to comment.
III I love, actually, and +mylove for using Cujo, you redheaded delight. but the end seems like a big, long exaggerated looney tunes wink. very clever, nice sounds, but it leaves my mouth meatless. like I ate a bread sandwich. the bread’s great, but you took the fixin’s from me. also, future reference, any two lines that pair the devil and sand, I can’t resist them. I just love it, and I don’t know why. so, yeah. you push my buttons.
ReplyDeletealso, drill up my juice.
and I love the Judean date palm
and the idea of marrying a current I like GIVE ME MORE
your onomatopoeias are fucking fantastic. tsk tsk shush shush nicey nice.
blunt force trauma A+
I love the idea of pouting pollen. you bring it up and then run on to something else, and it feels underdeveloped. I wonder if maybe what’s throwing me off a bit (and mind you, it’s just a bit. I’m trying to form a discourse surrounding your piece that could be helpful. if I opened a magazine and read this, I’d enjoy it with abandon, make no mistake) is that the speaker seems to be deploying images and ideas without seeing fit to dive into the gooeyness created. there’s a different agenda for the speaker than what’s presented, so I’m feeling maybe a dischord between the form and presentation and the angle of the speaker. maybe they don’t line up?
but, once again, and regardless, you never cease to inspire me, and I love that you live out on the edge of your writing. you shun easiness of process and I don’t have words for how glad I am that I get to collaborate with a like mind. everyone on this website is that way, which is why rod rocks, but yeah, I’m glad your mind fires on all these cylinders. much love k.
jonjon