I’ve never seen a soul detached from its gender,
but I’d like to. I’d like to see my own that way,
free from its female tethers. Maybe it would be like
riding a horse. The rider’s the human one,
but everybody looks at the horse.
Summer for prose and lemons, for nakedness and languor,
for the eternal idleness of the imagined return,
for rare flutes and bare feet, and the August bedroom
of tangled sheets and the Sunday salt, ah violin!
When I press summer dusks together, it is
a month of street accordions and sprinklers
laying the dust, small shadows running from me.
It is music opening and closing, Italia mia, on Bleecker,
ciao, Antonio, and the water-cries of children
tearing the rose-coloured sky in streams of paper;
it is dusk in the nostrils and the smell of water
down littered streets that lead you to no water,
and gathering islands and lemons in the mind.
There is the Hudson, like the sea aflame.
I would undress you in the summer heat,
and laugh and dry your damp flesh if you came.
- "Bleecker Street, Summer," Derek Walcott (via commovente)
who is it. bjork
Writing poems on antidepressants
is hard. You can appreciate the difficulty
by reading the previous two lines.
Metaphors are easy
to come by when you’re aching
or pining or wounded in love,
which scientists have proven is a type of madness
and madness can be cured with a pill.
is Paris. Not everyday
does a bird come winging
out of a carpet to give you a free metaphor,
especially if there are oranges on the table
and you’re on your meds.
Each day offers some little irony or a dream
or a blind albino woman
sitting next to you on the train
with eyelashes like white silk threads
attached like broom-straw to her one closed eye
as she taps her cane against the window
and you, the poet on antidepressants,
thinks: look at that, hmmm, interesting.
Did I buy dog food? Here’s my stop.
Hiroshige - New Year’s Eve Foxfires at the Changing Tree, Ōji (1857)
GREASED UP AND ASLEEP I WAKE UP JUST LIKE A SHEEP IN THE CROOK OF YOUR ARM IN THE FOLD OF YOUR SWEET SARSAPARILLA OH VIRGINIA THERES A BLACK CAT AT MY FEET BUT YOU CURB HER BY THE COLLAR AND YOU WRAP ME IN WHITE SHEETS LUMBER LIMBS ALL TIMBERIN’ FRECKLED SPECKLED CHICKEN LAYING IN YOUR SKIN OH I WANNA BE AN ANIMAL UP AGAINST YOUR WALL IM A WANTED MAN IN EVERY STATE BUT IM NOT A MAN AT ALL AND THERE WERE TEN DEAD RABBIT HEADS ALL STRUNG UP IN A LINE JUST LIKE PEARLS ON A LOVERS NECK WHO ONCE SAID SHE WAS MINE ITS A WET DREAM HEAVY WHIPPING CREAM AND WHIPPOORWILLS ARE WHISPERING AND YOURE AS BIG AS THE SKY IN WYOMING AND HONEY YOURE THE QUEEN OF EVERY FRYING PAN SMOKEY BLUE AND BURNING TRUE SALMON AND CAYENNE OH I WANNA BE AN ANIMAL UP AGAINST YOUR WALL IM A WANTED MAN IN EVERY STATE BUT NOBODY WANTS ME AT ALL AND YOU ASKED ME WHERE I HAD COME FROM YOU KNEW OCEANS AND I WANTED TO RUN YOUR HANDS ALONG THE NECK OF MY GUN AND DO A THING THAT CANNOT BE UNDONE I CANNOT BE UNDONE ‘CAUSE IM A PIONEER A-PINING TREE THAT FELL ONTO YOUR FLOOR AND IM PAWIN’ AND I CALLIN’ AT YOUR WINDOWS AND YOUR DOORS AND THE HOUNDS ALL RUN LIKE RIBBON SO I FOLLOW THEM RIGHT IN TO BOUND AT THE SOUND OF YOUR HOLLERIN’ SHEPHERDS PURSE WOULD MEND A BROKEN HEART LIKE A GOWN I WORE AND THEN I TORE APART OH I WANNA BE AN ANIMAL UP AGAINST YOUR WALL IM A WANTED MAN IN EVERY STATE BUT YOU WANTED ME MOST OF ALL
DEREK JARMAN - SLOANE SQUARE
- "real poem (personal statement)," Rachel Zucker (via commovente)