I thought I’d written myself out
thought I’d written myself out of words
written myself out of melancholy
myself out of friends.
And I had.
Now here is a poem about nothing.
A poem about my father cutting
his intestine out, and my sister
stapling her stomach and sucking
her thighs and hips off.
Here is a poem about my mother’s voice
getting older over the phone,
and gifts forgetting their address
and getting lost in the mail.
A poem about another couple of friends
who are no longer, as of last Sunday;
and another who stopped being
a few months before.
Here is a poem about days slipping
under the couch, and nights
not even good for sleeping;
a poem about not writing poems.
A poem about a few years
not worth writing about
or even remembering;
here’s a poem about not writing.
Here is even a poem
about not even writing to you,
because it would take words to do so,
and I am all out of them.
I have
written
myself
out.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
Playing favorites
Katy and I decided to write down our lists of 3 favorite poems & 3 favorite poets as part of our correspondence on Poetship. I, however, couldn't narrow down my list of poems to three, so below are my favorite four; to read more about them check out the post on Poetship. (And of course, I had to add "runner-ups" to my list of poets...) And please let us know what you think; who/what would be on your lists?
In order not to live alone (Pour ne pas vivre seul)
In order not to live alone
One lives with a dog,
One lives with roses,
Or with a cross.
In order not to live alone
One makes cinema,
One loves a souvenir,
A shadow, anything...
In order not to live alone
One lives for the spring
And when the spring dies
For the following spring.
In order not to live alone
I love you and I await you
To have the illusion
That I’m not living alone...
In order not to live alone
Girls love girls
And we see boys
Marrying boys.
In order not to live alone
Others have children,
Children who are alone
Like all the children.
In order not to live alone
We make cathedrals
Where all those who are alone
Pray to a star.
In order not to live alone
I love you and I await you
To have the illusion
That I’m not living alone...
In order not to live alone
One makes friends
And they get together
When the evenings of trouble arrive.
One lives for his money
His dreams, his palaces
But we never make
A coffin for two...
In order not to live alone
Me, I live with you
I am alone with you
You are alone with me.
In order not to live alone
We live as those who want
To give the illusion
That they’re not living alone.
(S. Balasko - D. Faure - Medail) - 1972
One lives with a dog,
One lives with roses,
Or with a cross.
In order not to live alone
One makes cinema,
One loves a souvenir,
A shadow, anything...
In order not to live alone
One lives for the spring
And when the spring dies
For the following spring.
In order not to live alone
I love you and I await you
To have the illusion
That I’m not living alone...
In order not to live alone
Girls love girls
And we see boys
Marrying boys.
In order not to live alone
Others have children,
Children who are alone
Like all the children.
In order not to live alone
We make cathedrals
Where all those who are alone
Pray to a star.
In order not to live alone
I love you and I await you
To have the illusion
That I’m not living alone...
In order not to live alone
One makes friends
And they get together
When the evenings of trouble arrive.
One lives for his money
His dreams, his palaces
But we never make
A coffin for two...
In order not to live alone
Me, I live with you
I am alone with you
You are alone with me.
In order not to live alone
We live as those who want
To give the illusion
That they’re not living alone.
(S. Balasko - D. Faure - Medail) - 1972
With time (Avec le temps)
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
One forgets the face, and one forgets the voice.
The heart, when it doesn’t beat anymore,
Is not worth going to seek any further;
Just let it be, it’s all well...
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
The other whom one adored, whom one sought under the rain,
The other whom one recognized with the turn of a glance,
Amongst the lines, amongst the words, and under the guise
Of a made-up oath on its way to make its night...
With time, everything fades.
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
Even the dearest of memories have their own frowns.
In the gallery I search amongst the rays of death
For the Saturday evening when tenderness went all by itself...
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
The other in whom one believed--for a cold, for nothing--
The other to whom one gave breath and jewels,
For whom one had sold their heart for some meager change,
In front of whom one trailed as dogs do...
With time, all goes well.
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
One forgets the passions, and one forgets the voices
That told you softly the words of poor folk,
“Don’t be too late, but above all, don’t catch a cold.”
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
One feels bleached like a drained horse,
And one feels frozen in a bed of chance,
And one feels all alone, perhaps, but it’s alright;
One feels flogged by the lost years...
But really,
With time, one loves no more.
-Leo Férré
With time goes, everything goes its way...
One forgets the face, and one forgets the voice.
The heart, when it doesn’t beat anymore,
Is not worth going to seek any further;
Just let it be, it’s all well...
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
The other whom one adored, whom one sought under the rain,
The other whom one recognized with the turn of a glance,
Amongst the lines, amongst the words, and under the guise
Of a made-up oath on its way to make its night...
With time, everything fades.
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
Even the dearest of memories have their own frowns.
In the gallery I search amongst the rays of death
For the Saturday evening when tenderness went all by itself...
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
The other in whom one believed--for a cold, for nothing--
The other to whom one gave breath and jewels,
For whom one had sold their heart for some meager change,
In front of whom one trailed as dogs do...
With time, all goes well.
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
One forgets the passions, and one forgets the voices
That told you softly the words of poor folk,
“Don’t be too late, but above all, don’t catch a cold.”
With time,
With time goes, everything goes its way...
One feels bleached like a drained horse,
And one feels frozen in a bed of chance,
And one feels all alone, perhaps, but it’s alright;
One feels flogged by the lost years...
But really,
With time, one loves no more.
-Leo Férré
Friday, February 17, 2006
Never mess with Germans on visa issues
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Last Drop Reading
Here are a couple of pictures from Friday's reading, and a link to the event's review in Philly Future:
http://www.phillyfuture.org/node/2676
(with Jaz, left, and Autumn, seated)
http://www.phillyfuture.org/node/2676
(with Jaz, left, and Autumn, seated)
And here's what was on the menu:
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
the Word Verification contest
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Strawberry
By the end of the night
they fused in my desire.
After I'd folded the laundry
and wilted the night into my sleep,
I pulled them out from under my pillow.
But their faces had melted
into one curly shock of pubic hair
and glasses,
my strawberry blond rhapsody.
they fused in my desire.
After I'd folded the laundry
and wilted the night into my sleep,
I pulled them out from under my pillow.
But their faces had melted
into one curly shock of pubic hair
and glasses,
my strawberry blond rhapsody.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
After Her
(To Jon)
He sleeps by himself,
eating his brain into numbness
like an argument.
He pretends not to think,
not of that, not of her,
not of the age they promised,
they just put behind.
he stacks the books one more
over his lungs.
He acts as if he can’t see her
wide pentagonal face gleaming in the dark,
mocking the corners of his sleep.
He forgets her name, one more time,
he writes on the back of a receipt
that’ll go nowhere.
She won’t, in her weakness,
reel him again.
She won’t spread her mighty thighs
and tell him his future lies in between.
She will melt back into the sidewalk
where he first met her,
and he will crumble into the edges of the day
and feign starting again.
He sleeps by himself,
eating his brain into numbness
like an argument.
He pretends not to think,
not of that, not of her,
not of the age they promised,
they just put behind.
Not of the time,He raises the volume a bit higher,
the cruel time,
the cheap time.
he stacks the books one more
over his lungs.
He acts as if he can’t see her
wide pentagonal face gleaming in the dark,
mocking the corners of his sleep.
He forgets her name, one more time,
he writes on the back of a receipt
that’ll go nowhere.
She won’t, in her weakness,
reel him again.
She won’t spread her mighty thighs
and tell him his future lies in between.
She will melt back into the sidewalk
where he first met her,
and he will crumble into the edges of the day
and feign starting again.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Tell Me
To Wojtek
You call:
______ "I am tired,
______ ______ am tired,
______ ______ ______ am tired."
I cradle the phone
______ ______ like it were our unborn.
What shall I tell you?
That the road will swerve
______ ______ ______ wide and green
______ ______ ______ ______ up ahead?
That the sky will open
______ ______ just above our heads?
That spring is coming--
______ ______ Well, you know it is;
you just can't see it.
So, here it is,
______ listen in.
Up ahead,
______ trees will carry money,
and flowers will smell
______ ______ of paid bills.
Up ahead,
______ I see you in a hammock
I see a breeze
______ taking you in.
Up ahead,
______ birds aflutter,
and croon
______ your mix discs.
Up,
______ where the beach is your backyard
And your walls are awash in
______ ______ stone and white and
______ ______ ______ ivy on a screen;
the lawn is whatever you paint it,
______ ______ and the country can change
______ ______ ______ with your whim.
Up,
______ where there are no passports,
And the world can care less
______ about the color of my tongue,
downpayment is no issue,
______ but the choice is always a treat.
Up,
______ where you change jobs
______ ______ ______ like shoes,
______ and harvest shoes
______ ______ ______ like figs,
Up,
______ where it snows
______ ______ ______ only on Christmas
______ and the summers
______ ______ ______ are long and thin,
Up,
______ where we are gorgeous
______ ______ ______ and happy and fulfilled,
Up there,
______ I shall tell you,
______ ______ ______ of course,
Up there
______ 's where we shall be.
You call:
______ "I am tired,
______ ______ am tired,
______ ______ ______ am tired."
I cradle the phone
______ ______ like it were our unborn.
What shall I tell you?
That the road will swerve
______ ______ ______ wide and green
______ ______ ______ ______ up ahead?
That the sky will open
______ ______ just above our heads?
That spring is coming--
______ ______ Well, you know it is;
you just can't see it.
So, here it is,
______ listen in.
Up ahead,
______ trees will carry money,
and flowers will smell
______ ______ of paid bills.
Up ahead,
______ I see you in a hammock
I see a breeze
______ taking you in.
Up ahead,
______ birds aflutter,
and croon
______ your mix discs.
Up,
______ where the beach is your backyard
And your walls are awash in
______ ______ stone and white and
______ ______ ______ ivy on a screen;
the lawn is whatever you paint it,
______ ______ and the country can change
______ ______ ______ with your whim.
Up,
______ where there are no passports,
And the world can care less
______ about the color of my tongue,
downpayment is no issue,
______ but the choice is always a treat.
Up,
______ where you change jobs
______ ______ ______ like shoes,
______ and harvest shoes
______ ______ ______ like figs,
Up,
______ where it snows
______ ______ ______ only on Christmas
______ and the summers
______ ______ ______ are long and thin,
Up,
______ where we are gorgeous
______ ______ ______ and happy and fulfilled,
Up there,
______ I shall tell you,
______ ______ ______ of course,
Up there
______ 's where we shall be.
I Have You
To Roland
But I will persist.
I will carry your gods on my shoulders
and pretend that they are mine.
Your song, I have already taken;
I might even change the tune.
You might have done the same,
But I am not there to know,
there to hurt.
I've furnished new names for things;
now I call them what I wish.
I'll rewrite the story as I go
and make myself the victim.
I have been there before,
I have already done it.
Now your picture goes in the black frame;
I shall call you a martyr.
(I might even retouch the scar.)
Your shirt I shall box
with a sack of dried smiles,
they shall keep it fragrant
when it starts to rot.
And those letter... What can I
begin to do with them?
(I am all out of guilding.)
Maybe I'll post them
as warning signs
along the streets.
Someone is bound
to take the wrong turn,
some time.
But what will I do
with the grandchildren
I'll never tell the story?
What will I do
with the ending and
the mise-en-scene?
Well, I guess I don't have to worry
now, I have you for that.
But I will persist.
I will carry your gods on my shoulders
and pretend that they are mine.
Your song, I have already taken;
I might even change the tune.
You might have done the same,
But I am not there to know,
there to hurt.
I've furnished new names for things;
now I call them what I wish.
I'll rewrite the story as I go
and make myself the victim.
I have been there before,
I have already done it.
Now your picture goes in the black frame;
I shall call you a martyr.
(I might even retouch the scar.)
Your shirt I shall box
with a sack of dried smiles,
they shall keep it fragrant
when it starts to rot.
And those letter... What can I
begin to do with them?
(I am all out of guilding.)
Maybe I'll post them
as warning signs
along the streets.
Someone is bound
to take the wrong turn,
some time.
But what will I do
with the grandchildren
I'll never tell the story?
What will I do
with the ending and
the mise-en-scene?
Well, I guess I don't have to worry
now, I have you for that.
Rinse & Repeat
(To Katy)
Waking like the beginning of nausea,
I leave a muddy streak across the floor.
Rinse and repeat--
once is not enough;
they can never be too gone.
See that day
stretching ahead of you
like a cat in heat?
Never mind it;
it will too be done soon.
That's when the stairs
Will snake up the hill
And the balcony smile
like a whore with missing teeth.
Close the curtains,
and lean on the fridge,
and pretend that you're not there.
The house is empty,
just like you left it,
grey and quiet
and licking its own heels.
Here his socks smell,
just like yesterday,
pungent and moist.
And there her words await you,
like the self you'll never become.
Don't let her find out
that you're only human
and you're small
and you rinse and repeat.
Waking like the beginning of nausea,
I leave a muddy streak across the floor.
Rinse and repeat--
once is not enough;
they can never be too gone.
See that day
stretching ahead of you
like a cat in heat?
Never mind it;
it will too be done soon.
That's when the stairs
Will snake up the hill
And the balcony smile
like a whore with missing teeth.
Close the curtains,
and lean on the fridge,
and pretend that you're not there.
The house is empty,
just like you left it,
grey and quiet
and licking its own heels.
Here his socks smell,
just like yesterday,
pungent and moist.
And there her words await you,
like the self you'll never become.
Don't let her find out
that you're only human
and you're small
and you rinse and repeat.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
February Reading
I will be reading on Friday, February 10, 2006 at 7:30 pm, with Jaz, a local singer, poet and songwriter, at the Last Drop, 1300 Pine Street, Philadelphia, PA 19107. The reading is presented by the Mad Poets Society, and hosted by Autumn Konopka.
An open reading will follow. Bring your poems! For further information about this event or the Mad Poets Society, contact Eileen D'Angelo at 610-586-9318, email: madpoets@comcast.net or check the website: www.madpoetssociety.com.
An open reading will follow. Bring your poems! For further information about this event or the Mad Poets Society, contact Eileen D'Angelo at 610-586-9318, email: madpoets@comcast.net or check the website: www.madpoetssociety.com.
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