Pity the water that stays and rises on the streets, pity the water that floods into houses, so dark and filthy and heavy with rats and dead leaves and plastic. There are poems which you read and you understand and you discard, and then there are poems that you read, and you derive pleasure from, and then maybe 'understand'-and then you keep. There are two or three things in my life that I regret. I'm so attached to that idea. Half an hour in the house of indecision or procrastination ants The cotton buds are attracting ants by the hundreds, they are almost flowers.
And that was the poem that came out of that. And it got me into thinking of the kinds of things in which we ground ourselves in order to make sense of chaos. What have you done to its beauty, its graceful body in pictures of oceans, its clear face in a glass? Signals I took the amaretto to mean there was no beer in the house. How does a poem begin for you? I do not underestimate receptionists and security guards. But on the other hand, the line of thought makes me ask: Am I seeing that then as a lesser form? Marc Gaba: You've expressed dissatisfaction, in print, with what we can now call early work. And she loves to tell me, What to do! My point: this rushed up review may not do justice to how beautiful this book really is.
And that upstairs apartment on North High we rented from Armbruster's. I asked the fortune teller if I could spend the night on her In every story, there must be room couch. Do we really have any idea of what tomorrow might bring? It just makes me realize how this is a language I love, it's the language in which I think, in which I write, but I think it's also a language that has become mine because of a troubled historical period. I prefer a couch to a chaise longue. She's very grounded, but she's not afraid to reach very far.
The poems are able to propose a kind of thinking, are able pursue it without ending up trying to particularize it. I think I'm being too harsh with myself. I took the elevated appeal of allusions to mean the fever had no fangs. In Palawan, I take my lunch with a bottle of cerveza. In Cleveland, I excuse myself from the exasperating religious debate over dinner. I am always a little disappointed when the person I am calling picks up the phone. And I swear to God, I'm going to leave her some day.
Another siren howled in the city she preferred to keep outside her window. It is something to be sad about, but I don't think that it should be reason therefore to feel guilty about writing in English. Comment on noise, comparison to random locations. In elsewhere held and lingered: It should be enough It should be enough to wake from the dream and find the doors still opening into the wrong rooms, the keys still hanging like tongues from keyholes, the staircase still leading nowhere, the shelves still infested with indecipherable titles. I find turnstiles and carousels reassuring.
In the allegedly ghost-ridden hallway, I am hungry after making out. I watch the burning and cringe. Inside the story is a house, a bowl full of fruit. But by the end of the poem, poet has drawn a very fine similarity with the boy, poet points out that both the lives of our poet and the ghost faced child are moving fast with traffic, ie. In Mandaluyong, I admire a strongly worded memo.
Here in this starkly beautiful volume, she has discovered a language sufficient to the terrors and the joys of the contemporary. The last three lines, albeit still presented in the same blunt voice initially established in the poem, serve as the simple yet effective shock therapy that allows even the most thick-skinned reader to cringe a bit. She watches her husband and his small gesture, the drawing room unable to contain her sudden knowledge. Who are we to say that we will be with that person we love so much for the rest of our lives? And since I've taken on direct address and judgement, it puts a lot of pressure on the speaker to establish the authority to judge. Two or Three Things About Desire is also available, along with the chapbooks of other internationally renowned poets, in Islands or Continents Eighteen-volume Set. I also admire the confidence with which, because they're at the level of the abstract, the confidence-or maybe the arrogance-with which they make propositions, which I think is more difficult to do if you're a writer preoccupied with particulars.
It does make me realize how that will come into play. At thirteen I broke a tooth in a dream and for days tapped each tooth in my mouth with my tongue, searching for cracks. I do not mind asking strangers for directions. This is where I will stop, and the Other will take over. This is one of the best things about them, their insistence that we can only be enlarged, illuminated, by entering the imagination of another, which, in turn, inhabits ours. When I am unnerved I recite the phone numbers I know by heart and am relieved that I still know them. Location and historical fact overheard at the station.