6. The Critic (from CHANTS) William Dickey
I unscrewed the lip from the mouth, the
mouth I discarded.
I unscrewed the lid from the eye, the
eye I discarded.
Here is a doll made from pieces. The
pieces hate one another.
Here are the doll and I in a posed
photograph.
After the photograph was taken, I
unscrewed the camera.
*******************************
Self Portrait Edward Hirsch
I
lived between my heart and my head,
like a married couple who can't get along.
like a married couple who can't get along.
I
lived between my left arm, which is swift
and sinister, and my right, which is righteous.
and sinister, and my right, which is righteous.
I
lived between a laugh and a scowl,
and voted against myself, a two-party system.
and voted against myself, a two-party system.
My
left leg dawdled or danced along,
my right cleaved to the straight and narrow.
my right cleaved to the straight and narrow.
My
left shoulder was like a stripper on vacation,
my right stood upright as a Roman soldier.
my right stood upright as a Roman soldier.
Let's
just say that my left side was the organ
donor and leave my private parts alone,
donor and leave my private parts alone,
but
as for my eyes, which are two shades
of brown, well, Dionysus, meet Apollo.
of brown, well, Dionysus, meet Apollo.
Look
at Eve raising her left eyebrow
while Adam puts his right foot down.
while Adam puts his right foot down.
No
one expected it to survive,
but divorce seemed out of the question.
but divorce seemed out of the question.
I
suppose my left hand and my right hand
will be clasped over my chest in the coffin
will be clasped over my chest in the coffin
and
I'll be reconciled at last,
I'll be whole again.
I'll be whole again.
*******************************
Address to an Absent Lover Sarah Manguso
The
boy speaks in Russian (I understand him neither in the dream nor in real
life). He opens his eyes and looks at me, apologizing in English for keeping
them closed.
When I wake up I think he must have seen me. But when I kiss him he looks surprised, as if he were blind. The night I met you I wrote It is possible I have imagined my entire life. * My great-grandmother's lamp is mine now. It is made of rose quartz -- that is, it is made of poetry. More poetry: A coin you dropped when you took your pants off is still on the floor. Please come back and pick it up. More: The scar on my hand I got cleaning the house for you has outlasted you. In this way you are indelible, but only as long as I have my hand. |
*******************************
Pantoum
Quilted from Agnes Martin's Writings by Carol Moldaw
Composition is an absolute mystery.
To
penetrate the night is one thing
(you
get light enough and you levitate),
to
be penetrated by the night, another.
To
penetrate the night is one thing, the mind knows what the eye has not seen;
to
be penetrated by the night, another.
Overtaken,
we feel a certain devotion.
The
mind knows what the eye has not seen.
Perfection,
of course, cannot be represented.
Overtaken,
we feel a certain devotion.
Think
of a shibori-dyed silk organza quilt.
Perfection,
of course, cannot be represented
pieced
and layered, a little bit off the square.
Think
of a shibori-dyed silk organza quilt
but
without batting, transparent, floating,
pieced
and layered, a little bit off the square,
the
layers hand-tied together with horsehair
(but
without batting, transparent, floating).
Try
to understand, court misunderstanding.
The
layers hand-tied together with horsehair,
the
grids of the layers overlap like voices.
Try
to understand, court misunderstanding.
The
seams, like leading, show through.
The
grids of the layers overlap like voices.
One
thing I've got a good grip on is remorse.
The
seams, like leading, show through.
Before
it's put on paper, it exists in the mind.
One
thing I've got a good grip on is remorse.
Technique
a hazard, interruptions a disaster,
before
it's put on paper, it exists in the mind.
Rectangles
lighten the square's weight.
Technique
a hazard, interruptions a disaster,
composition
is an absolute mystery.
Rectangles
lighten the square's weight.
You
get light enough and you levitate.
*******************************
With That Moon Language
Admit
something: Everyone you see, you say to them, "Love me."
Of
course you do not do this out loud, otherwise someone would call the cops.
Still
though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect. Why not become the
one who lives with a full moon in each eye that is always saying, with that
sweet moon language, What every other eye in this world is dying to hear?
-Hafiz
*******************************
From
"Elegy in X Parts"
 |
Matt
Rasmussen
 |
X.
The self-murder mystery
begins like this:
We are more likely
to kill ourselves
than be killed
by someone else.
I am the pistol
saying I will only
say this once.
Do not open
the tiny door
in the back
of your head.
All alone when
all alone, we
are asleep
inside our
murderer. There’s
a metal word
in the chamber
of my mouth
and my eyes
are bored out.
I’m a noose
using the body
against itself.
I see
what’s too awful
to be true—
that house
with one lit window,
my brother’s
punctured skull—
yet is.
The self-murder mystery
begins like this:
We are more likely
to kill ourselves
than be killed
by someone else.
I am the pistol
saying I will only
say this once.
Do not open
the tiny door
in the back
of your head.
All alone when
all alone, we
are asleep
inside our
murderer. There’s
a metal word
in the chamber
of my mouth
and my eyes
are bored out.
I’m a noose
using the body
against itself.
I see
what’s too awful
to be true—
that house
with one lit window,
my brother’s
punctured skull—
yet is.
