Monday, July 28, 2008

New York Envy Pt. II

Working on a draft ... in lieu of moving to the city immediately, which doesn't seem to be in the cards right now, and is likely better as a fantasy anyway ...

***

* This draft fell into an NYC manhole and was immediately eaten by alligators.

10 comments:

winenegress said...

Nicely done and the metro area (as we who live in Jersey call it to elevate ourselves) often hums with insignificance. If it throbbed all the time, we couldn't stand it.

M. C. Allan said...

yes, I supposed constant throbbing might become irritating after a time.

in all honesty, I have only fits of NYC envy. usually quite happy to live in D.C., which doesn't throb so much as hiss, undulate, and occasionally sashay.

Maggie May said...

' her steel stilleto turns the earth'

what a kick ass line.

M. C. Allan said...

thanks, mags! :)

Anonymous said...

i too was struck by the steel stiletto and also the part where the woman looks at you as if you are nothing and you proceed to talk about your insignificance!
... if i may digress, i’d like to mention a delightful anthology of international poetry assembled by the polish/lithuanian poet Czeslaw Milosz. it is a wonderfully idiosyncratic collection and i was drawn to it because it contained so many poets i’ve never heard of: Jaan Kaplinski, Li-Young Lee, Oscar Milosz (a distant relative), “Yoruba Tribe” ... There are many well known names from the 20th century as well and a lot of Tang Dynasty poetry (Tu Fu is a particular favorite). Between the Tang and the 20th century, not a whole lot! I like the idea of a subjective anthology. You can’t blame Milosz for omitting, say, Donald Justice. It does not pretend to be comprehensive or objective.
In the introduction he writes:
“I try to forget about ... trends.” The poems are “short, clear, readable and ... realist.”
Here is one by Wang Chien (unknown to me), 736-835 called “The South.” Milosz says it describes a territory in what is now Viet Nam.
THE SOUTH
In the southern land many birds sing:
Of towns and cities half are unwalled,
The country markets are thronged by wild tribes;
The mountain-villages bear river-names.
Poisonous mists rise from the damp sands;
Strange fires gleam through the night-rain.
And none passes but the lonely seeker of pearls
Year by year on his way to the South Sea.
---
any suggestions of other anthologies?

M. C. Allan said...

Great post, anonymous person. And yes, I do have some anthology suggestions! In fact, I think this is a worthy blog topic ...

molly said...

but where oh where did your "draft" go? will the alligators puke it back up like some half eaten marshmallow?

M. C. Allan said...

draft went away so I can submit it to pubs later on! no can do if it's up on a blog; many editors these days consider that "published," even if three people read it :)

molly said...

so does that mean you can only post poetry you consider unpublishable?

M. C. Allan said...

Nope. Just that it can't stay up anymore if I'm going to send it out somewhere. If I post new stuff here, it'll be like sandcastles: there for a day or so, then swept away or stomped on by drunken rednecks.

Or in this case, eaten by alligators.