***
Everyone is Having Interesting Conversations in New York
They rise like a haze of bees; they hum.
Talk of traffic and real estate
scintillates, as though
the shine off curved sheets
of mirrored glass rising toward satellites
has cast itself across every tone and tongue-
shaped syllable, turning
dullards sharp and spangled, making
an odd chin and offset eyes into goddess:
a sheer thin bolt of fire made flesh
who wheels on her heel;
whose steel stiletto turns the earth.
The set of couples on the 6—their fine
disheveled coifs, their foreheads
glistening with sweat, their eyelids
glazed with copper—speak
of the weather in such a way
No One in History has ever talked of heat
(which is unbearable: every step
into the tunnels a descent
into the throat of a dragon, the hot
blasts of breath the trains leave in their wake
smell of cheese and rank river) and I
want to be the shine on their faces,
their impatience,
want to be the rat making its ginger way
over this greenish crust of pigeon,
the eye of Horus inked beneath
the salt-pepper moss on a sixty-year-old
bicep, the pile of flour-dust bagels
in the window off Houston, the gleaming olive
fallen dirt-caked into the gap of a grate;
I want to be the ridged veins
in the arms of the guy in the Jeter jersey
shooting up the tracks toward
the crumbling house of Ruth,
to be his metallic green sneaker
jittering against the gum-grayed lino,
the Shiba Inus, freshly groomed, their pluming tails
weaving through the moving sleek leg forest
on Madison Avenue, their fur
shining with awapuhi oil, their mouths
stretchy with heat,
the girl with the neck of a geisha
checking the strap of her sandal,
her eyes flicking across me—
I agree with her judgment, I am
insignificant;
whole blessed hours
careen past without me noticing
myself;
I want
to not notice myself—
to sit instead
above this pond nicked with ripples, filmed
with cigarettes and duckweed,
and watch one golden koi float
through the heart of the park,
this glow of fish in which
all the city’s
wound and wheel and tremor
reaches, under milk-green water,
an almost
perfect
stillness.
9 comments:
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.
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.
' her steel stilleto turns the earth'
what a kick ass line.
thanks, mags! :)
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?
Great post, anonymous person. And yes, I do have some anthology suggestions! In fact, I think this is a worthy blog topic ...
but where oh where did your "draft" go? will the alligators puke it back up like some half eaten marshmallow?
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 :)
so does that mean you can only post poetry you consider unpublishable?
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