Cold, indeed. In my 'younger' days, these discussions sent me running
to my notebooks to see how poorly my own work would stand against such
accusations (not well) -- now, like Ken,
" I am not even me much of the time. I do what I do from where I am.
It changes. Fine. To whose liking?"
So.
Not that I refuse to stretch; my most recent stretch brought me a $25
Amazon gift certificate (my first poetry $, though not the first
"prize") and a poem that, while still from where-I-am, is a definite
change of language:
Oranges
When one wakes in the night
despite sleeping pills, white
noise machines, orthopedic
pillows, and thinks of oranges
-- such sweetness -- there it is,
that orange, floating brilliantly
in this dim room -- and all
the things one must make sense
of -- Nehru jackets, bouffant
hairdos, threatening french
nails -- your attachment to top-
less bars, those artificial orbs,
that tooty fruity booze -- all
this demanding explication
in the swoony night with its
train whistles and sock-it-to-me
buzz, love, American style, the ed-
ification of this planet's turn to
darkness, the rebellious suicide
of the sun, the sweetness of
oranges -- where is Lawrence
of Arabia when you need him
to peel this open, to hand you,
one-by-one, these white-veined
crescents, dripping with light?
------------------------
So should I find this better than what I usually do, because it meets
with the approval of the more 'modern' folks?
I don't think I do.
--
Sharon Brogan
http://www.sbpoet.com
On Sun, 2 Jan 2005 19:49:30 +0100, Anny Ballardini
<[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> This mail makes me laugh, there is so much sarcasm in it.
> Something like a _cold shower_ - _ _ _
>
> Anny Ballardini
> http://annyballardini.blogspot.com
> http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
>
>
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