Describe yourself as a poet in three words: lady fragment undone
What is your chief misery as a poet? too many birds and not enough language
What you appreciate the most in a poem: a swerve I don’t see coming
If not a poet, what would you be? geologist, chef or lawyer
Who is your poetry hero and why? Historically, Elizabeth Barrett-Browning– a hero so much I wrote my first book with her by re-writing Sonnets from the Portuguese. Contemporaneously, Alexis Pope, Morgan Parker and Carrie Lorig, for starters. There are some many amazing female poets right now trying to navigate being alive and they are heroes every day.
What is your idea of happiness?
What is your present state of mind? Winter is melting, emergence from constantly being tired, craft clue marred nails, returning “home” and hunger.
“There is a history of naming hurricanes after saints. If you want yours
I recommend avoiding martyrs and consider only reference books
that have been burned. Your history of hurricanes is honestly disappointing: they keep
dying at sea. There’s a history of almost anything as long as you make a God to watch it
and also some zealots to take notes.”
“These are the times when it’s hardest, in Caroline’s words, not to have a hometown. I know that the riots have nothing to do with politics. I know that too well that my place has its share of hateful people, who will take whatever opportunity they can to break it. But even knowing that, I want to be among my people. The Yes campaign’s loss has been heartbreaking for many of them, and I can only hope that the disappointment will make them kinder. That the unionists will be graceful in victory, that Scotland will remain, in some ways, the home I left. It may not be the land of blooming heather and shining river that the songs describe. It may, in many ways, be already broken. But what’s broken can be fixed, and the prodigal can always return. Scotland is not the land I lost, though things I have lost do inhabit it. I told Tyler when he left that a goodbye can be an ellipsis.”
[Author’s note: This is a found story, constructed from
voice-to-text Siri mistranslations of MFA gossip my first semester at UMass.]
Let’s talk about a blessed evening this evening if after I wake
up Warhurst is popping drunk. Pemeria what’s the plan at the party? Ha ha what
the Suttons eat: Something to eat, something. Can you stop drinking? If you
might still be drunk I’ll visit. I just hope everyone on a diet at 5 o’clock
Just thinking, for you have nothing else to do. Do you like the
theater? Do you have time to actually bring your brain? You might want to go,
you might appreciate this kind of pop cultural late-lingual atmosphere. Lutomma
loved it, all the diamonds. They can watch, incinerating a sandwich. Shakley
can feel lonely.
Let’s talk about how much we miss that/him, wishing that we
could hang out with Shakley. Please forgive me, he’s the one, the custodian at
the gym. Such an island. A close-knit people. Atavistic years, face painting.
We were there together. I’m older.
Lutomma, who are you? How was Salter? What about the novel?
Warhurst does like anybody that finishes. Is it hard to retain information to
the enemy? He is a musician and he’s been toying with you.
Listen Shakley, listen baby. I was thinking of you in the
Gainesville Minery. You like Captain Stormalong. Look up! What are you craving?
Going to visit this weekend? Staying over? Music? Would be interesting.
I, limping too seriously about it, just say: I don’t remember.
You’re real drunk. And she went oh no: I, super drunk! Yes you are, but denoting
Lately, you’re too pretty for you. You, the name for him. Let’s
evening with them. Just, with the curtains on the door. Just let Lovinger fuck
me instead, preferably in the face of you.
Lollipop, Lollipop, I don’t understand. If I have just the
stuff then you close the reciprocals. I think, so I see. Sparseness,
incidentals. I do like him, it’s hurtful. I like to collect experience. I’m
going to get my feelings right. I’m just very dark, really dark.
Making a drink!
Jonathan*s bit of influence. Every time I try to he is missing, always.
It’s almost lunch. Today has released things into themselves: ash water, milk curdle, thrum.
This is the finite kingdom your heart has made—
a creature might forget to weep in such florid weather.
Yet I dispraise this darkness you busted, my civil tongue knotted in a waiting decade.
In line we wait with the trick in mind. Cascade light— talk esteem, say everyone around you is a one true love & then ten & then on.
Plastic Sonnet 15
we two look two ways looking for bees to find another cavity this is a major flaw
I look on the whole thing from the sidelines the soul that flies away from the body
I look weird because I started to fail as you would look if wearing satin to a river
please do not blame me please do not accuse me of wearing the same sunlight
shut me safe & most divine in this the outside air
Plastic Sonnet 16
Architect of my hot sugar do not make me for the high rise build big & low on this bloody earth
I shake down alone you can keep your classic high all night
what do I care for stature so saturated in this mud my sweet home water
why conquer a horizon when there is flex in lifting upward as in crushing low
do not forget the basement fielding this purple this red & tight heart where records are lost
Plastic Sonnet 17
strike up & strike the general direction while I’m at either remember there are sad songs you should choose better it is only that idiot god that gets you haphazard which is to say you make my screen heavy reading you can click to occupy the public places never spit on my pity documents & I will keep you as fine memory foam in a tomb that is half dust & all electricity cave come on darling be used