And my absence. I’m at work on a number of things, including a tenure application. That means lots of non-blog time; I hope you’ll come back in a few weeks to find me rising from the dust, phoenix-like. Or zombie-ish, if necessary. Either way, there’s a distant blurry plan which will narrow its retina and find something of me in focus.
In the meantime, enjoy some poems I found in a random journal, “whis*key“, as well as a post from Stephen Vincent that is timely and political. Vincent posted this to the Poetics List, where he is a regular poster of merit.
clouds like hatchets & carrot sticks
the clouds today over the sea
look like hatchets & carrot sticks,
mercury poisoning & green tea,
a frothing latte in a red mug
the teeth of a bloodhound,
throwing the i ching, rhapsody
in rebounding sheaves of gold
& glimmer, flesh & fasting
the mercilous pebble bath of
the raging ocean, french wine
marigolds on rye no mustard
the look on yr face when i
explained everything i would
do if you only gave me half
a chance, sleeves, buttons
retreating rings of the moon
in love with a raving liar
when you fell in love with me
i told you i worked for NASA
designing space shuttle components,
hell, it sounded better than
saying i worked at radio shack.
no, i don’t shop at the friggin’ mall
i go to volunteers of america
whenever i can, cheap 1970s suits
make me look like gabe kaplan on speed,
my idea of a good time is reading
the directions on the back of cereal boxes
but i’ll read them to you, twice if you want
if you’ll stay in love with me
just don’t believe everything i say, in fact
listen carefully, i’m only going to say this once,
i’m a raving liar
i’m a raving liar
And, as mentioned, from Stephen Vincent:
For urgent reading, go to Sy Hersh’s current New Yorker article on Cheney/Bush and Company’s apparently intractable intention to make ’surgical strikes’ on Iran and Syria.
These folks apparently want to play the Mideast like an old-fashioned juke box. Bing-Bing-Bing.
The consequences of such madness are beyond their concern or
imagination. Unless they are just committed to infinite global mayhem.
Such attacks – apart from being inevitably (more again) self-destructive of whatever remains of this ‘democracy’ – will drive gas prices through the ceiling.
Does one have to wonder much why Chevron just bought back 15 billion dollars worth of its own shares?
Are there any spines left in this ‘roll-over we serve your terror, Mr. Bush,’ Congress?
2 Responses to “Pardon My Dust”
Amy King is the recipient of the 2015 Winner of the Women’s National Book Association (WNBA) Award. Her latest collection, The Missing Museum, is a winner of the 2015 Tarpaulin Sky Book Prize. She serves on the executive board of VIDA: Women in Literary Arts and is co-editing with Heidi Lynn Staples the anthology Big Energy Poets of the Anthropocene: When Ecopoets Think Climate Change. She also co-edited the anthology Bettering American Poetry 2015 and is a professor of creative writing at SUNY Nassau Community College.