- doug fuckey
- Jun 7, 2007
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hella greenbacks
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no idea; it's the one i have too, but i have heard two (2) vague but positive things about the new edition
I have the new one and I've not read the penguin one but this new one is big and I'll probably never read the whole thing
I've been reading poetry here and there recently, i agree with tree goat, maggie nelson is often very good, sometimes too precious but good. I read james schyuler's 'the morning of the poem' but I won't post it because it's like 80 pages mainly of stream-of-consciousness thought as he wakes up from his lover's bed and sits thinking while playing with his foreskin. basically, anyway. it was good
i also got the giant louise gluck collection from the library and am just opening it to random pages occasionally. most of them are really good.
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Oct 31, 2019 02:20
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May 16, 2024 15:10
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- doug fuckey
- Jun 7, 2007
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hella greenbacks
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I've been flipping open random pages to the robert creely collection i got from the library, because i've liked a few of his poems before, but so far, I'm not really feeling most of them. they're often just quick bizarre snippets that I can't understand on any level
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Dec 7, 2019 16:45
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- doug fuckey
- Jun 7, 2007
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hella greenbacks
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got em
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Jan 15, 2020 19:20
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- doug fuckey
- Jun 7, 2007
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hella greenbacks
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the library finally sent me david berman's 'actual air' and it's really good. the fact that he was mentored by james tate is obvious but I think he succeeds more often by venturing into that valley between the absurd and the lifelike, like a harmony korine movie that's so real it's surreal.
Governors on Sominex posted:
It had been four days of no weather
as if nature had conceded its genius to the indoors.
They'd closed down the Bureau of Sad Endings
and my wife sat on the couch and read the paper out loud.
The evening edition carried the magic death of a child
backlit by a construction site sunrise on its front page.
I kept my back to her and fingered the items on the mantle.
Souvenirs only reminded you of buying them.
* * *
The moon hung solid over the boarded-up Hobby Shop.
P.K. was in the precinct house, using his one phone call
to dedicate a song to Tammy, for she was the light
by which he traveled into this and that
And out in the city, out in the wide readership,
his younger brother was kicking an ice bucket
in the woods behind the Marriott,
his younger brother who was missing that part of the brain
that allows you to make out with your pillow.
Poor kid.
It was the light in things that made them last.
* * *
Tammy called her caseworker from a closed gas station
to relay ideas unaligned with the world we loved.
The tall grass bent in the wind like tachometer needles
and he told her to hang in there, slowly repeating
the number of the Job Info Line.
She hung up and glared at the Killbuck Sweet Shoppe.
The words that had been running through her head,
"employees must wash hands before returning to work,"
kept repeating and the sky looked dead.
* * *
Hedges formed the long limousine a Tampa sky could die behind.
A sailor stood on the wharf with a clipper ship
reflected on the skin of the bell pepper he held.
He'd had mouthwash at the inn and could still feel
the ice blue carbon pinwheels spinning in his mouth.
There were no new ways to understand the world,
only new days to set our understandings against.
Through the lanes came virgins in tennis shoes,
their hair shining like videotape,
singing us into a kind of sleep we hadn't tried yet.
Each page was a new chance to understand the last.
And somehow the sea was always there to make you feel stupid.
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Jan 20, 2020 05:11
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Oct 31, 2019 02:20
