Your great
beauty
in the shower
of eternity
is unseen
why
Oh why
while the summer
storm crashes in
must you
stand
like the
Greek
calling a
poem
an epic poem
in tragedy and comedy
of wheelbarrow
and red light
Your face
covered in
hot paint
will be
and turn
relentlessly
essentially
formless
Becoming
unreadable
beneath the mud
I call
to sense
and passion
breaking rocks
to dust
will the pen
be
undone
Nothing your
butter knife
spreads
can be considered
more
than
immortal
Put it down
and walk
through
the door
Into celluloid
and night
{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
Very, very nice. I especially like the last two stanzas; I can see exactly the night they’re going into.
Welcome back.
You are so clever - a two’fer…
i really like this one. particularly this:
I call
to sense
and passion
breaking rocks
to dust
will the pen
be
undone
The last two Monday’s have not been the same — welcome back, Robert.
Lola - I wonder if they can… I’m fairly certain most haven’t yet.
LF - Thanks baby. It ain’t Fatblogging, but it’ll do. Nobody can touch you Feldman.
WPS - You got it. This thing won’t ever land in the pages of The New Yorker, but I have to ask the question… Why? WHY?!?
Sizzle - Maybe better:
The pen
has been
undone
I don’t know, this sort of thing is exactly why I don’t read poetry. Not that I’m some kind of pro, but come on. These things CAN be a better experience than eating a grilled cheese and coke on a Friday afternoon.
David - Thanks man. Really.
And why must a poet be essentially six feet under to be considered breaking new ground?
ec - You’re too artful for your own good…
Robert, great poem. Fun form with the italics.
Here’s my question “Who cares if it never lands in the New Yorker?”
Last time I went to the Association of Writer’s and Writing Programs (big poetry scene for academics, but I’m not one). I realized that academic poetry was a pretty closed circle… and the entire circle was at that conference. For the most part, they just publish each other’s work.
This is one of the best poems I’ve read here.
You really should consider reading more poetry, though. Have you tried Martin Espada or Billy Collins?
i love the video in your sidebar: Sex, Money, Death And The Thoroughly Modern Man
Mark - I like Collins. Never done Espada, I’ll look him up.
Your comment lays out the reason as to why this site exists. I’ve said it before, but the in-game is real. To be honest, I haven’t spent much time, not like Alan over at foetry.com (killer site by the way) looking into these things, but I don’t have the time.
I want to write. I want to create. This whole internet thing allows me to do it without being concerned about the politics of publishing, etc.
YOU decide what YOU like around here. And YOU decide if you’re going to pass it around or just take a pass and never come back.
And I just get to keep on writing…
That’s a sweet deal.
Broc - Good. That tells me you are a brilliant intellect with fine taste.
Thanks for coming by man…
NOTE TO KGP READERS:
Mr. Eglinton has tried to leave an immortal comment on this post with no success… I tried to post the thing my self, no luck…
Mr. Eglinton is not banned from the site and there is only one link in his comment. For the life of me I can’t see why the comment won’t post. I keep getting a message “Looks like you posted this comment already…” or something like that. But, of course, the comment doesn’t show…
Any ideas? Anyone?
Not to worry Robert. It was far less an ‘immortal comment’ than you make it out to be.
And sometimes there are inexplicable interjections in time and space that disrupt even the most basic binary code…perhaps it was an act of god, but more likely just me clicking the wrong button.
In any case I look forward to reading your next poem.
And as for the New Yorker…well if you can’t join them then become rivals, start a new literary review. I’d be up for it.
AndrewE - OK, but it still makes no sense, nothing in moderation either. Who knows.
Let’s talk on the review idea…