selection
there are very few, joyful and irreverent poets, but it seems to me that the ones who pull the combination off--that combination of gumption and grace, with a touch of wonder--are women. this is also likely my bias. i think that i would find aggressive irreverence in a male poet off putting--a sign of artlessness and hubris--the literary equivalent of the jock's bellow in the locker room. unfair? perhaps, but social position matters in my assessment of meaning (especially the meaning of aggressiveness). but i digress. i only wanted to share this
Onset
Watching that frenzy of insects above the bush of white flowers,
bush I see everywhere on hill after hill, all I can think of
is how terrifying spring is, in its tireless, mindless replications.
Everywhere emergence: seed case, chrysalis, uterus, endless manufacturing.
And the wrapped stacks of Styrofoam cups in the grocery, lately
I can’t stand them, the shelves of canned beans and soups, freezers
of identical dinners; then the snowflake-diamond-snowflake of the rug
beneath my chair, rows of books turning their backs,
even my two feet, how they mirror each other oppresses me,
the way they fit so perfectly together, how I can nestle one big toe into the other
like little continents that have drifted; my God the unity of everything,
my hands and eyes, yours; doesn’t that frighten you sometimes, remembering
the pleasure of nakedness in fresh sheets, all the lovers there before you,
beside you, crowding you out? And the scouring griefs,
don’t look at them all or they’ll kill you, you can barely encompass your own;
I’m saying I know all about you, whoever you are, it’s spring
and it’s starting again, the longing that begins, and begins, and begins.
-Kim Addonizio
with you. it is by a female poet who holds a special place in my catalogue of favorites, kim addonizio. though her literary style is completely different, she reminds me of edna st. vincent millay. i read both women when i want to soak in the libidinal power of female experience. their poems are what happens when verse puts on bright red lipstick and decides to go strutting down a busy street in sculpted heels that are as proud and unsubtle as exclamation points.
Onset
Watching that frenzy of insects above the bush of white flowers,
bush I see everywhere on hill after hill, all I can think of
is how terrifying spring is, in its tireless, mindless replications.
Everywhere emergence: seed case, chrysalis, uterus, endless manufacturing.
And the wrapped stacks of Styrofoam cups in the grocery, lately
I can’t stand them, the shelves of canned beans and soups, freezers
of identical dinners; then the snowflake-diamond-snowflake of the rug
beneath my chair, rows of books turning their backs,
even my two feet, how they mirror each other oppresses me,
the way they fit so perfectly together, how I can nestle one big toe into the other
like little continents that have drifted; my God the unity of everything,
my hands and eyes, yours; doesn’t that frighten you sometimes, remembering
the pleasure of nakedness in fresh sheets, all the lovers there before you,
beside you, crowding you out? And the scouring griefs,
don’t look at them all or they’ll kill you, you can barely encompass your own;
I’m saying I know all about you, whoever you are, it’s spring
and it’s starting again, the longing that begins, and begins, and begins.
-Kim Addonizio
with you. it is by a female poet who holds a special place in my catalogue of favorites, kim addonizio. though her literary style is completely different, she reminds me of edna st. vincent millay. i read both women when i want to soak in the libidinal power of female experience. their poems are what happens when verse puts on bright red lipstick and decides to go strutting down a busy street in sculpted heels that are as proud and unsubtle as exclamation points.