Poetry of this difficulty is like work for me. It's chipping away at my own initial reaction. Or applying some overall perspective I've got on the poem (or on the poet via critics etc.) to the line and finally seeing its significance.
its funny cos its not really that difficult and its the only thing worth doing or reading imo. if you like getting stoned and you like acid then this surely is the only sort of thing you want to read i dunno.
It's like philosophy, as we were talking about at one point... It's building the mind muscle up so it's hard but good for you. But it's often easier to order a deliveroo than do a deadlift. @corpseywisdom
Damascus, for the song of it
for date palm and sparrowhawk not seen
wick, nacre, tragic dust
squeeze here
citric, piquant, at no extra cost. Exhale
perfume.
Salt in the coffee, and the hieratic
heads, and the hands in the lap, basalt,
like a school photograph. Collect the
shattered limbs. From the reed-nest, from
the red desert, from the starry pool.
How many times
till the joins start showing the image
veined with hairline fractures the planes
at impossible angles sky to earth to sea.
Sebastapool. Dolphins, fickle light,
in the loggia, in the cantilevered sky.
The bend of back, the curve, rainbow
lifting and falling leap to
angled descent, Lucifer, refulgent.
Gold Sargasso, bleach tips, heat-wrapped
stone into sand, the quivering margin of concern
took curve of flight, desperate blue agitation frictionless
hot pavement, men at cafe table, plot points disassociate
music decays. Later, safely disappointed, cigarette smoke
merely decorates the air. Room for 'reflection.'
squandered time.
Romance falteringly imagined in red dress, and vultures
rose to match, on the trellis, on the roof garden. Coffee
after dinner. Lurch onto generic dream-set, apologise
profusely, make excuses, leave.
Sweet oily coat the tongue, cat about the ankles
furred seductive malevolence, make plans in the field
of her predatory concern. Sphinx
in the objective sun, answer.
Castille, the frame staggers, crows
like dust from the old book, gasp, the word
revelation.
North Africa punches up through the middle, burns
the soles of the feet, leaves blue tiles behind it
to cool the eye, and rhododendrons. Make an announcement,
turn sharply on heel
I shan't
and the air is downy with petals and butterflies.
This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.