the water was where my
headache was before it was
passed on to me the
water was a recording of
a voice saying you're welcome
by that time he'd spat
his cigarette out and lit
another and spat that one
out after smoking it this
is Patrick I'm talking about
the water went about sicking
up the water had climbed
down stairs the water purchased
me a seagull I'm a
trained seal I can't laugh
*
the eye a plastic bubble
filled with milk more than
twenty miles of visibility trapped
therein and it's a fine
day to jump out of
an airplane the doors open
and the suits full of
men leap from the gray
belly run and leap out
into and through fields of
temporary black flak marigolds blooming
and dissipating into air you're
always falling even inside the
plane into wide awakeness the
lights the wide aperture into
Monday, October 5, 2009
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2 comments:
The form used here isn't something I feel personally drawn to in my own writing, but I do admire the compromises and evasions (and innovations) it forces Woodward to create and work with in the poem. I think it did something liberating when you used it yourself, Tyler. You ought to post that poem. "In Which White is a Color I Still Wear" was it?
It's worth remembering that Dr. Williams was fond of limiting himself to a select number of words per line (sometimes syllables) and that this tradition has always sort of been the inexplicably successful punk bastard nemesis of metered form.
Ok, I will post the updated version of the poem when I have thought more about the changes you all suggested. Soon.
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