December
When my body had forgotten its purpose,
when it just hung off my brainstem like whipped mule.
When my hands only wrote. When my mouth only ate.
When my ass sat, my eyes read, when my reflexes
were answers to questions we all already knew.
Remember how it was then that you slid your hand
into me, a fork in the electric toaster of my body. Jesus,
where did all these sparks come from? Where was all
this heat? Remember what this mouth did last night?
And still, this morning I answer the phone like normal,
still I drink an hour’s worth of strong coffee. And now
I file. And now I send an email. And remember how
my lungs filled with all that everything? Remember
how my heart was an animal you released from its cage?
Remember how we unhinged? Remember all the names
our bodies called each other? Remember how afterwards,
the steam rose from us, like a pair of smiling ghosts?
I found this particular poem here
Here's another poem by Ms. Aptowicz with a completely different tone than the one above, but also totally awesome.
I actually really like this poem (the one printed here). It doesn't have the structure and rhythm that I like in a poem, but it has good imagery. The fork in the toaster especially; that's brilliant. The idea of it being punctuation in an otherwise ordinary life, that nobody watching from the outside would guess the poet's private life, is great, too. I can identify. The ending image of steam is also good, though I think it lacks a coda.
ReplyDeleteThe YouTube video I didn't like so much. The text of it was funny and clever, but I really, really didn't like the shrieky performance... I made myself listen to the end, but I wanted her to stop talking the whole time. I'd rather have read it, to be honest.
Last thing: The first poem made me think of one by Emilíana Torrini, about a similar-ish topic spoken about with descriptive symbols:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbKS6dPGFZs