My favorite poem is “Part of Eve’s Discussion” by Marie Howe. I sort of obsessed with it even though it’s the dreaded prose format. I like it for a multitude of reasons, but one of them is the way each image dissolves in to the next seamlessly, moves from one image to the next as though she’s explaining a particular instant in time. When I found the poem below, I felt a similar sort of sensation. I loved a single moment in time told briefly, contained within a ten line poem and told essentially in one single thought. I wanted to mimic that notion (I can’t stand the first word of every line capitalized, so that had to go…). Here’s a really first-y first draft, title-less as I frequently do:
Pig
-Vasko Popa
Only when she felt
That savage knife in her throat
Did the red veil
Explain the game
And she was sorry
She had torn herself
From the mud’s embrace
And had hurried so joyfully
From the field that evening
Hurried to the yellow gate
_____________
Only when she felt
the first bulge of exposed skin
slither at oxygen
did the engorged woman
shun broken sensuality
and grope for the instant
of clasped hands, braided legs, bounded groins
to tear away, unravel, unlock
to shackle crying lust
Congratulate fantasies.
No comments:
Post a Comment