What makes me hang delicious in your sight,
The attitude you spread across the room.
You decorate by presence and your tools,
You set me in a country priest's delight—
I remain your mortar board and broom,
Your modern one of metal and a grip,
Sitting there you talk and make a pose,
I sort my pieces and I float.
The attitude you spread across the room.
You decorate by presence and your tools,
You set me in a country priest's delight—
I remain your mortar board and broom,
Your modern one of metal and a grip,
Sitting there you talk and make a pose,
I sort my pieces and I float.
By Alan Blaustein
1 comment:
Alan says,
"I no longer have a copy of Poetry News, a mimeographed magazine that published a tiny poem of mine when I was seventeen in 1967. I wrote on and off through various crises throughout the late 1960s and 1970s with no success, and in the 1980s I was involved in the East Village poetry scene of the time and published in several collective publications, know as What Happens Next.
By 1990, I felt that I had run out of poetic steam, to borrow a phrase from something of Breton's. I had already written mass-market paperbacks, and in September 1990 I started to work for Mixed Media Enterprises. I wrote and edited various publications for the client publisher.
Poetry came to mind intermittently until October 2012, when I heard the pentameter again. I prefer formal poetry, taking Ezra Pound's dictum that "when poetry moves too far from music, it rots," but I will write free verse if the idea, inspiration or whatever strictly calls for it. Real poetry is about language, first of all.
-Alan"
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