Strike me down dead, I'm not a Rocky Horror fan. *GASP* *SHOCK* *HORROR* But this fit the moment.
It's April and 80F in the house. It's stifling. I'm suffering from some serious insomnia. I'm disgustingly excited about April starting. Honestly, it's just weird.
I can thank that bout of insomnia and excitement for the fact that I am awake to herald in National Poetry Month. Happy National Poetry Month, friends!
It still feels a little awkward. We have lost amazing poets in the last 12 months, the most recent being Adrienne Rich. I can tell you the moment I discovered AR. I was at the public library and I decided to sit down and check out the magazine section. I stumbled upon what I can only guess was some sort of feminist lit mag- don't ask me the name. It had names that I now recognize as strong feminist writers. I was flipping through the pages, and fell on a poem that I think had something to do with grapefruits.
Okay, so it's a vague memory, Okay, Okay. Either way, I read it over and tried to memorize it, but I didn't have a dime to make a copy and I couldn't check out the magazine. I loved it.
I won't go into AR's dubious theory about gender and relationships. As a poet, she was stunning. I found an article in The Nation, quoting Cheryl Walker, that described her body of work as follows:
This poetry is deadly serious, but it is not, like so much of women’s poetry in the past, death-enamored. For it is the poet’s appetite, her undeniable life force, which sustains these operations.
and it's really hit a chord with me. What a powerful thing to be able to communicate... what strength in that evocation.
I was also skimming through the poetry section of decomP magazine and found a poem that I wanted to share:
Rusty William Porter
For too long/ I have looked up/ and into the sunSearching for something/ that I can carry back.But as the gods/ never are kind/ to those who steal their lightMy eyes are now mute/ speaking no truth/ and telling no lies.
Hope you all have a lovely Monday.