The opening epigraph is from Skeltonís poem ďSpeke Parot,Ē
about a multilingual import who goes to school with ladies. The reflection
of language as mimicry, a physical activity divorced from semantics, refers
me back to considerations of prosody as a kind of physical cognition ó
though Skeltonís imputations about womenís speech are obviously a keen
instance for critique. Iím hoping next to work towards fulfilling the
promise of occasional poetry, to extend beyond occasion into the perception
and celebration of shared, communal time, through form and prosody, not
just through simultaneous recognition of events, news quotes; but donít
yet know how.
learn all language, and it to speak aptly.
pandez mory, wax frantic, some men say
delivers at last. A golden calf looped and branded
its jughead toward fence, pile of decadent matter
bones and field work.† Her form is finished.
Mined from the interstate
bridewell and bloodwell, with emeralds
and silica, shellfish and landbridges
mined breaking into a hand
and breaking off all cont.
act, seen, abridgement.
leaves bound together with carrot:
worship a finished form, his neck weeping
the thorn and sun loam.† On them thorn, tying
Afghan lips to the outback
and the lips to pleasure they suck
up another blow from the fascists;
that new low is nothing new.
the burnt end they can scratch grammar
anatomy in harvested animal form,
up surplus to the harvest by striking
punishing bargain or compact.
project for a history of civilization,
barrel end smoking against appropriate
targets and smaller game: what have we
here unearthed, the shabby form
and the blank looks as film
wraps up in celluloid opaque
brimming that girl target.
I brought the calf here because her blank
triggers our milk to come in, venus blood
over as dairy goodness, back and white.
Ramy delivered the news into
my private drawing
room enclosed in bitemarks.
His tenderness was another trademark
††of the stoa, the meat market
where we sheltered from the onslaught
of Israeli bullets and dumb propaganda.
I held my breath in the bus shelter, and drew
in more asphyxiating beliefs for want
forward-thinking about fresh air.
maybe the levels are better: iron droplets
saturation, gold in the Czech drinks and blood
the French letters alerting
woman at last.
the sheets I dawdled in wishfulness
came to smell me, regranulated sugar
toxins I allow myself crusting
my lips and my cunt.
††††††††††††††The plane, flightís unbearable
fervor pooled in hollow bones
††made an act of musculature,
I see it bounce off the water strip
I set us free by recognizing fantasy.
part of the clear sapphire that blinds
comforts this clouded eye, comes out of heaven
sits on my desktop.
Our exchange is morbid, a free state
and social being loaned out
for patterned conversation,
the law traded for an idol
precarious as a standard yet
†††††††††saved from slaughtering by
a finished form of calf and binding,
that simile informant who smiles as he ascends
to the second landing.† Who will write a new
for addressing these locations earth
material dispersing with wave motion,
petty freedoms of living bodies,
all is lost in the reflex.
Bio: Andrea Brady was born in Philadelphia
in 1974. She now teaches Renaissance Literature and Contemporary Writing
at Brunel University, and is a co-publisher of Barque Press (www.barquepress.com).
Her first book, Vacation of a Lifetime, was published by Salt in
2001: details available from www.saltpublishing.com, or PO Box 937, Great
Wilbraham Cambridge PDO, CB1 5JX, UK.
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