Blind Love by Jennifer Hecht
Lady says, Doc, I think I need glasses.
Teller says, You sure do, Lady, this is a bank.
Lady wanders out, it's winter, wonders whether
other things have got mistaken, too.
At home she ambles through the house
with the sudden feeling that it all has been
rewritten. Notices a shadow as ivy peels from brick,
clatter of silverware drawer, a quarter
on her bathroom floor. As on a vase the piper
plays not to the ear but to the more endeared
inner listener, so, quiet in an April afternoon,
late sun erupts a riot into her room.
Coin and cutlery grow red; wood glows golden in the hall.
Outside, ivy tendrils find new purchase on the wall.
My Improv':
Formal Love
Husband says, Marg, I think we need to talk about our affection.
Wife says, We sure do, my bunny isn't energized and we're out of groceries.
Marriage would be stomach-sick
off of the mind's trampish heaving
desires: those of humping the bag
boy between Publix's tightly package
produce section and lobsters, of mind
fucking Mr. Square Rimmed poetry
junkie right in the denim-worn worm
hole below his brass belt buckle. Formal
consummation never asks, "Who
shot farther today, the espresso
grinder on 34th or your new cubicle
mate?" Don't judge too prudently
now- hot July never lips dew off
freshly budding tulips, nor blisters
about the stains you left on top
the flat panel'd oak wood swing.
Syndney,
ReplyDeleteBesides formatting, the improv deviates sharply from the original poem, and I think I like it best that way, really. You've taken an idea and spiraled it out from there—and done a great job at it, I might add.
The brass-boldness of this poem, its unwavering honesty bordering on crudeness, is done very well. I would quote phrases from the draft, but then I would be quoting the entire draft. Far from flowery poesy phrases or getting too overdramatic on the tone thermometer, this piece does a wonderful job of just... saying it—the kind of sexual things we think in plain terms but don't necessarily speak in plain terms. I especially loved “fucking Mr. Square Rimmed poetry / junkie right in the denim-worn worm / hole below his brass belt buckle.” The enjambment after worm is beautifully misleading. Bang-up job.
Just some bits I think could be cleaned up: “about the stains you left on top / the flat panel'd oak wood swing” seems kind of off to me. For one, I don't think the “panel'd” apostrophe omitting the “e” thing is necessary. You can cut that. Maybe a stronger verb than “left” would help the rhythm and flow of these last two lines (very important since they come last, too). Try examining where you could put in some hyphens to help the rhythm and grammar, as well. For instance, “freshly budding” should be “freshly-budding” because that one phrase is a single descriptor for “tulips.” The tulips aren't, by themselves, “freshly” or just “budding.” That's a linked phrase. Same with “tightly package”--which, I think you meant, “tightly-packaged” since that's kind of a past tense descriptor.
Anyway, great piece overall. I hope you do some more work with it because it's vunderbarr.