Poetry Daily black inkblot logo
Tuccēnen (excerpt)
Jennifer Elise Foerster
Of paradise. Language could not take you there

The poem had no temporal defense—
abandoned, it fled its historical texts,
crossed mountains, pretending time to pass.
Up and down stairs, in and out of rooms
I write into oblivion going
nowhere—pen runs out, computer dies.
Are we material or electronic?
Or birds of the cross-sea's alliances,
red underwings igniting the wheel
when autumn's sweep blows in and turns
inward the horizon's eyes, its ripped mouth
bleeding out the burden of a forest.
Paradise—language cannot take us there.
Each pass I cross, the same scene reappears:
alongside the atlas's scribbled road
the singers have fallen asleep in their cars,
an errant breeze through the foliage,
their almost imperceptible ascent.



Of children the hour's swift current pulled under

My just-cracked iris, beauty's cruel syntax
blinks from a museum of dead grammar.
I want a breath where there is no body,
to write the sentence of a shifting tide,
a bead for each seagull in the sequence
of children the hour's swift current pulled under.
I want space around the word, just enough
so that its shadow irritates the line—
wind-chime—such expensive equipment
the mind, lost as a white doe in winter.
Butchered once by starving hunters, she would
starve them out for centuries. Her witchery
my looping trail, a crown of prints in snow.
from the book THE MAYBE-BIRD / The Song Cave
READ ABOUT TODAY'S POEM
Share Share
Tweet Tweet
Forward Forward
These two poems are excerpted from a book-length poem, "The Maybe-Bird." The Maybe-Bird guides these poems in the way that dreams do—when we wake into language, the dream is barely there. We feel only the disturbance of its wings. We can choose a translation, to fit it into what makes “sense”, or we can follow the poem, its witchery, the sense of some imperceptible ascent.

Jennifer Elise Foerster on "Tuccēnen" 
Color chiaroscuro photograph of an antique book against black
"Gerald Stern on the Accidental Beginnings of Poems"

"All poems start by accident, and every poem worth its salt was unpredicted and, as often as not, has its genesis at a low point in the poet’s journey—which turns out to be a good metaphor: Once, I was on a bus going south on Second Avenue in New York, an especially low point....I had been given a gift—the material for a long poem in the very middle of a busy neighborhood on an as-of-yet untransformed, unredeemed corner."

via LITHUB
READ ALL TODAY'S HEADLINES
Color image from the Favorite Poetry Project
What Sparks Poetry:
Robert Pinsky on the Favorite Poem Project


"I think of Emiko Emori’s video of a Cambodian-American high school student reading 'Minstrel Man' by Langston Hughes, David Roderick’s video of a bomber pilot who served in Vietnam reading Yusef Komunyakaa’s 'Facing It' at the Vietnam Memorial, Natatcha Estébanez’s videos of a U.S. Marine reading 'Politics' by William Butler Yeats, and of a construction worker reading from Walt Whitman’s 'Song of Myself.'"
READ THIS WEEK'S ISSUE
View in browser

You have received this email because you submitted your email address at www.poems.com
If you would like to unsubscribe please click here.

© 2023 Poetry Daily, Poetry Daily, MS 3E4, 4400 University Dr., Fairfax, VA 22030

Design by the Binding Agency