Hannah Brooks-Motl
Do I want seconds
I want to write a great poem
                Here just falling asleep
Thinking of animal names       inventing
             A new way to do adjectives
    Sustain the regard, all corrupted parts
Of the diction

    Can I enlist you?
What’s true for the snail
            Is splendor





                                          Bananas           crescent moons
        there is rain and a virus outside            they are falling
in a strange occasion the morning will be
                “all mine”





    Golden hills against the greyish truth         cemetery appearing in
the old romances         proximal, notational       sketchy

    A teenager on main street, it can’t be
simply impressions         yet impressive how the stars
                                                                      arranged

Turmoils     the turgid passages
        Luscious rash


                                I have learned to say
from a long list of murders                  such ecstatic personal austerities
                this great ensample
presumption and arrogant visions
                                                      make up Art’s heart






If you think words are made of poems
I mean poems made of words
As we’re taught

I know plenty of words
Though I come from the provinces
Where the earth is filled with violence

Agentic, essential
To what a human calls the world
In high sun

A dark corner
Odd fog
In vital personality

Standing at the fair
I know dismay has some relation to lyric
Through repetition

And measure
Is a breathing castle
Stacking lines together

Science won’t destroy our enigma
But does something to the glare
The peaks of these

Nodding grasses
Remind me of paradise
Where sentiment is hard and clear
from the journal COMMON PLACE
READ ABOUT TODAY'S POEM
Share Share
Tweet Tweet
Forward Forward
Poets face certain dilemmas—how and to what ends is time spent, endured; what to do with (about) history, violence, aesthetics; via which operations might social life and inner life be accurately, meaningfully conveyed; is anybody out there, really. This poem gathers and loosely organizes such inquiries, equally trivial and monumental, to ask: is the poem a reminder of paradise?

Hannah Brooks-Motl on "Poet Dilemma"
Color cover image of Hala Ayan's
"On Hala Alyan’s The Moon That Turns You Back"

"The book cycles through multiple themes, but two keep returning: Alyan’s devastating experiences of lost pregnancies (she has experienced miscarriages and the horror of an ectopic pregnancy) and the loss of her beloved maternal grandmother, Fatima, a frequent figure in her writing. Loss is figured throughout via various forms of redaction, including the literal obliteration of words."

viaLOS ANGELES REVIEW OF BOOKS
READ ALL TODAY'S HEADLINES
Cover image of Ariana Benson's book, Black Pastoral
What Sparks Poetry:
Ariana Benson on "Dear Moses Grandy, ...Love, The Great Dismal Swamp"


"The first time the land spoke to me through poetry, its message arrived in the form of a letter, not addressed to me, but from one lover to another. In “Dear Moses Grandy, …Love, the Great Dismal Swamp,” the murky, forested, ever-shrinking land of Southeastern Virginia (that was the backdrop of much of my childhood) writes to and commemorates her first lover: Moses Grandy, an enslaved man, who, in his single-person boat and with his rustic, handmade tools, carved canals out of the murk and morass that had scared many intrepid explorers away for good."
READ THIS WEEK'S ISSUE
donate
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.

© 2024 Poetry Daily, Poetry Daily, MS 3E4, 4400 University Dr., Fairfax, VA 22030

Design by the Binding Agency