The Mission in Grisaille
Anuel Rodriguez
I can feel the future behind me
and see the past in front of me like a sky-blue pyramid.
What were you expecting to find after being isolated for so long?
An underworld of people turned into screens turned into shadows;
their anonymous faces like symbols in a shuffled Tarot deck.
The scaffolding city
with its trees and branches converted into a dull wet grid.
Did you think the world you knew before had vanished?
Maybe just flattened out.
But there isn't a cold war happening here.
Libraries aren't choking on flaring waves.
Ballrooms aren't ballooning with moons of ash.
They say the houses and buildings here
are slowly being painted gentrification gray:
urn: cemetery: cinder cone: color field of warheads.
We're enjoying gold-speckled chocolate fudge cake and Earl Grey tea.
Outside a neighbor's son is blowing soap bubbles in the rain.
I taste your fogcatcher skin like in a dream.
It's my birthday so you indulge my dogwired brain.
Before I leave your place,
you give me a copy of a Spanish mystery novel
and three orange tomatoes that look like tiny pumpkins in my palm.
I think of the purple Victorian house I saw on my way
floating up the hill and the Santana family mural
that greeted me after exiting the BART station.
Maybe I felt like I was already dead:
ghostcandled: drained of vertical language:
a gray star skinned of its light.
from the journalTHE THREEPENNY REVIEW
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This poem came about after a trip to the city to visit a friend. I remember walking through the Mission and having strange dystopian-gray images in my head that I wanted to paint on a paper canvas in a monochromatic style. It was like I was still caught in a pandemic dream as life danced around my dripping shadows.

Anuel Rodriguez on "The Mission in Grisaille"
Cover of "Don't Let Me Be Lonely" by Claudia Rankine
"Don't Let Me Be Lonely: An American Lyric"

"The pieces became a collection of movements in the historical present that I witnessed in my own life and in the lives of others in both very public and very private arenas. I went from thinking about the pieces as meditations on events to laments in real time. Eventually, I began to understand the writing as emotional expressions of moments in time and not so much records of a singular life. These were lyrics holding historical affect. Loneliness and violence were flooding our days, or so I felt."

via POETS & WRITERS
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What Sparks Poetry:
Talin Tahajian on Language as Form


"All the affordances of the medium of language come together to realize the musical and narrative sequences of this poem, which taught me the fundamentals of rhythm and pacing. 'Half-Light' is one of the first poems I memorized. It is a 'pre-existing form,' as Bidart describes across his poetry and interviews, that I inhabit almost every time I try to write, mostly unbeknownst to my more conscious enterprises."
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