The Lonely Masturbator

Ana Maria Caballero

After the poet dies, people like to argue about the relevance of their work. Was it innovative? Did it do something new for form, for formality, for fluency. Does it deserve to be reread in schools or university seminars?

Sometimes this discussion is valid. Sometimes the poetry in question is perhaps only marginally relevant. Other times the discussion becomes ridiculous, as it does when it concerns a poet like Anne Sexton (1928-1974).

Sexton, often linked to the Confessional poets, which includes writers like Sylvia Plath, Robert Lowell and John Berryman, is unequivocally relevant because she did something new. She put her body and intimate life on display in a way that predates performance art. Sure, Plath spilled her heart and soul, but it was coded in lovely metaphor.  Sexton’s poetry is crude, crude in a way that was new.

Indeed, Sexton’s legacy bears the mark of all torchbearers — harsh, almost juvenile, criticism. James Dickey, one of…

View original post 473 more words

SO FAR

the creatures there  were at their creek

when they witnessed me by the moon

I was quiet enough on my path

but they looked up, then back down to their drinking

I was so lost they didn’t scatter

so lost the full moon only considered my prayers

I got turned around when the wind picked up

I can’t find my feet or so far

my way back

.

.

.                                         (from 2009)

LOUD BARE TREES SWING ‘ROUND, THEN STOP

I must discuss

A dark circus is in town

A boy in a spin, and trees swing around

He drops, and the swing stops

New dewfrost falls, he’s lost

In all the bare trees

.

A heavy disguise

Could be of use here

So cover your eyes, please

Your lover’s indecent

And trying on lies

His heart’s denying hard here

It’s a fact;  Abstract lies

.

Squeezebox  hymns  seem

To squish by inbetween

Aligned  treebark

Lighted & Loudened by a fullmooncloud

Lions let free/  Dark

Circus tonight and if I might

Mix in that crowd

A heavy disguise could

Be of some use

“MORNING ARRIVES” by Franz Wright

Morning Arrives

BY FRANZ WRIGHT

Morning arrives

unannounced

by limousine: the tall

emaciated chairman

of sleeplessness in person

steps out on the sidewalk

and donning black glasses, ascends

the stairs to your building

guided by a German shepherd.

After a couple faint knocks

at the door, he slowly opens

the book of blank pages

pointing out

with a pale manicured finger

particular clauses,

proof of your guilt.

.

.

FRANZ WRIGHT, POET

RIP;5/14/2015

SEA FOAM PHANTOMS

very lately

I’ve looked to see

just off a shoulder,

sharp right outside a window,

just off camera,

some one  or thing, I think.

The  There, then not  trick.

Here I’ll see it

here I’ll see it for what makes sense.

Y’see, I’ve evidence.

sea foam phantoms

left a belated beat back

just after this wave sweeps back.

I don’t think it’s drink

or the hours I should sleep or

all the private pranks I

fall for.

I’ll envision these

(facts)

green sea black deep.

J U S T

I.     Lost

.

For now, awhile, I won’t let you pull me from the wreckage

But, how  you hold my hand, for both of us

Until the jaws of life  arrives/

Tho’ I’m not at a lost of words, I’m lost

In thought, “I’m lost”, I thought,

“And hiding from the hidden costs.”

.

 II.  Birdsong

.

I’ll dare to speak of sparrows

in shrapnel filled WW I battlefield winds,

in sharp scarlet dawns

they’ll sing to find their kind

if they’ve  lived,

a song will find its way back,

between the  blood & budding daybreak

.

   III.    J U S T

.

it could be/ a branch of a tree

perched at a high hill

would have a new bud  just

breaking through/ it would be just for you

and in time  a blossom. You’d just

lift yr arm up/ and pull it down/ just in time

to drink it through

with yr deepest stealing breath.///

.

FIREDANCE

“A man can bare himself before others only out of a particular kind of love. A love which acknowledges, as it were,that we are all wicked children”— Ludwig  Wittgenstein

‘

‘

Savagely,

I can dance around a fire.

If the spirits take notice,

If they’re drawn by this sight,

As  we   might  be

lured by the light

of dead stars, already,

If the spirits take notice of

Me at the blaze

My body and face,

(Not at all faking

What I choose  to let loose)

Shiny, and shaking  away my disease,

Let said spirits kindly

sign off on release.

.

.

.

(FROM 2012)