Thank goodness for the Facebook, where I was able to read about this gem of a post from CA Conrad in the right hand "highlights" section of my homepage.
http://phillysound.blogspot.com/2009_07_01_archive.html
So, I've found another place I can go to stalk the ghost of my Dead Gay Poet Husband, John Wieners - the Taunton State Hospital. Apparently it's on the National Registry of Historical Places.
But more importantly, I want to talk about this:
The first time going to the museum
alone, on to the library
walking Newbury Street after
the rain, and dining out,
http://phillysound.blogspot.com/2009_07_01_archive.html
So, I've found another place I can go to stalk the ghost of my Dead Gay Poet Husband, John Wieners - the Taunton State Hospital. Apparently it's on the National Registry of Historical Places.
But more importantly, I want to talk about this:
The first time going to the museum
alone, on to the library
walking Newbury Street after
the rain, and dining out,
Okay, see? This is what I'm talking about. This is why he's my husband and not just my boyfriend, like all those other Dead Gay Poets I love so much. Because of the shared experience. I'm still friends with the old boyfriend who I did this exact thing with: go to the museum for the first time alone and then walk Newbury St in the rain and dine out. I can't wait to show him this poem when he comes over for the party I'm having tonight.
And the best thing is, the thing that makes Wieners so goddamn special, is that this stanza comes in the middle of a poem that doesn't go where you expect to go, based on that stanza alone. It could be some "I did this, have this memory, felt this thing, observe this about a situation and make this conclusive reflection" type of poem (like, ummmmmmmm, Simic? More on that in an upcoming entry...) but it is NOT that by any means.
No surprise here, I made a pictogram to show what I mean. That my brain is back to functioning that way - the making pictograms way - is a good sign, I think. I'm getting over the trauma of [redidacted statement about the creative-spirit-crushing nature that grad school can sometimes take].
I think I spelled adolesence wrong in the pictogram but I am not fixing it. Forgive this post it's pre-coffee existence. More to come! Bye bye...