"It's Ecstasy" Blog Post (dim the lights and pour the nightcap)

on
Click here and listen while you read this post, please and thank you...


Well, yes, there's Miles Davis and Morton Feldman and Claude DeBussy to interact, inspire, co-exist with poetry. Numerous poets inspire and have been inspired by musicians for all the ages.

But every once in a while my iPod will shuffle itself over to one particular song that is quite a tribute to minimalism, lyric wise, and quite elicit, rhythm wise, and always always always makes me dance, whether real dance or mere chair dance, and puts me right in the mind for a good old fashioned sensuous type poem to write.

burgeoning and bursting out into rough
ocean foaming, frothing giving glimpses of
light in a pile of winds
outside of this salty skin drips a
grey vein pumping fastidiously for a
night slapping against synthetic materials
and hair sticky from effort and a sick elation
islands loom in the future, no matter who is
spreadeagle on the floor of the vessel, such
graves, those unempty writhing moments
read wrong months on end
our sick slick palms slap and the heart is
sounded but to no avail. We're dying
show us the escape

I showed this to a friend whose response was something like, "whoa"...I dunno. Sometimes they just happen, those balmy steamy type words. Like with Barry White...or, say, Bernadette Mayer:


Yell-Oh!!!

There's also a poem of dearest John Wieners from page 58 of "Cultural Affairs in Boston". Before I post the link to the specific poem, I want to share the story about when I first read it; I was at the Boston Public Library Copley Main Branch (not far from 44 Joy St, Wiener's home), reading whatever they had of JW. We had just met, John Wieners and I; that is, though he was 6 years deceased, I had just read a handful of his poetry available online since I'd only come across the first one I'd ever read of his, "Under the Moon", two months beforehand in January 2009. Since my personal collection of his work was limited and my personal finances made expanding my personal collection difficult, I went to the library to get what I could. I was with a friend, an ex-boyfriend, a person not at all into poetry, but always into a good ol' sassy type story, if you know what I mean, so I said, "Here, read this." He raised an eyebrow and said, "Poetry can be like this?" Ha ha ha. Yes, yes. Poetry can be like "Memories of You".