🌬️ Poems

    🌬️ Poem: [Sonnet] You jerk you didn't call me up By Bernadette Mayer

    >[Sonnet] You jerk you didn’t call me up
    >By Bernadette Mayer
    > >You jerk you didn’t call me up
    >I haven’t seen you in so long
    >You probably have a fucking tan
    >& besides that instead of making love tonight
    >You’re drinking your parents to the airport
    >I’m through with you bourgeois boys
    >All you ever do is go back to ancestral comforts
    >Only money can get—even Catullus was rich but
    >
    >Nowadays you guys settle for a couch
    >By a soporific color cable t.v. set
    >Instead of any arc of love, no wonder
    >The G.I. Joe team blows it every other time
    >
    >Wake up! It’s the middle of the night
    >You can either make love or die at the hands of the Cobra Commander
    >
    >
    >_________________
    >
    >To make love, turn to page 121.
    >To die, turn to page 172.

    🌬️ Poem: I’ve Been Thinking about Love Again By Vievee Francis

    >I’ve Been Thinking about Love Again
    >By Vievee Francis > > >Those who live to have it and
    >those who live to give it.
    > > >Of course there are those for whom both are true,
    >but never in the same measure.
    > > >Those who have it to give are
    >like cardinals in the snow. So easy
    >and beautifully lit. Some
    >are rabbits. Hard to see
    >except for those who would prey upon them:
    >all that softness and quaking and blood.
    > > >Those who want it
    >cannot be satisfied. Eagle-eyed and such talons,
    >any furred thing will do. So easy
    >to rip out a heart when it is throbbing so hard. >
    > >I wander out into the winter.
    >I know what I am.

    🌬️ Poem: I Love by Jacques-Bernard Brunius

    It’s the week of Valentine’s Day, and I’m having my undergraduate students write sonnets and explore the magical love poem (or anti-love poem).

    I often look to surrealist poets when it comes to passion, eroticism, and love poems because love is often a resistance to logic and sense-making. Surrealism in poetry does have sense if you read with all your senses.

    Here is a surreal love poem from the French Surrealist poet Jacques-Bernard Brunius:

    > I Love
    >
    > I love sliding I love upsetting everything
    > I love coming in I love sighing
    > I love taming the furtive manes of hair
    > I love hot I love tenuous
    > I love supple I love infernal
    > I love sugared but elastic the curtain of springs turning to glass
    > I love pearl I love skin
    > I love tempest I love pupil
    > I love benevolent seal long-distance swimmer
    > I love oval I love struggling
    > I love shining I love breaking
    > I love the smoking spark silk vanilla mouth to mouth
    > I love blue I love known—knowing
    > I love lazy I love spherical
    > I love liquid beating drum sun if it wavers
    > I love to the left I love in the fire
    > I love because I love at the edges
    > I love forever many times just one
    > I love freely I love especially
    > I love separately I love scandalously
    > I love similarly obscurely uniquely
    > > hopingly
    >
    > I love I shall love
    >
    > Translated by Mary Ann Caws
    >

← Newer Posts