ichinichinemasu | Brenda Shaughnessy

It's not April yet, but here, have some poetry. Brenda Shaughnessy is coming to the Free Library Festival. I was writing her ad, and thought, this woman sounds like someone I might actually enjoy. And I was right, she's brilliant. Observe, first poem in her book, Human Dark with Sugar:

I don't like what the moon is supposed to do.
Confuse me, ovulate me,

spoon-feed me longing. A kind of ancient
date-rape drug. So I'll howl at you, moon,

I'm angry. I'll take back the night. Using me to
swoon at your questionable light,

you had me chasing you,
the world's worst lover, over and over

hoping for a mirror, a whisper, insight.
But you disappear for nights on end

with all my erotic mysteries
and my entire unconscious mind.

How long do I try to get water from a stone?
It's like having a bad boyfriend in a good band.

Better off alone. I'm going to write hard
and fast into you moon, face-fucking.

Something you wouldn't understand.
You with no swampy sexual

promise but what we glue onto you.
That's not real. You have no begging

cunt. No panties ripped off and the crotch
sucked. No lacerating spasms

sending electrical sparks through the toes.
Stars have those.

What do you have? You're a tool, moon.
Now, noon. There's a hero.

The obvious sun, no bulls hit, the enemy
of poets and lovers, sleepers and creatures.

But my lovers have never been able to read
my mind. I've had to learn to be direct.

It's hard to learn that, hard to do.
The sun is worth ten of you.

You don't hold a candle
to that complexity, that solid craze.

Like an animal carcass on the road at night,
picked at by crows,

haunting walkers and drivers. Your face
regularly sliced up by the moving

frames of car windows. Your light is drawn,
quartered, your dreams are stolen.

You change shape and turn away,
letting night solve all night's problems alone.

...so awesome. You can even hear her read it at this link. I was also going to comment on Salinger's death, but it occurs to me, that if we are talking about alienated, fucked-up coming of age stories, I like The Bell Jar better than Catcher and I think they should teach it in schools as a female equivalent. Nevertheless, am sad at J.D.'s passing, and I wonder if they'll actually print that collection of work he's been hoarding. Andy's comment re his death: "Does it make a difference?" ...lol

OK, off to dinner.