I've never seen guilt in a nature poem like this. Thanks for ruining the moon.
Honestly, this is one of those poems that is doing much more than it seems on the first read. For one, it has no interest in actually Thinking about what the narrator says she can't decide, as if we are being given just the facts, as if there's a distancing from the narrator.
The overt silliness of the question, yet the still calm and resolution of the last line (such a combination of odd emotions in the last line with the word 'anyway' in there), hint more at this distancing, as if there is something actually worth thinking about, something more important than a personification of the moon (maybe that personification holds the key?).
Anyway, the simplicity of the language, the clearness (yet distinctly oddness, ie 'fat belly') of the language, and the complex emotion behind it all remind me much of Bishop. Great stuff.
I'd rather sit in the light of a slutty moon than a madonna moon. I don't worry about her light rubbing off on you, and the speaker doesn't seem to either. Twim is right, that's the real power of this: a damning accusation couched in a little poem of apathy and deniability. Or is it damning? So what if the moon's a slut? Doesn't that just make her a woman in charge of her own body? Who are you asking us to damn?
Let's just go ahead and say it: We Are Not AVerse is an online poetry collective. Now that the pretentious part is over, here's the meat.
We are a handful of young writers - some poets, some prosers - who had the good fortune of convening in one city and sharing each other's company for a few glorious years. We are now dispersed, but hope to use this blog (collective!) to share our work with one another and maintain some part of that communal spirit (of collective responsibility to supporting each other as artists).
Each respective work, obviously, is the property of its writer. So read and enjoy, but be kind and ask if you'd like to use anything you read.
Lastly, if you are visiting, please feel free to comment and participate in our discussions on art, life, fast food, and anything else. Try to keep it constructive, but really: we want your feedback!
Questions, comments, or feedback that doesn't belong on the public web? That's ok! Contact Dinah Finkelstein or Tim DeMay, we are very nice.
NINA.
ReplyDeleteI've never seen guilt in a nature poem like this. Thanks for ruining the moon.
Honestly, this is one of those poems that is doing much more than it seems on the first read. For one, it has no interest in actually Thinking about what the narrator says she can't decide, as if we are being given just the facts, as if there's a distancing from the narrator.
The overt silliness of the question, yet the still calm and resolution of the last line (such a combination of odd emotions in the last line with the word 'anyway' in there), hint more at this distancing, as if there is something actually worth thinking about, something more important than a personification of the moon (maybe that personification holds the key?).
Anyway, the simplicity of the language, the clearness (yet distinctly oddness, ie 'fat belly') of the language, and the complex emotion behind it all remind me much of Bishop. Great stuff.
Who's the moon sleeping around with?
ReplyDeleteI'd rather sit in the light of a slutty moon than a madonna moon. I don't worry about her light rubbing off on you, and the speaker doesn't seem to either. Twim is right, that's the real power of this: a damning accusation couched in a little poem of apathy and deniability. Or is it damning? So what if the moon's a slut? Doesn't that just make her a woman in charge of her own body? Who are you asking us to damn?
You win, Nina.