My friend Patrick Sanchez recently lent this book of prose/poetry (prose poetry?) by Charles Simic. I need to return the copy, but I'm caught in the middle of my third re-read. Buy/borrow/steal it for yourself. It's a good little book to have.
Excerpts:
"Ghost stories written as algebraic equations. Little Emily at the blackboard is very frightened. The X's look like a graveyard at night. The teacher wants her to poke among them with a piece of chalk. All the children hold their breath. The white chalk squeaks once among the plus and minus signs, and then it's quiet again. pg. 13
"A poem about sitting on a New York rooftop on a chill autumn evening, drinking red wine, surrounded by tall buildings, the little kids running dangerously to the edge, the beautiful girl everyone's secretly in love with sitting by herself. She will die young but we don't know that yet. she has a hole in her black stocking, big toe showing, toe painted red...And the skyscrapers...in the failing light...like new Chaldeans, pythonesses, Cassandras...because of their many blind windows." pg. 32
No comments:
Post a Comment