Wednesday, October 04, 2006

dear leonard

i watched - diligent and patient -
as you devoured my poems.
turning pages like sheet music,
your eyes pacing.

until the way you lace your shoes
distracted my skeptical eye
and the hole in the left toe and the
dirty nature of your rolled up jeans
and the smell of the stale tea
in my cup.

redirected by a terrible smirk.
i began to count pages,
trying to deduce what provoked you.
before i finished counting
i got angry again, for
the speed i was swallowed,
you interpreted me;

you read it too fast
to want to sleep with the poet.


arch.memory said...

Ah, isn't that what we all, poets, ultimately are (or wish ourselves to be)? Seducers.

B Boutwell said...

I've had to read this a few times, and like the sensibility more, now. There's this attention that is needed to get into the poem, I don't think was giving it that before. Maybe it's also because it has this WCW quality, don't know.

katy said...

brain, you say WCW because he's in your head. regardless, what i mean to be happening here is quite like you point out: the poem wants your undivided attention.
i have found, while reading The Book of Longing by my dear Leonard Cohen, that his words demand the capacity of my imagination and worth. i can't be ruminating or wandering, i must be right there. i must be the girl in every poem. only then do i get the most out of his work.
thanks for the charles tomlinson note, by the way. i'll give him some time later this long weekend.
and ashraf my dearest, yep ^_^

B Boutwell said...


Word verification: biboo

Smerdyakov said...

Poets = seducers
Everybody = poets
Seducers = everybody

ozymandiaz said...

With lavish tongue
The ubiquitous pouring of sugar
It is good I am a lover
So that I may speak my soul
With my body
As my words
Are devoured by eyes
Far too fast
For flavor