Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Cigarillo by Cate Marvin from "World's Tallest Disaster"

The book from which this poem came is amazing.  Every single poem is awesome, just perfect.  I highly recommend that you buy it and devour each and every word. 

Poetry is life distilled.  It's medicine for the soul and spirit-candy.  We must buy and read poetry and support poets because this genre is suffering.  Every time I go into Books-A-Million, (our only book store now that Waldenbooks has folded) the poetry section has shrunk another five shelves.  It used to be 15 shelves, then 10 and now it's 5 measley shelves with mostly ancient poetry books from dead old men.  As often as I can, I call and order books from their store, but I'm just one lonely poetry-lover.  Wishing you sushine, poetry and inspiration. Blessings!  ~Marion

Here's the book from which the poem below came:


By Cate Marvin

The visit of a body.  Ants gathered sugar
   along the kitchen counter.  Their bounty was significant.
      But a moon ought to be red, too ripe for the sky.
         Instead, it lay a calm hand on the body.

By the door's unsealed edge, a chill found entrance.
   But a moon ought to be full.  Instead, it was half.
      It hung like a low-watt bulb, gave just enough light to read
         lips by.  Enough that it and the lit tip of the cigarillo

were all right to see the body by.  In the half light,
   the belly was clean bone almost.  The skin so young,
       I thought soprano.  Rare to have a visitor call, strange
         to be overcome.  But a moon ought to open for occasion.

Should I have called up the whole sky, interrogated
   constellations?  No, it wasn't summer enough for flowers,
      even in the sky.  But the moon was up so why
         wouldn't it attend to the evening?  So my selfishness

would have stars fly like tears from a tossing head---
   but, no, the stomach was like pearl, the bed inhabited.
      The moon should have been as wide as the eyes were blue.
         Even if I couldn't see either through the smoke

from the cigarillo, which waved gray arms like ghosts
   in the room.  I've had the sky in my grasp before, squinted
      hard to make a star shoot---but I was stunned before bareness,
         skin breathing its paleness.  If the weather were in concert,

the perfection might have been bearable.  The cigarillo's lit
   tip kissed darkness.  It was a shrill moment, the touch
      of finger to tendon.  In the yard, a leaf opened slowly.
         Sweet.  The ants took to their  path on the counter.

From:  "World's Tallest Disaster" by Cate Marvin


I don't create poetry, I create myself, for me my poems are a way to me. ~Edith Södergran


Like butterflies in Spring
Poetry awakens the Spirit,
stirs the imagination and explores
the possibilities with each stroke of its rhythmic wings.  ~Jamie Lynn Morris

Come voyeur my poems
Feel free, I feel free.  ~Carrie Latet



Woman in a Window said...

Marion, you will tame me yet
set me wild.
I see more
of words
because of you,
make them more elastic;
receive them.


Marion said...

Erin, yes, more elastic for sure. As for taming, you are one of few ethereal beings who will never be tamed...neither by pen, man nor lion-tamer. To me, you reinvented language and for that I will always love you. Blessings!!

Phoenix said...

Another perfect poem... is it okay that I thought of Humphrey Bogart as the speaker?

Marion said...

What I like about poetry, Phoenix, is that it is what it is to each person who reads it. That's the beauty of it. Love & Blessings!

She Writes said...

That was lovely. Line by line. I read it over and over not wanting to miss a thing.

Kelly said...

At least you have a Books-a-Million, Marion. All we have is a "mom & pop" type bookstore. They have one shelf of poetry....and it's on the bottom so you have to literally sit on the floor to peruse it!

Serena said...

I needed that today. Thank you! Love your new "do," girl, and the color is divine.

Marion said...

Glad to oblige you, SJ. :-) Thanks for the compliment. Love & Blessings!

Angela Recada said...

I love this poem, Marion! Thank you. The entire time I was savoring the words, I swear I could taste the sweetness of the sugar and smell the cigarillo. My father used to smoke them, many years ago.

Love your new 'do!


Angie Muresan said...

So lovely, Marion. The poem and the emotions reminded me of an uncle who loved poetry, vodka, and cigars. He died years ago. I miss him so.

Rick said...

Marion- "it lay a calm hand on the body" I could use that moon. ~rick