Monday, March 28, 2011

New Poetry, New Music & A Poem by Dorianne Laux

"The Book of Man" by Dorianne Laux, a poem from the book below.


"Horoscopes for the Dead" by Billy Collins, due out in April, 2011


"Wounded Rhymes," amazing, poetry/music by Lykke Li


My Catfish kitty, chilling peacefully on Annie's chair.


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Homicide Detective: A Film Noir

by Dorianne Laux

Smell of diesel fuel and dead trees
on a flatbed soaked to the bone.
Smell of dusty heater coils.
We got homicides in motels and apartments
all across the city: under the beds,
behind the doors, in the bathtubs.
It's where I come in at 5 AM,
paper cup of coffee dripping
down my sleeve, powdered
half-moon donut in my mouth.
Blood everywhere. Bodies
belly down, bodies faceup
on the kitchenette floor.
¿Donde esta? Que Sera.
We got loose ends, we got
dead ends, we got split ends,
hair in the drains, fingerprints
on glass. This is where I stand,
my hat glittery with rain,
casting my restless shadow.

These are the dark hours,
dark times are these, hours
when the clock chimes once
as if done with it, tired of it: the sun,
the highways, the damnable
flowers strewn on the fake wool rug.

These are the flayed heart's flowers,
oil-black dahlias big as fists,
stems thick as wrists, striped, torn,
floating in the syrupy left-on music
but the bright world is done and I'm
a ghost touching the hair of the dead
with a gloved hand.

These are the done-for, the poor,
the defenseless, mostly women,
felled trees, limbs lashing
up into air, into rain,
as if time were nothing, hours,
clocks, highways, faces, don't step
on the petals, the upturned hands, stay
behind the yellow tape, let
the photographer's hooded camera pass,
the coroner in his lab coat, the DA
in her creased black pants.

Who thought
to bring these distracting flowers?
Who pushed
out the screen and broke the lock?
Who let him in?
Who cut the phone cord, the throat,
the wrist, the cake
on a plate and sat down and ate
only half?

What good is my life if I can't read the clues,
my mind the glue and each puzzle piece
chewed by the long-gone dog who raced
through the door, ran through our legs
and knocked over the vase,
hurtled down the alley and into the street?

What are we but meat, flesh
and the billion veins to be bled?
Why do we die this way, our jaws
open, our eyes bulging, as if there
were something to see or say?
Though today the flowers speak to me,
they way they sprawl in the streaked light,
their velvet lips and lids opening as I watch,
as if they wanted to go on living, climb
my pant legs, my wrinkled shirt, reach up
past my throat and curl over my mouth,
my eyes. Bury me in bloom.

"Homicide Detective: A Film Noir" by Dorianne Laux, from "The Book of Men"

15 comments:

Eric 'Bubba' Alder said...

Marion, you are truly an ambassador of poetry. You always introduce us to such interesting new poets!

Marion said...

Bubba, darlin', if it's all the same to you, I much prefer "Princess of Poetry". Has a nicer ring, dontcha think? ;-)

Love & Blessings,
Princess of Poetry

Wine and Words said...

"We got loose ends, we got
dead ends, we got split ends,
hair in the drains, fingerprints
on glass. This is where I stand,
my hat glittery with rain,
casting my restless shadow.

These are the dark hours"

Ahhhh. Ahhhh.

To be as Catfish, lounging in my chair!

Marion said...

Nice poem, eh, Annie? Dorianne Laux never disappoints me. Would you were here in your chair. Catfish misses your feet. Tee-Hee. Kinky kitty. Love you!! xo

Margaret Pangert said...

LOVE yor new profile photo! Hot! Sometimes I watch those homicide detective shows on tv: it's mostly about forensics, but then they manage to make you see the humanity (or inhumanity) of it. The black dahlia! Glad to hear and SEE the kitty's better! ♥

ds said...

Wonderful poem; must read more of Ms. Laux. Catfish is adorable!

Debrah Riddleton said...

Dear Marion:
It's a pleasure establish contact with you again. Personal situations put me out of circulation, but I am back again.
I send you a warm hug and my better wishes.
Blessings:
Debrah

erin said...

what an absolutely unfamiliar voice in a poem but so welcome. freaken wonderful, marion. i'm so grateful you share as you do. showing me worlds, you are.

xo
erin

Brendan said...

Erin pointed me this way, to your blog, and Laux's poem. There is so much good stuff out there -- here at this blog, and in this poem -- that there really isn't much need for us to create anything else. But that's just what we're wired for, I guess. I guess the vibe of "Homicide Detective.." was so strong in the aether this morning that I was prompted to post my noir poem as well ... Poems do travel that far, I think ... Thanks for the great work! - Brendan

Kelly said...

I love the photo of Catfish!! Your new camera takes wonderful photos. Then again, a camera is only as good as the photographer using it....

Terresa said...

Swoon-worthy lines:

"These are the done-for, the poor,
the defenseless, mostly women,
felled trees, limbs lashing
up into air, into rain,
as if time were nothing, hours,
clocks, highways, faces, don't step
on the petals, the upturned hands..."

Marion, you are truly an ambassador of poetry! In every way.

(Glad you're back in the land of the living, erm, blogging!)

x
Terresa

Phoenix said...

Gorgeous poem, tight, brightly wound around my throat, the way a really good line in a movie or book gets me. Amazing imagery - this poem is truly fantastic. I can hear the tone of voice and point of view so well in those lines. Wow.

And Catfish is, quite simply, one of the most adorable creatures I have seen in quite some time.

Kass said...

Wonderful images and words.

quid said...

What a disturbing, visceral poem. Amazing! Thanks for pointing it out.

quid

Teri and the cats of Curlz and Swirlz said...

Love the cat photo, all the black and white....