Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: Tear It Down by Jack Gilbert

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Tear It Down by Jack Gilbert

Lizard eating a butterfly in my backyard. I was following the butterfly around the yard with my camera to my eye and BAM! the lizard came out of nowhere and ate my butterfly. Oh, what a metaphor for life. :-)

Tear It Down
By Jack Gilbert

We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of racoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.

-------------------------------------------------------------

I love the poet, Linda Gilbert, and Jack is her ex-husband. (This poem is sort of a mindfuck, but I love it.) I was reading some of her poetry online and found this poem several years ago. It caused quite a lot of discussion when I first posted it.

Enjoy!

~Marion, enjoying rare, cool October weather here in the swamp on opening weekend of hunting season.

3 comments:

Kelly said...: Oh, wow....that's kind of a "National Geographic" moment with your photo capture. Good job!!; October 6, 2012 at 11:13 AM
Anonymous said...: I've never seen a lizard eating a butterfly, and that is a great shot, even if it is a wee bit sad.

Great poem.; October 8, 2012 at 11:15 AM
erin said...: oh no, and this is like the poem, only jack gilbert can be more than jack gilbert. i love jack gilbert! marion! love!

We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within the body.

no one can do what jack gilbert does. and the line about racoons is one of my favorite lines from all of poetry.

and another poet, li-young lee. do you know him? the cleaving? one of the most important poems ever written. i'll send it to you))))

xo
erin; October 10, 2012 at 6:48 PM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240