Yoon Yong is drunk again. Drinking to forget again (nearly home time) …3 bottles of Soju later & staggering thoughtfully through tight gullies | her stomach packed full of pig | mouth reeking of garlic noxious enough to stun a jindo—the stars like pheasant tracks —if you count all the stars is [...]
A poem from Yoon Yong. I had a debate in the pub the other week about onanism. I have a theory that the violence of men, may have its root in onanism: in one onanistic act, a man lays waste on a rag, to an entire population. Dylan Thomas was concerned with this. So is [...]
There will be a Yoon Yong poem today & tomorrow. I promise. Appearances …My cheekbones are fine | my chin if a little chiseled. I don’t agree with where my hair parts the same as my father’s | not symmetrical like my mother. Glad I got mother’s long legs but my father’s [...]
Yoon Yong. Nostalgia …The morning news buzzing in the background... —Her father stopped reading the newspaper when his sight grew dim. She liked to see him read: she felt in good hands | that her father could guide her. She tried to replicate the paper’s cackle with other materials—my own onomatopoeia [...]
Yoon Yong is edging closer to the end now. Just so you know, hagwons, in Korea, are privately run academies, which children attend as well as school. They are largely English academies, however there are math, science & art hagwons too. They fill a void school's cannot fill due to the Korean school system not [...]
The Death’s Head’s Testament continues on from Stephanie’s previous book This Being Done & fortunate for us Stephanie is in the present progressive, hammering out the dimensions of poems. The poems here continue to wade in the difficulties of womanhood, family, child-rearing, love, life, memory & death. There is wakeful invention, an intellectual alacrity, sure-footedness [...]
The Rock (not the muscle-headed Hollywood Rock who doesn’t perform his own stunts but looks hard like he does) in T.S. Eliot’s play explains, The lot of man is ceaseless labour,Or ceaseless idleness, which is still harder,Or irregular labour, which is not pleasant. Now assuming idle here isn’t a play on idol—which, with a lit-crit [...]
5 poems by Bronx poet Amy Soricelli over at Underfoot poetry today.
Poems personally informed & telling, full of anecdote & a close relationship with an urban environment, the ins & outs of a well lived life & commitment to community, family & friends. There is pure life in these poems. Amy’s voice is confident & the poems flow like the dodgy step of a citizen walking through a crowded pavement.
I cannot sit her down and say things that will make the
difference in the shape of her feet
or sounds from the kids she teaches when they ask all the time;
they ask about the world
and the lonesome way people behave.
She will say things now, on the phone,
that startle me;
like once in 3rd grade she asked me about God
and it was just sitting there;
the beliefs we carry or don’t.
She tells me about the ‘sometimes scrapes and bruises’
hidden under the kids sleeves
and how they might cling extra hard
before a long weekend.
She shows me math on little cards;
they teach with little cards that fit in my hand,
I cannot tell her to be careful because
the windows, the doors.
we need them.
if not to show them the world –
its glory and the absolute…
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The next poem in my Yoon Yong series. “Be like your mother” (8:44 a.m.) …Orange is warm & marriage is blue —my mother is transparent | I always wanted (want…?) her transparency | to follow her example —what stopped me | or rather | who? My young self mostly still straggling in the remotest substrata of [...]
A quality insight from Mrs. Fish “Mrs Fish had concluded her story by saying that it was a peculiar but an assured fact that some human beings seemed to be ruined by their best qualities.” This is one of the concluding paragraphs of Delmore Schwartz’s America! America! An insightful paradox from Shenandoah Fish’s mother, a [...]