Hungers

[corndog_]

In partial response to Tzara's "What do you want from your writing?" thread


Affirmation
There are hungers we give ourselves
over to; others we deny.
The first is well known: love
overbrims our ribs, spills
out our mouths with song. Lust, too,
gnaws from within and erupts
in it’s own argot. Number them:
thirst, itch, rage and grief, a room
and hour for each. We need,
and we meet that need
or are consumed.
In all there is the hunter and the thing
hunted, a difficult marriage.
The spouse may grate. Look,
by the kitchen door: a small man
beckoning. Ignore him
if you dare, your liver
will be the first to go. The Amazon
of your intestines: gone.
Your lungs, your larynx: all
pricked and bled dry.
Embrace him. He wants
for little: a nod, a comment,
a touch on the shoulder that says
“I’m glad you are here.”

::

 

[Commendatore]

I like it.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

double post stupid thing wouldnt post once before

 

[UnderYourSpell]

wow that is so weird I've just been reading an email entitled 'Your lover is your liver'

 

[Tzara]

I like this, cd, but you lose me about halfway through.

The poem reads comfortably to my ear, and the line breaks work really well (almost like I wrote them, which could be, I know, the kiss of death). But all that works.

The language is varied and interesting. The problems are (for me, anyway) that you, judging from that other poem, seem to have gotten a volume deal at Sam's Punctuation Mart on colons. I mean, I know I use the em dash like a pickup line in a singles bar, but you're using so many colons it becomes a distraction.

"It's" in L7 should be "its".

You generally lose me at the small man and my liver. My liver is almost certainly the first thing of me to go, but I got really confused at that point and went into "boy, that's nice language, but I have no idea what he means to say" mode.

Just comments, in any case. I envy your poems but not that deep fried crust you seem to flaunt.

 

[corndog_]

LOL-- not the first time I've veered off the road and stranded my readers! And yes, the colons were on clearance. I actually wrote a poem about my obsession with them once (after reading A.R. Ammons, who sprinkled them like pepper on his poems).

The poem was inspired, in part, by your Q. I thought about how many of us (yes, me, too) seek affirmation in the form of readers' comments, and yet how many of us will also deny that need. As if it were ugly or unbefitting grownups.

The small man is that hunger: the need for affirmation. Deny him and we are consumed from within.

I have grown fond of this poem-- I think I will poke it a bit and see what shape it finally takes. Thanks for your comments.

 

[corndog_]

Thank you, Commendatore, I do, too.

I live lover too, UYS.

 

[champagne1982]

LOL-- not the first time I've veered off the road and stranded my readers! And yes, the colons were on clearance. I actually wrote a poem about my obsession with them once (after reading A.R. Ammons, who sprinkled them like pepper on his poems).

The poem was inspired, in part, by your Q. I thought about how many of us (yes, me, too) seek affirmation in the form of readers' comments, and yet how many of us will also deny that need. As if it were ugly or unbefitting grownups.

The small man is that hunger: the need for affirmation. Deny him and we are consumed from within.

I have grown fond of this poem-- I think I will poke it a bit and see what shape it finally takes. Thanks for your comments.

Ponders being poked like a poem...

<ahem>

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Ponders being poked like a poem...

<ahem>

does it make your gerunds soggy?

 

[butters]

In partial response to Tzara's "What do you want from your writing?" thread


Affirmation
There are hungers we give ourselves
over to; others we deny.
The first is well known: love
overbrims our ribs, spills
out our mouths with song. Lust, too,
gnaws from within and erupts
in it’s own argot. Number them:
thirst, itch, rage and grief, a room
and hour for each. We need,
and we meet that need
or are consumed.
In all there is the hunter and the thing
hunted, a difficult marriage.
The spouse may grate. Look,
by the kitchen door: a small man
beckoning. Ignore him
if you dare, your liver
will be the first to go. The Amazon
of your intestines: gone.
Your lungs, your larynx: all
pricked and bled dry.
Embrace him. He wants
for little: a nod, a comment,
a touch on the shoulder that says
“I’m glad you are here.”

::

your words, the form they take, the images - are a mind-meal.
your title signposted the way for me - without it i may have got lost, too, when it came to the second half of this write... not so much because of the sideways look at the small man at the door, but because of what might be a clash of the britlish/'menglish phrasing 'he wants for little'. where i come from, if someone wants for little it means they have just about everything they could ever need.

an introverted piece written in a way that embraces all us writers rather than excludes, since it's a pretty universal theme amongst us.

my favourite lines i read and re-read, savouring their presence in my mouth:

love
overbrims our ribs, spills
out our mouths with song. Lust, too,
gnaws from within and erupts
in its own argot.