FIN 140 Unit 1

The Poems

I started to have some ideas for the poems, so it seemed to be the right time to start writing.

There will be a series of poems, and together they will be called

Loveletting

After the idea of bloodletting…because I like the idea of releasing “love” from the human body in order to somehow cure it…of love? of “incorrect” understandings or expressions of love? I’m not sure. But here’s the link to an article about the purposes of bloodletting, also included on page one of this blog as part of the “research”.

https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/bloodletting-why-doctors-used-to-bleed-their-patients-for-health#:~:text=Bloodletting%20%E2%80%94%20the%20practice%20of%20withdrawing,favor%20with%20the%20medical%20community

Loveletting

This is what they look like in the raw.

Loveletting 1

whether a whisper of sibilants and liquids

or consonant shouts

my urges to speak

to tell

to let

pass my lips like rain surging

over waterbarrel lips

onto cool pebbles over dry sand

Loveletting 2

whether to speak the story

or the mathematics of the latitudes

I know both transfix

you, like a cat

watching a pendulum

keeping time with the to- and fro-ness

of things

wishing instead for

revolutions.

Loveletting 3

a knot of many ropes

is a weaving

rather than a tightening of two joined

together

forever

clenched

in an airless squeeze.

Loveletting 4

Preamble

[I’m no Odysseus

(let me tell you)

but I’ve come to know

obstacles are no impediment

to the way of things

but the way itself]

But for argument’s sake

(or, if you’d prefer not to argue,

for the sake of deciding on a starting point)

let’s say I set out from Troy

(As did Odysseus after that war)

Troy 0, though (Read: Troy Zero),

(to step temporarily into the world of

soil-claiming flag-erecting rock-wall-building

occupation).

I slithered on my belly down the muddy slope of Hisarlik to the Troad shores, slipped into the Aegean,

but to be clear:

Aegean was not the Aegean

Troy was not Troy

Hisarlik was not Hisarlik

Troad not Troad

Odysseus not Odysseus

Homer not Homer,

and wooden horses could still be trusted.

I floated on my back on the thick

dark salt water

watched

revolutions of stars,

made up

my own stories

keened

my own songs

heard music

straight from the spheres to the bones in my head.

Loveletting 5

Then, merely a sharp rock against an unnamed shore.

That day the water was green capped with diamonds,

that night the diamonds rose among blue streaks in black sky.

Cradled in salt I keened gutterals to let the sky, to tell the sea.