When the big black Russian knocked this morning,
fist pounding the bone like so much oak,
I had no choice, really, but to answer,
being as I had put him off now for so long--
months and months and months (I've faded
a little since, the warm distilled potato juice
filtered through my pores to leave lavender
water tainted only the tiniest bit by the
clandestine black soil and--to the north--
permafrosted taiga; an interesting mix, really).
So when I stepped under
the water pressure, and massaged my scalp,
my chest and stomach and calves, I pulled
all those formulas and their applications out
(no use in memorizing) like so many earthworms
on the sidewalk (seeing them, black against
the cold porcelain made memories ooze out,
ozone and worms and seedpods strewn curiously
after a Denver rain; that sight put me off
the city permanently). Towelling off, I
forgot the countless tips for rational reasoning
and the way to best approach a problem
how to rule answers out to reach a con-
clusion. Climbing into my car, I missed my
shed weight, but the Russian's fist resounded,
and so instead I drowned out the empty
space with Mozart, and poured myself a
glass of the Cossacks (like so much vodka, it
looked--at least--innocuous enough, a
little vulnerable and sad, even, the naive
clarity making me merry even before the
heady scent and caustic burn). And with
that first sip I was born.
Really only a moment later, the
harsh a.m. light turned magically to
golden molten moths, I listened to Vivaldi
and fended off kisses, feeling silly but
stoic as I remembered the morning
serf, almost--oh-so-close!--my soviet. His
duty done, Leo left, and I
changed, readily, into black and red and curls
for the courting Spaniard. He whisked me,
kissed me, loved me, slyly placing escargot
and apple pie within my ready reach,
wooing me with flowers which he plucked so assuredly
from the branch of the (cherry?) tree. In the gaslight
I watched him dance, sure he'd disappear under the sun.
But I took it all and devoured it, gluttonous
and greedy, and satisfied in a way that was new.
He took me up in his arms,
but the olive oil that replaced the
blood and vodka in my veins began to deepen
and became salted and Mediterranean now.
Consequently, Aristotle sauntered up, and with the tiniest of
nods, a condescending gesture I tried
to resent, seemed to grab another unknown part of me.
We spent the evening parrying one another's jabs,
our weapons glinting and refracting
on our triangular battlefield,
and I felt dangerous like a tiger
until I fell asleep.
Author notes
I am referring to the actual Caucasus, a place, not the political phenomenon.
Does this work?
Comments
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Talent
You have an amazing ability to capture all of the senses in your poems. I find that often most people reach immediately for a sense or two and use them as tools to describe their world. I find however with your work that it is more seamlessly incorporated so that I do not notice that I am totally immersed in your imagery. That in fact adds to the immersion. You also have a great way of meshing the cranial with the casual. Keeps my brain twitching while my mind is sifting and understanding. As always great job I love this poem. Thank you for posting.
language: 5, rhythm: 4, subject: 5, tone: 4, form: 4.
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Raucus Caucus!
Caucasus, Nienna. Or if you prefer Core Cuss (which I do a lot of).
Damn, Nienna, this is a free-flowing tirade of booze-laden romance for sure!
Unless I´ve completely missed the mark and the black Russian is a guy named Dimitri with a huge
Cocktail or something, right?
In which case good for you.
Technically I found this piece to be somewhat disjointed and in need of some revision here and there (which all free-flows are) - mainly in the initial half.
The second stanza had some fuckin cool lines and resonant discriptions - it was cohesive.
"harsh a.m. light turned magically to
golden molten moths"
"His
duty done, Leo left," right up to courting Spaniard - great - you tell a tale that draws the reader in.
"sure he'd disappear under the sun" Charmingly wacky.
"and satisfied in a way that was new." This line hooked me for some disturbingly Freudian reason that I am at a loss to elucidate further on.
"and I felt dangerous like a tiger
until I fell asleep." Hahah great ending.
Ok. Stanza one meanders much more and should perhaps be reigned in a little though there is truckloads of promise to pleasurably tweak. Here s a couple that sprang to mind:
"caused memories to ooze ozone, worms
and seedpods strewn over Denver sidewalks
after a heavy rain, a sight that..."
"how to rule answers out.." = "how to eliminate conflicting answers to reach a single crystal-clear conclusion" (Do I hear "crystal-clear delusion."?)
First 2 lines are good. Cut out "really" in line 3.
Less meandering and more directness might help - perhaps too many parenthesis brackets. Weave these thoughts into the sentence structure if possible. More spacing! More lines to break down some of the thoughts. Sort the spacing to a semi-regular metre maybe. Like the first line - a perfect 10 syllable iambic foot beat as far as I can discern.
"And with
that first sip I was born." I am SOOO glad you didn´t say "reborn", Nienna, in my view this makes a potent close to stanza one.
"Climbing into my car, I missed my
shed weight, and the Russian's fist resounded" "and" better than "but" I thought, but I thoroughly approve the prose.
Yeah, this is different and seems a mere pebble toss away from shortstorylike prose with a poetic bent. Hope my prattle is helpful.
Mucho regards and cheers
gG
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