Thursday, August 18, 2005

Three Ways to a Sonnet

Frank O'Hara once famously said that there were only three American poets better than the movies. He could have said the same thing about the stories people tell vis a vis poetry. The stories that I hear are most always poem-worthy (I suppose movies can be too). It’s just that I forget most of them. I need to be more diligent in these three things: listening, remembering, and writing.
Sonnet August Sixteen

He tells me they went clubbing the other weeknight
frequenting one of those “antiseptic” places;
she squeezed his arm, pointed out a shapeless blonde,
sighing—I’d drink it up, your flirting with her;
I’d love to see your character in action.
He wavered—you’re teasing; anyways I’m with you.
She cradled closer—we all could be together—
then whispered—and I’m secure enough to survive
comparisons with her—but intimated
another woman at the far end of the bar—
yet that one’s too bewitching and Jesus what
a body; you’d forsake me in a fucking heartbeat.
Baby—he tells me that he told her plainly
—I’d never be unfaithful in a three-way.

~Son Rivers 2005

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