Light Buried Underground

 

1

Weeping woman, look up here.

It seems a beautiful day.

Ovals lay eggs. We have flowers.

Even a simple call can turn into a racket,

self-reflection in bright yellow.

 

2

You are different now.

But not bad different.

Just, you know, not like 1999.

Go die, come back, I’ll love you.

Love will save us, love will save us.

Violet hearts run crimson tides.

 

 

Part 1 is assembled from the titles of artworks by Janelle Iglesias, Pablo Picasso, Ana Marie Hernado, Elliot Green, John Newman, Constance Hockaday, and Tamara Zahaykevich, and Part 2 from entries in the Typewriter Project (http://hyperallergic.com/309070/a-roving-typewriter-records-the-subconscious-of-new-york-city)

 

 

 

Guitaresque

 

Have you seen Betty? She has disappeared.

She has big boobs. She likes to dance.

He told her, “Keep this object carefully,”

and she immediately fainted. The show

just went on. There were so many guitars,

and they were so good. They were beautiful shapes,

fallen wood cut by lightning and thunder,

and moved by the winds and rivers over years.

 

 

Assembled from:

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/13/arts/international/van-gogh-ear-amsterdam.html; http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/11/nyregion/aerosmith-guitarist-joe-perry-hospitalized-after-staggering-off-stage-in-coney-island.html;

http://hyperallergic.com/308981/from-a-missing-woman-to-an-overpowering-odor-adventures-from-londons-first-art-night

 

 

 

Time (Has Come Today)

 

Jesus Christ, how things change.

A boy came rolling over on blades

and looked at me intently, so I felt

obliged to quit my job. He had such

a cupful of freckles and the T-shirt

of a foreign football club. “Sir,

how many girlfriends do you have?”

he asked. I’m not the mad bastard

shouting at the world anymore. I replied

that I had enough with one. “Pfft,”

the boy said and then rolled away,

windblown headline on a dark pavement.

 

 

Assembled from a Facebook post by Tom Christiaens on 7/15/2016, translated from the Dutch, and from http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/15/arts/design/diane-arbus-met-breuer-in-the-beginning.html

 

 

 

Grass

 

There was only grass.

I couldn’t pass it through my throat.

Yet I forced myself to swallow

in front of the children

so they would accept it as food.

I start feeling anxious now

when I am in an open space.

I’m afraid of the blank.

I felt safer in the midst of the shelling.

I wish to become a dragon

and burn the scarves

and everything in that tent.

 

 

Assembled from the words of refugees from the Syrian civil war found at http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2016/07/20/blogs/a-syrian-refugee-captured-real-lives-and-surreal-dreams/s/end.html

 

 

 

When Nothing Is Cool

 

A time for nothing much,

one child teasing another,

twins committing suicide together,

a man drinking in the woods.

We dialed F-U-C-K-Y-O-U

and L-O-V-E-Y-O-U

to see what happened.

Someone called Vincent

rang at the door and gave his ear

in a folded piece of paper

to the person who came to open it,

saying, “Take it, it will be useful.”

 

 

Assembled from three articles in Hyperallergic: “Figurative Painting That’s Emphatically Human,” “The Best Art Books to Read for Free in the NYPL’s New E-book App,” and “How Van Gogh’s Ear Incident Went Viral in 1888”

http://hyperallergic.com/306811/figurative-painting-thats-emphatically-human

http://hyperallergic.com/311670/the-best-art-books-to-read-for-free-on-the-nypls-new-ebook-app

http://hyperallergic.com/82281/how-van-goghs-ear-incident-went-viral-in-1888

 

 

 

Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements, winner of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry. He co-edits White Knuckle Press with Dale Wisely.

 

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