Rome Read online

  ROME

  POEMS

  DOROTHEA LASKY

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  CONTENTS

  HUNTERS

  WHY POETRY CAN BE HARD FOR MOST PEOPLE

  NEVER DID AMOUNT TO ANYTHING

  PORN

  WHAT’S WORSE

  WINTER

  I AM EDDIE MURPHY

  PEOPLE DO REALLY BAD THINGS

  HORACE, TO THE ROMANS

  THE ORANGE FLOWER

  DEPRESSION

  DIET MOUNTAIN DEW

  YOU WERE SO BLOND

  I JUST HOPE I CAN SLEEP

  THE ROMAN POETS

  THE OPEN SOUND OF FRENCH

  THE AMETHYST

  BLAZING STAR LODGE

  I REMEMBER IN THE MORNING

  JULY

  IT IS QUIET

  FEBRUARY 21ST

  THE EMPTY COLISEUM

  LILAC

  I KNOW THERE IS ANOTHER WORLD

  A NEW REALITY

  LILAC FIELD

  THE GROVELER

  MOVING

  THE BED

  ONCE IT’S IN THE PICTURE

  POEM TO FLORENCE

  I WANT TO BE ALIVE

  THE DOGS

  YOU THINK LANGUAGE IS SILLY UNTIL IT HAPPENS TO YOU

  COMPLAINERS

  SADNESS

  WHY IS A MOUSE SAD?

  I FEEL PITY

  GEORG TRAKL IN THE GREEN SUN

  TO DREAM

  WILD

  WHAT IS A MAN IF NOT A SIPHON

  DAWN SONG

  POEM FOR MY FRIEND

  RELATIVE CERTAINTY

  THE STATIC NATURE OF IT ALL

  PALM TREE

  THE WALL HANGING I NEVER NOTICED

  THE RAIN

  THE ART DECO OF THE WEST

  SONNET WEATHER

  I AM A CORPSE

  THERE ARE A MILLION YOUNG MEN

  IF I THOUGHT OF ANYTHING

  THE DEAD OWE A LOT OF TAXES

  THE END

  THERE IS NOTHING

  ROME

  CONSUME MY HEART AWAY; SICK WITH DESIRE AND FASTENED TO A DYING ANIMAL

  —William Butler Yeats, “Sailing to Byzantium”

  ROME

  HUNTERS

  Their bloodlust is what made them different from me

  I saw the man with an albino moose

  Holding his antlers with pride

  In the photo

  By your bedside

  And all I could think of

  Was how scared the dead moose must have been

  Now when I try to eat an animal, I hear crying

  Not laughter

  Now when I try to sing,

  I do not

  Instead I walk along

  And everyone on the earth is an enemy

  I have no confidante, no squire

  All of it is because

  Of how badly you lied to me

  I thought it was just you and me

  Or at the very least a tiny epigram

  Madness is eating animals

  I am mad

  But I don’t kill anything

  I sit there bloodless

  And my lust, too

  It rings

  WHY POETRY CAN BE HARD FOR MOST PEOPLE

  Because speaking to the dead is not something you want to do

  When you have other things to do in your day

  Like take out the trash or use the vacuum

  In the edge between the stove and cupboard

  Because the rat is everywhere

  Crawling around

  Or more so walking

  And it doesn’t even notice you

  It has its own intentions

  And is searching for that perfect bag of potato chips like you once were

  Because life is no more important than eating

  Or fucking

  Or talking someone into fucking

  Or talking someone into something

  Or sleeping calmly and soundly

  And all you can hope for are the people who put that calm in you

  Or let you go into it with dignity

  Because poetry reminds you

  That there is no dignity

  In living

  You just muddle through and for what

  Jack Jack you wrote to him

  You wrote to all of us

  I wasn’t even born

  You wrote to me

  A ball of red and green shifting sparks

  In my parents’ eye

  You wrote to me and I just listened

  I listened I listened I tell you

  And I came back

  No

  Poetry is hard for most people

  Because of sound

  NEVER DID AMOUNT TO ANYTHING

  AFTER CATULLUS, #43

  Hi there, dear sister, I’m sad

  But here to tell you

  That you never did amount to anything

  Facial expressions just like your mother

  Nose by no means tiny

  Married a couple of people

  So now you sit in a house

  Cleaning or not cleaning a window

  Newsflash: no one cares about time

  But you do it like it’s so moral being punctual

  Truly an actress, but you poorly acted the part

  Of someone who isn’t crazy

  No I can’t say your ankles are fat

  But dear lady, who would have had your ass

  Except now I do

  Seemingly connected we are, in the worst way

  And so I must tell you

  You are a no-good person

  A criminal, really, a scoundrel

  No, really, a liar

  He said the person was cold, maybe a bit disdainful

  I said, welcome to my life

  You know some people like history

  Or want to make history

  But I am history

  If you would have fucked me

  I would have been ok being Plath

  But instead I’m Sexton

  If somebody asks me what I like

  It’s not food or sex

  It’s looking at things and being in love

  Not sure what of this you did offer me

  Never did amount to anything

  So with this

  I go

  PORN

  All types of porn are horrific

  I just watched a woman fuck a hired hand

  In her marble kitchen while her friends looked on

  The title of the movie was Divorce Party

  And throughout his big cock, her skinny thighs

  Her friends shouted, nah girl, now you’re free

  But no she’s not she’s in a movie

  And now I am crying

  Because the man looks like an ex-boyfriend

  Or my half brother

  My boss

  A monster

  Someone who left me in the dark

  Someone who darkened me

  A million times over

  I’ve only fucked seven guys in my whole life

  But I’ve watched more porn than you ever will

  Hours and hours

  A woman and a dog

  Three women

  A hairy fruit

  Four bending over backwards

  Vomit sex

  The underplay

  Of tendril

  In motion

  I watch porn

  Cause I’ll never be in love

  Except with you dear reader

  Who thinks I surrender

  But who’s to say this stanza is not porn

  Calculated and hurtful

  All my friends say I’m free

 
And yes, maybe I am

  But are you free

  No, you’ll never be

  I’ve got you in my grasp

  I’ve got you right here in my room

  Once again

  WHAT’S WORSE

  What’s worse—a cheap man or a cad

  What’s worse—a man who eats the fingers or one who does not

  What’s worse—doggy style or up the ass

  No, what’s worse—his face or the face of the individual

  I mean, what’s worse—knowing you or knowing later

  Knowing nothing

  Oh Alligator

  I just want the eyes

  Up to my eyes

  What’s worse

  To never have them

  To have them only in part

  What’s worse

  To be endlessly waiting

  To be endlessly waiting

  What’s worse—nothing or nothing

  What’s worse

  What’s worse than nothing

  What’s worse

  No, what’s worse

  WINTER

  There was a lonely summer

  Where I took the string and unraveled the magic circle from everything

  It was because of you, and what you did to me

  No it was winter

  When I drank cola right by his head

  The girl said her poem was called Winter

  The boy said his name was The Sea

  If I could have wrapped you in purple robes

  For the rest of my life

  I would have

  If I could have gone to the sea, I would have

  But oh, what it was you did to me

  Instead they wrap me in gold cloth

  Carry me into the center of everything

  The magic circle I had in my hand

  They unwrapped me until I multiplied

  They took the red string which bound me to you

  They sank it in the center of the ocean

  I AM EDDIE MURPHY

  Girl, I heard that you got a place

  Where you tell jokes, à la Eddie Murphy, 1985

  But how do you do that

  I am Eddie Murphy

  I heard

  That you do wine tastings with Eddie Murphy

  In the vineyards of Italia

  And I am confused

  I am not there

  I am Eddie Murphy

  I am snorting cocaine off of tanned Italian backsides

  While ten young men

  Suck my gigantic dick

  For two hundred hours

  Do you eat a fine steak dinner with Eddie Murphy

  But I am still hungry

  And it is 4 am on the West side

  I am going home to my majestic marble linoleum

  I tell the jokes here

  And if you want to

  Come into my house

  Introduce yourself first

  Don’t just go walking in

  And telling the people you know them

  Or you are the one they have been waiting for

  They aren’t waiting for anything

  I make royalties on my sort of thing

  I give them what they need

  We are brethren

  We are together

  This is not about you

  You write a punchline

  Go up in front of the crowd

  Say, I am the thing that makes you turn

  But honey

  It is a lie when you do it

  You are the person outside the house

  I am the one

  Gracious enough

  To let you in

  PEOPLE DO REALLY BAD THINGS

  People do really bad things

  But I don’t pay attention to most of them

  I knew that Alex was my real friend

  When he told me that one night

  That true love cannot be calculated or contained

  Despite the orb of blue fire

  I always hold right up to my lips

  It is hot and earthy

  And full of red and green stars

  But the one I love is not a plant to grow you in

  The one I love goes driving thru the streets

  My true friends have always been poets

  Laura, and Eric

  And the other people

  The endless need of people crushing everything too, the sublime

  Most of the time I am not the coral

  Most of the time I am ashamed of my happiness

  But that’s because most of the time I do it in private

  But not when my true love comes around

  Then I do it everywhere

  There is no place I would not be willing to make my true love sing

  Even on the mountain where the seaweed is upturned into the heavens

  Even then I would take his gentle hand with me anywhere

  Even then I would not forsake anything he’s done

  Even if he did really bad things

  I’d dive into the rich waters to help him

  HORACE, TO THE ROMANS

  I walk alone is what came into my head when I was sleeping

  So I wrote you to get the water from which I was so thirsty

  Poems are a puzzle

  But animals are a beast is

  So life is

  Quiet life

  Am I going to die and all I will have are these fucking poems

  It doesn’t get more real than this

  Said the poet

  Oh but you hate poems about poetry

  And that’s fine

  Cause I am never going to send you my condolences when I kill it

  To the lions I throw you

  No, I must restore the broken-down altars that gave me so much sustenance

  Those fallen busts and statues

  That the idiots mention is missing a nose or a penis

  When the statues are stone anyway

  And I am living earth and bone

  Ten times now, you crushed me

  To tiny pieces then to dust

  I just barely escaped the last time

  And had to use my mind to coagulate the broken

  Into mud then blood then semen

  Formidable now, because of this evil mind

  Which I used so many times under a lemon tree

  Just dying to touch you

  Because my love I love you

  And will say it again and again to the air

  Only the gods know how things end

  Or whether the seas turn red in the end

  What is there left unruined after all has been said

  What will you make of me, ruined and soiled

  My dead figure in a heap with the others

  To distinguish, only in the dance

  Still, look, look, look out for me

  Our fathers taught us more than country

  My father my father taught me more than dread

  And your father taught you beast instead

  So to the lions I throw you

  That your arm and neck I so did covet

  Will find your space here

  Dead and dead and dead and dead

  THE ORANGE FLOWER

  What is between us

  Is an orange flower

  And it is blooming and blooming

  And I can’t I won’t stop it

  Still the sour flower of my vagina

  Ruins everything

  Blooming blooming

  It changes the room

  And I become almost

  But not quite, the hummingbird

  And I become almost, but not quite

  The green birds that are missing

  DEPRESSION

  Depression—it’s a public feeling

  But what if I don’t like anything as much as I pretend to

  Darling Darling Darling

  What if I don’t even like you

  The blue night with trees

  Eve
rything told me to feel something

  And yet everything you said was a lie

  And all my emotions were for nothing

  Oh all they want you to do is cry cry cry

  Cry they say Cry

  The animal takes the shape of the spirit

  And the I is no I

  Hardly on the girl

  But why?

  I had two main ideas

  That I brought to the forefront

  But the ideas never moved the audience

  To laughter, to pick the pockets

  So I tapped a little peacock

  With the fiery tail

  Until no one knew what was there

  Sadness

  It’s a public feeling

  So I cry and cry

  And the silver moon goes shining

  Thunder and lightning

  Thunder and lightning

  I woke up in midmorning

  And it was all chatter

  Just thunder and lightning

  DIET MOUNTAIN DEW

  Something that I have

  Thought of recently

  Was my Diet Mountain Dew

  Bottle in the kitchen refrigerator

  I would like to be

  Home

  I would like to go

  Home and to the places

  Where people like me

  It is really hard to

  Keep the output

  At an input

  I go

  And no one gives

  A shit

  All they want

  Is the gift

  Without even knowing

  All the Diet Mountain Dew

  That went into it

  I go and people

  Just listlessly want

  Others to do it

  For them

  I ain’t doing

  Nothing anymore

  For no one

  Yeah that’s right

  I am going to show

  This world

  Exactly what it gave me

  Which is strawberries