I went to a reading last night at the Whitney, hosted and organized by Ernie Hilbert, editor of NowCulture (among other things). He had invited 4 authors to come and read their stuff. Suzanne Wise was one of them. I came across one of her poems maybe 3 years ago and it got my attention. Most modern poetry doesn’t get my attention at all. But there was something confident and haunting about her voice … and it wasn’t of the “Oh, the rain falls, and my heart is breaking” variety. <\/p>\n
She does have a book of poetry out, called The Kingdom of the Subjunctive<\/em>. The Whitney had a table of the authors’ books, including Wise’s, so I bought one. I’m so excited! I am familiar with perhaps three of the poems in the book (because of Ernie), but the rest are unknown and I can’t wait to read them all. <\/p>\n Here’s one of her poems. It’s called “Advice”. It just kills me. <\/p>\n Advice <\/big> For me, on the other hand, it is over, I went to a reading last night at the Whitney, hosted and organized by Ernie Hilbert, editor of NowCulture (among other things). He had invited 4 authors to come and read their stuff. Suzanne Wise was one of them. I … Continue reading
\nIt is time for you to stop trying to be so smart.
\nIt is time to abandon those plans for aqueducts,
\ncanals, sewers. It is time to burn your boats,
\nto jump into the next free dinghy, to run
\nyourself aground on foreign land. It is time
\nto smash every inhibition on the shores of progress,
\nthen loll in the rubble, flinging shards of ship
\nat gulls as you build empires in the sand
\nbeneath a beach umbrella. Basically,
\nit is time to stop trying so hard.
\nInstead, lie back and listen to the waves
\nsmashing shells to bits. Think of it
\nas a chorus goading you to greater heights
\nor as wild beasts begging to be caged.
\nBasically, it is time for you to be heard.
\nRemember to enunciate. Pay attention
\nto vowels, the way they seduce
\nregardless of the words they inhabit.
\nRecognize how the names of things
\nslide off their thingness like fried fish
\nfrom an oily plate. Smell the fishy fragrance,
\ninjected into the steamy air by the mere
\nmention of dinner. Fondle your imaginary
\nskillet. How hard and dark and hot it is.
\nThis is just the beginning of your power.
\nYou wilil find new oceans, you will reside
\nin a do-or-die mode. This is not necessarily
\na problem and thus the ironic, absurdist tone
\nyou have become accustomed to
\nmust also be abandoned. You must be
\npatient. You must quietly await
\nyour one authentic voice. As Pound said,
\nquoting Beardsley: Beauty is slow. <\/p>\n
\npolitically, and as a human being.
\nI will never talk about myself again.
\nI will be taciturn, modest.
\nYou will continue to look at me
\nfrom the outside and not know
\nwhat I have suffered. Still,
\nit may be difficult to forget
\nthat I have been your leader.
\nIt is this indebtedness
\nthat will define you
\nas my greatest joy.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"