When you were young...
a) What drew you to poetry?
Jenifer Lake. But I need to backtrack on this story. When I was really small I used to write short stories all the time. I never thought about writing poems until I was in the eight grade. What would that make me, 13? I was 13. I guess one day I sat down and wrote about seven poems in an old notebook. I remember that thing well, it was one of those MEAD one subject notebooks with the plastic cover and metal spiral binding. Too much detail I know but, it’s kind of a nostalgic item in my mind. Anywho, I took them and shared them with my then art teacher (Jenifer Lake) and she gave them back to me with a note attached to the front and a suggestion that I start reading Anne Sexton. I remember that in her note she had underlined the phrase keep writing, and so I have. I still have that note too. It’s in a box with all my early high school poems. And Anne Sexton, I’ve found, is my absolute favorite poet. So Jenifer Lake. That was the beginning.
b) Did you like writing in cursive?
Of course. I still do. You know my handwriting. Most people consider my print cursive and my cursive, as an SAT reader once put it, is “illegible”. However, they were being ridiculous. My handwriting is beautiful.
c) What was your favorite candy?
Lemonheads. I was all about that fact that there were so many of them in one box. There is a drug store by Sarah Lawrence that sells the little 25 cent boxes. It’s love.
Movies:
a) Name one movie that's on your mind constantly.
Breakfast At Tiffany’s. I think it’s because I’ve seen it so many time I could close my eyes and watch it in my mind.
b) Favorite actor
Actress. Katharine Hepburn.
c) A scene from a movie that seems to apply to your daily life.
There is a part in the movie Dangerous Liaisons where Glen Close, the Marquise De Merteuil, has a FABULOUS monologue. She blew my mind. Her words are my philosophy. With less dangerous intentions, of course.
A taste:
“I had no choice, did l? I'm a woman. Women are obliged to be far more skillful than men. You can ruin our reputation and our life with a few well-chosen words. So, of course, I had to invent not only myself but ways of escape no one has ever thought of before. And I've succeeded because l've always known I was born to dominate your sex and avenge my own. When I came out into society I was 15. I already knew then that the role I was condemned to, namely to keep quiet and do what I was told, gave me the perfect opportunity to listen and observe. Not to what people told me, which naturally was of no interest to me, but to whatever it was they were trying to hide. I practiced detachment. I learned how to look cheerful while under the table I stuck a fork onto the back of my hand. I became a virtuoso of deceit. I consulted the strictest moralists to learn how to appear, philosophers to find out what to think, and novelist to see what I could get away with, and in the end it all came down to one wonderfully simple principle: win or die.”
What is/are your Favorite...
a) Themes to write about...
Hmmm. Probably intimacy. Conversation. Mania. My old creative writing teacher would have said New York, since she once told me she could pick out something I’d written simply by seeing it was set there. However that’s not entirely true. I set a few things in Los Angeles.
b) Era of Time
The era of old Hollywood. When Dizzy was blowing, Katharine Hepburn was slipping in through the side gate at Paramount, and Shelia Graham was entertaining phone calls from a heartbroken Cary Grant. There was a glamour to the profession, and to life, that we’ve since lost.
c) Ballad
We’re talking songs right? Because I still don’t know how I feel about poetic ballads. But anyway, Teena Marie’s ‘Casanova Brown’. Hands down. Rick James didn’t deserve her affections.
* If you didn't live in America, where would you settle?
Paris. Or Morocco. If I could speak Portuguese, Brazil.
*If you could do one thing out of the ordinary and not be put in an asylum, what would it be?
What kind of question is this? Hahaha. But I would want to be able to separate my spirit from my body on the regular. Or have telekinesis like Carrie.
*Which do you prefer? It raining when it's sunny or it being sunny when it's raining?
Sunny when it’s raining.
*Favorite rap lyric?
And I can’t even trip/
Cause I’m just laughing at cha/
You tryin’ hard to maintain, then go head/
Cause I ain’t mad at cha.
Tupac- I Ain’t Mad At Cha.
*First thought when you wake up?
Sadly, it’s usually a thought about what I’m going to put on.
*How do you approach a book?
Sometimes I wish I was one of those people who read the last page first but I don’t. When I read I read things in one sitting if I have the time. Except Didion. I can’t take too much of her at once. It’s like too much cake. And I never judge a book by its cover. You may think the thought is cliché but you’d be surprised how many people do.
*30s Bombshells, 20s Flappers, or Gibson Girls?
Well, I’m ashamed to admit this but I had no idea what a Gibson Girl was when I first read this question. My first thought was that of a Gibson Guitar. So I was seeing something like a Warrant, Cherry Pie type girl. Hahaha, too bad that couldn’t be farther from the truth. But 30s bombshells all the way. Lady Day is gorgeous.
*Who is the Diva?
Me, and I’m an OG, not a hustler.
*How would you describe words?
As things you’ll choke on if you don’t let them out.
*What are three things you take most pride in?
1. My ability to remain calm. I rarely loose my temper. Sign of a good politician?
2. My love of reading. It’s a rare thing in children theses days, and I’m glad I was an only child/nerd and established my love affair early on.
3. And the fact that I love me for me. If you don’t love your body, you can’t win. Vera Wang: “A woman is never sexier then when she is comfortable in her clothes.” The same goes for your bodies. Alright, my P.S.A is over. It’s the only one I’ll be giving, I swear.
*Does being a part of the NeverEnding Story appeal to you, why or why not?
No. The greatest stories end.
*Describe the perfect poem.
Well, it wouldn’t be written by me. But it would be for me. And I’ve never know that, I’d just know of the poem.
Three things I find brilliant: Joan Didion, symphonies, and books.
Three things I find beautiful: good coats, museums, Jennifer Beals.
Three things I find bomb: black sweaters, my friends, and new talent.
Now here is B's work; The following is called a Crown (poetry terminology...im at a lost too):
Brooklyn Bridge
“If you've been a rover
Journey's end lies over the Brooklyn Bridge….”
-Sinatra
1.
A diamond in the rough
Is what you are my friend.
Rich enough, savory enough,
As we talk in the cramped quarters of your bed.
It is as you said, what a Sunday blue thing
We are. Pining on how New York
Has inspired this fling, the affair
Without flowers, with the bottle uncorked,
Sky moon free as lady
Time sojourns in our home,
Again, I ask no angels to move me.
We have hands to spin our own gramophones,
And feet to tap to the crooning of a mad man,
As we draft up bossa nova plans.
2.
As we draft up bossa nova plans,
“This is no magic trick” was your line,
I thought it was, shh, play your Chopin.
If we were not students, we would have wine.
We could walk the bridge in an evening.
A romantic notion? Perhaps just the park—
My mother says when you are old, you will leave me.
I did not tell her what you told me in the dark.
Because we took a vote, this is it,
Like your new Marlboros—
“Now push it”,
You’ve burned a hole in my pillow—
“Dance I said, Salt n’ Pepa’s back—”
Do you think every writer hears things in their head?
And I told you their rhymes were whack.
We’re moving into the confession hour, let’s go,
We can tell away our sins you know.
3.
We can tell away our sins you know.
I used to do mine daily on a
Bench in Columbus Circle,
For there are many things that ail me.
It is from all that I have seen and
From the requisite misfunctions
Of life, that in between,
Before we are all heaven sent.
But you won’t be around.
Darling, I’ve no need to point.
Quick, look smart and take the 6 uptown,
Where there are good deeds to exploit.
I digress again, let’s go.
We’ve got a bridge to cross you know.
4.
We’ve got a bridge to cross you know.
Perhaps we are strange fruit for wanting this,
For wanting to make it across la belle eau,
There is nothing in Brooklyn for us to reminisce.
Why do we think we can do this anyway,
Dignity must be our morphine,
(Ah yes, we are taking four steps today,
I meant what I said, you’re getting clean.)
I want you to stop while your ahead,
For it’s said that abuse starts at the bottle,
Don’t ask me why, it’s what I’ve read,
I am saving you as some child’s role model.
You know maybe we shouldn’t go.
We should just stay here and lay low.
5.
We should just stay here and lay low.
Concerning the letter which I
Received by slow mail—
Did you see me, when I read it I cried.
Was it amusing to see me hang
My head so early in the morning.
“Who cares about that dame?”
Oh, I think she’s important.
“Start a new conversation”,
We could talk about Plato
Or our current situation, peut-etre,
But I never took philo—
Darling, please, don’t kiss me. I regret
To inform you, the artist is not listening.
6.
The artist is not listening,
“You always compare to your first love.”
You know, I told her she would miss me,
And it just couldn’t be let go of.
“It’s not something you forget.”
Oh no, it’s a memory I will save.
“The love will discolor, unset,”
Yes, I’m waiting for the platonic fade.
“You’ve loved her a long time”
Forever, it seems,
“So it’s not going to happen in the blink of an eye.”
Yes, yes, I know you mean.
To think I am unique would be a sin,
One can never forget that heartache is in.
7.
One can never forget that heartache is in,
And this is her new residence,
She grew bored with the high school again,
Teenage quarrels lost their resonance.
“Good morning Heartache, you old gloomy sight,”
Singularly, the blues have consumed me,
To think we only met last night,
And now look what you do to me.
Moet and Marlboros on our windowsill,
Essentials in blue times and yet
I don’t drink and smoke makes you ill,
So I had the cigarettes.
Then she bathed in the Moet,
No, we have not crossed the bridge yet.
8.
No, we have not crossed the bridge yet.
He’s not even here anymore.
“Is there any more Moet?”
No, but we could hit the liquor store.
“Why do you think this is no delight?”
I don’t know, I don’t want to think,
“It’s because you wrote it out in spite,
spilling poison through your ink.”
“Voice so deep it’s rumbling through
Like darkness to the avenues,”
Heartache, you’ve changed my rhyme scheme.
Now I must rearrange the scene.
“It’s what I do, it’s what I do”
The lady is a tramp, who knew.
9.
The lady is a tramp, who knew,
“You won’t remember this when we’re through,
Or how you loved an artist because you can’t keep dreams,
Memories can be a burden if you don’t like what they mean—
Yes— And when you got up from that soft girl’s bed
Leaving her shooting lambs one by one in the head,
You could still taste it, that wool smell—
Yes, and it was the screaming of the lambs I
Couldn’t quell— Take me down to Ipanema,
To drown that girl in blue pashmina,
Then dance with me, let’s romance
And let’s be seen”—Heartache you are insane…
“Darling, keep on writing for me,
So I can get off on your poetry.”
10.
“So I can get off on your poetry,
Masturbation, my darling, is more than key
If you want to get through this.
Oh. She means that much to you?”
“Pity. Well, what you do with your
Love remains to be seen.
Strange fruit, you think you can dissect
Romance with normal intellect?”
Yes for romance heartache is nothing more
Than brave tall tales and weak folklore
That man has created through the ages
To keep putting stories on blank pages.
“Love is not fiction, despite what you might say,”
Well, I will treat it like fiction anyway.
11.
I will treat it like fiction because only
In that would I be in this position,
Where he and I have to cross a bridge in order
To understand why our hearts have been broken in two.
A literal journey to the place where this was born, a returning
To the root of the cause. Will that cause clarity?
Or if we go back will our problems just snake like ivy
Around the house where you lived and that playground
Where we first- you know- we’re coming around again.
“The travesty lies in the lies
That you’re telling, it’s all in your eyes,
The eyes of a pissed saint thrown off a train
Because Jesus forgot the fare—you are insane—
Pray to Saint Valentine—you’re certifiable—
I’m telling you, the man is reliable”.
12.
“The man is reliable,
Can he stop this—no the feeling is undeniable”.
You, you think you can understand Lady Day
For you are an intellectual. But in a way
You are not, calling me frequently saying “I
Will die today”, only to pick up the pieces of your life
Every morning and I would put you back together
But I can’t find the glue, cut me some slack
Darling, it’s not easy picking bones up off the floor.
Or ignoring all the angels as they scream for more
Abuse, domesticity, this is why we’re going to Brooklyn,
Parce que de lundi a jeudi I can’t stand you.
“You’ve broken your rhyme scheme”,
There is so little time left until sonnet 14.
13.
There is so little time left until sonnet 14.
“He should be getting off work around 8:15”.
Then what. What happens, I’d rather stay here
Then go there and put our relationship on a platter
For the good doctor in Brooklyn to comment on a
Love that has clearly already come and gone—
I’d rather sleep and dream of her
Dancing for me to a tune not there,
I’d rather see in your face tiny hips
Moving slow, I want the subway to remind
Me of the lulling of her voice,
Not of this choice.
Too fascinated by the curves of my white Russian,
I did not hear you come in.
14.
I did not hear you come in
Now that you’re home we’re drowning
In a loud silence only punctuated by
Breathing. On occasion a car rolls by and
I’m wondering why I’m still narrating
Events like you are gone. It’s frustrating.
Heartache was here, she sends her regards.
She left subway fare for our trip to Oz.
Should I take a scarf? Or is it still autumn in
New York—I’m going to cry all the way to Brooklyn.
“Do you think you have your sonnets yet?”
“I don’t know, here, check.”
“Is that all I am to you? A means to an end?”
“No, a diamond in the rough, is what you are my friend.”
i loved this post. :) very proud of you two.
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