Another captivating voice, I like — strike that — love, the narrative drive of her poetry:
Amy Dryansky: No Birds Were Harmed in the Making of this Poem
Language is fossil poetry, Emerson said, in reference to
I know not what, possibly
an aster in stony clay, a theory of light.
Something that finds its way out.
The interviewer asked if I’d ever abandoned a creative project,
and if so, did I come back to it?
Yes, I have, yes, I did, yes, that’s me
ripping out stitches, going too far with the scissors.
That’s me with the bulging bag of scraps,
humdrum of production.
My mother always said you can never have
too many good, clean rags.
Speaking of my mother,
she wanted me to find someplace else to be young.
Why don’t you do something productive? she’d mutter
as I stumbled from bed to couch
to towel on the lawn, slippery with baby oil,
not even reading a book.
We didn’t know back then what the sun could do to you…
(excerpt)
via ArtSake » Amy Dryansky: No Birds Were Harmed in the Making of this Poem.
Grass Whistle: Amy Dryansky: 9781908836410: Amazon.com: Books.
Beautiful.
I really should have linked to this page, the second poem knocks my socks off:
http://amydryansky.wordpress.com/about-pokey%C2%A0mama/how-i-got-lost-so-close-to-home/
Dearest V
What impeccable taste you have (as if I didn’t know).
What a voice!
Yours ever
The Perfumed Dandy
Isn’t she marvelous? Her books are in my Amazon basket as we speak…
LOVE! Thanks for introducing her beautiful work to us.
Me too! You’re so welcome – am dithering around with this damn cold still, but I think I will treat myself with a visit to your site. xox, V