Thursday Night Poetry
I'm about Bloggered out. I'm not tired of blogging, mind you--I'm tired of the agony of trying to post to this system. It seems to be down as often as it's up.
But who am I kidding? It's free, and I've been here for two years now (very nearly--my blogoversary is in less than a week). I've got history, man!
I missed Thursday Night Poetry last week because of the funeral, but I'm back, reminded that I need to send the poet featured here tonight an email about this. Chelsea and I met at the University of Arkansas where we were both MFA students. She was a year ahead of me and her husband got the student run radio station up and going (KXUA, where I was a deejay doing the weekly Blues Excursion as Big Poppa Love Monkey). She sent me an email a week or so ago letting me know about her book--I'm sort of on the outskirts of the Arkansas Network--so I ordered it and got it two days ago. I haven't had the chance to read it fully yet, but when I do, I'll have a fuller review of it. I chose this poem strictly for the title:
In Praise of the Florida Manatee
Propeller-scarred and hugely obsolete
lover of all things slow--too slow in love,
your copulation being no simple feat;
fat disregarder of the world above
that lower realm of tepid, blue-green murk
that winds from springs to waters further south;
unlikely gymnast; Darwinian quirk;
heir to the dodo's fate, the dinosaur's;
a future fairy tale; a constant mouth
pausing mid-bite to snooze along sea floors;
long-suffering forgiver of abuse;
ungainly blend of elephant and cow
and bearer of an old man's battered brow,
you ask for nothing, serve no earthly use,
you simply live, and are, and show us how.
On a side note, I got an email tonight saying I've been short-listed for a poetry prize, so if you have any good thoughts to send, I'll gladly take them.