Do you ever read a poem and think ENOUGH WITH THE MOON ALREADY! I wonder is that what makes you a poet—the interest or ability to write about the moon? To candidly behold the moon is central qualification? Does everyone pay that much attention to it? Am I missing out on this more than most because I work at home and don’t hit the bars? Do poets walk around face tilted skyward in the dark going “Oh you! The many things you are like!” I never look at it and think there is anything more to be written about it, anything yet to be transcribed about how it behaves or reminds me of some other non-nature, non-planet thing or my feelings, it is not a distraction from a divorce I have not had. Maybe by watching where I go I am missing all the shit is reflecting on to? The moon in the poem is like a signifier, it’s a telegram to tell us—in case we are stupid—though if we have read 4 poems before we know, like when Jane Fonda chain smokes in the nun movie about the virgin birth, we know she’s had an abortion.
I was reading the new issue of The Hat, which is much less ironic funny than last one, more disjointed words and natural world (I am sure these is a formal school, I do not know it's name when none of the words match up, I am like a grandpa=("I only know what I like")). Is that another sign of the death of irony? Less jokes, more moon? Maggie Nelson's excerpt from Bluets was enough to make me order it, though I know she has written about the moon before. Women blinding themselves in desire, Millet-isms and dropping naked desire in analysis blots whatever moon work exists out.Posted by jessica hopper at April 8, 2009 04:10 PM | TrackBack