Private Edgar Perry
for Edgar Allen Poe
I reported for duty,
a Bostonian, surly, moody,
unsteady.
Twenty and two,
not eighteen,
Yes, twenty and two
and not eighteen-
scratching words on the wall
of the latrine.
for five dollars a month.
Obscene.
Yes, I was only eighteen.
The Artificer of Carolina,
my explosive words
proved themselves less lucratively
than the edifice
of shells and artillery.
And at twenty and seven
not twenty and two
yes, twenty and seven
not twenty and two-
reached highest rank and then was through.
But they would not release me.
From the shells and artillery.
My last chance at worldly victory.
I was only twenty and two.
My name is Poe, not Perry.
I wish to marry.
Home, I wish to tarry,
My hardened heart I will carry.
Again, refused.
Heavy, heavy cry.
Heartache, heartache, sigh.
My half-closing eye.
And to the deep trumpet- the wild
Of human battle.
I would chronicle my voice,
"My own voice.
Like, a silly child!–"
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
-
confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
I would chronicle my voice,
ReplyDelete"My own voice.
Like, a silly child!–"
love that considering the fact that these works, examining the vices of others, a fusion of yourself and them, showcase your own writer's voice in such fine style.
and i remember how you described your speaking voice on the voicepost you recorded...
It's in quotes because it is a line from one of his lesser known, but very early works called "Tamerlane" much of the style and ideas are from that poem because he wrote it while he was enlisted.
ReplyDeleteI appreciate that there still some of me in these, I just love that I've so far been able to tackle this project and it just wasn't a big old mess. lol.
what you've done with structure and rhyme in this is wonderful, Amy. <3
ReplyDeleteThanks, Dana! I took a cue from Poe of course.
ReplyDelete