Connor pops in to announce incredibly belatedly what has already been apparent for months: Close Talking is on a hiatus! We've had some big life and career changes that have unexpectedly cut into our capacity for the podcast, but it's not a permanent hiatus! Okay, a poem:
Tune
By: Kay Ryan
Imagine a sea
of ultramarine
suspending a
million jellyfish
as soft as moons.
Imagine the
interlocking uninsistent
tunes of drifting things.
This is the deep machine
that powers the lamps
of dreams and accounts
for their bluish tint.
How can something
so grand and serene
vanish again and again
without a hint?
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Connor pops in to announce incredibly belatedly what has already been apparent for months: Close Talking is on a hiatus! We've had some big life and career changes that have unexpectedly cut into our capacity for the podcast, but it's not a permanent hiatus! Okay, a poem:
Tune
By: Kay Ryan
Imagine a sea
of ultramarine
suspending a
million jellyfish
as soft as moons.
Imagine the
interlocking uninsistent
tunes of drifting things.
This is the deep machine
that powers the lamps
of dreams and accounts
for their bluish tint.
How can something
so grand and serene
vanish again and again
without a hint?
Connor and Jack discuss Sasha Banks' poem, america, MINE from her collection of the same name. They start by examining some of the poem's formal elements like its lack of traditional punctuation, and quickly jump to big themes like how the idea of vengeance is transformed in the poem and the contested symbol of the American flag is used.
Read the full poem below, or here: http://thecollagist.com/the-collagist/2016/8/27/america-mine.html
america, MINE
By: Sasha Banks
the spit upon this/country's flag is mine and/I do/not weep at it/consider the
twisted shape of grief about/the mouth upon learning the beast/under the bed
has always been your country/careful, citizen/this nation will name
you/daughter/while its tongue/sucks the muscle from every dark body/you
have loved to the edge of this/vanished second/I let the rage be/like
water/this time/drinking and drinking until/my darkness marries/my eyes to
blindness/and I am/led by the ghosts still/awake/in the soil/still/thirsty
from/below/the fear/is under my heal/now/there are multitudes/in my third
rib and/we are not/asking anymore/do you see us now/this is the last
kindness/we will have your sweat/and dress you in your own/curses/oh
country/what I mean to say/is/all the living after/this/will be the vengeance.
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Close Talking: A Poetry Podcast
Connor pops in to announce incredibly belatedly what has already been apparent for months: Close Talking is on a hiatus! We've had some big life and career changes that have unexpectedly cut into our capacity for the podcast, but it's not a permanent hiatus! Okay, a poem:
Tune
By: Kay Ryan
Imagine a sea
of ultramarine
suspending a
million jellyfish
as soft as moons.
Imagine the
interlocking uninsistent
tunes of drifting things.
This is the deep machine
that powers the lamps
of dreams and accounts
for their bluish tint.
How can something
so grand and serene
vanish again and again
without a hint?
