IT’S CURTAINS
[1]
I forgot the fair where I learned loud carnies overpower reason…. I forgot the stench of spilled wine…. I forgot the town where all women possessed supple thighs…. I forgot the dank air around a man, belt wrapped around one arm, heating a spoon…. I forgot strolling outside to hear trees murmur…. I forgot the Frenchman cooking horsemeat in blood, wine and garlic while lecturing on techniques for making plastique…. I forgot rain becoming thick…. I forgot too many hot and dusty evenings at train stations…. I forgot long lines of Arab workers in cheap suits attached to small bundles…. I forgot time slowing into a taut agony…. I forgot a dirty river glittering underneath the false life I created with no intention.
[2]
I forgot the fair where I learned loud carnies overpower reason…. I forgot the town where all women possessed supple thighs…. I forgot lighting candles but not saying Grace…. I forgot rain becoming thick…. I forgot too many hot and dusty evenings at train stations…. I forgot the laughter of weary men as they shared a wicker-covered bottle…. I forgot time slowing into a taut agony…. I forgot a dirty river glittering underneath the false life I created with no intention…. I forgot the days when I wished for just a bit of Heaven…. I forgot sleeping on a traffic island on a highway near Lyon.
[3]
I forgot feeling more far away than the moon over Ferris wheel…. I forgot summer clarified by sitting on a stone embankment on an ancient street: suddenly heat rushed out of the evening…! I forgot the dank air around a man, belt wrapped around one arm, heating a spoon…. I forgot the row of prone people on the remains of mattresses…. I forgot sighting a bloodied face through a cracked windshield, and moving on…. I forgot the laughter of weary men as they shared a wicker-covered bottle…. I forgot time slowing into a taut agony…. I forgot a dirty river glittering underneath the false life I created with no intention…. I forgot the days when I wished for just a bit of Heaven.
[4]
I forgot the row of prone people on the remains of mattresses…. I forgot sighting a bloodied face through a cracked windshield, and moving on…. I forgot rain becoming thick…. I forgot the tiny woman with huge buckteeth her lover used as a bottle opener…. I forgot the enchanting glow emanating from a murderer’s eyes…. I forgot too many hot and dusty evenings at train stations…. I forgot long lines of Arab workers in cheap suits attached to small bundles…. I forgot a dirty river glittering underneath the false life I created with no intention…. I forgot the days when I wished for just a bit of Heaven.
[5]
I forgot the fair where I learned loud carnies overpower reason…. I forgot the stench of spilled wine…. I forgot feeling more far away than the moon over Ferris wheel…. I forgot the town where all women possessed supple thighs…. I forgot the hollow man in a basement collecting water as it dropped from a corroded hole…. I forgot the dank air around a man, belt wrapped around one arm, heating a spoon…. I forgot strolling outside to hear trees murmur…. I forgot seeing sky as the sea and sea as the sky…. I forgot the Frenchman cooking horsemeat in blood, wine and garlic while lecturing on techniques for making plastique…. I forgot rain becoming thick.
[6]
I forgot the bare arms that defined “summer browned”…. I forgot feeling more far away than the moon over Ferris wheel…. I forgot the town where all women possessed supple thighs…. I forgot summer clarified by sitting on a stone embankment on an ancient street: suddenly heat rushed out of the evening…! I forgot the row of prone people on the remains of mattresses…. I forgot seeing sky as the sea and sea as the sky…. I forgot the Frenchman cooking horsemeat in blood, wine and garlic while lecturing on techniques for making plastique…. I
I forgot lighting candles but not saying Grace…. I forgot the enchanting glow emanating from a murderer’s eyes…. I forgot too many hot and dusty evenings at train stations…. I forgot time slowing into a taut agony.
[7]
I forgot the stench of spilled wine…. I forgot feeling more far away than the moon over Ferris wheel…. I forgot summer clarified by sitting on a stone embankment on an ancient street: suddenly heat rushed out of the evening…! I forgot the hollow man in a basement collecting water as it dropped from a corroded hole…. I forgot strolling outside to hear trees murmur…. I forgot the Frenchman cooking horsemeat in blood, wine and garlic while lecturing on techniques for making plastique…. I forgot the enchanting glow emanating from a murderer’s eyes.
I forgot the laughter of weary men as they shared a wicker-covered bottle…. I forgot time slowing into a taut agony…. I forgot intention is a form of focus, at times control.
[8]
I forgot the stench of spilled wine…. I forgot the row of prone people on the remains of mattresses…. I forgot strolling outside to hear trees murmur…. I forgot seeing sky as the sea and sea as the sky…. I forgot lighting candles but not saying Grace…. I forgot rain becoming thick…. I forgot long lines of Arab workers in cheap suits attached to small bundles…. I forgot time slowing into a taut agony.
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| Eileen R. Tabios |
EILEEN R. TABIOS loves books, and has released more than 20 print, three electronic and 1 CD poetry collections; an art essay collection; a “collected novels” book; a poetry essay/interview anthology; a short story collection; and an experimental biography. Her most recent release is SUN STIGMATA (Sculpture Poems) (Marsh Hawk Press, 2014). She has also exhibited visual art and visual poetry in the United States and Asia. Recipient of the Philippines’ National Book Award for Poetry for her first poetry collection, she has crafted an award-winning body of work that is unique for melding ekphrasis with transcolonialism. Her poems have been translated into Spanish, Italian, Tagalog, Japanese, Portuguese, Polish, Greek, computer-generated hybrid languages,Paintings, Video, Drawings, Visual Poetry, Mixed Media Collages, Kali Martial Arts, Music, Modern Dance and Sculpture. She also has edited, co-edited or conceptualized ten anthologies of poetry, fiction and essays in addition to serving as editor or guest editor for various literary journals. She maintains a biblioliphic blog, “Eileen Verbs Books“; edits Galatea Resurrects, a popular poetry review; steers the literary and arts publisher Meritage Press; and frequently curates thematic online poetry projects including LinkedIn Poetry Recommendations (a recommended list of contemporary poetry books).
Curatorial note: The following poems are a response to a call for poetry about rape culture for the annual Delirious Advent Feature; the call is in turn an immediate response to the Rolling Stone story “A Rape on Campus” about rape culture at the University of Virginia. However, they are also part of a larger conversation about rape in poetry communities. Curated by Jessica Smith and Susana Gardner.
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