Poetry

[farrellgirl99]

So I am a creative writing major who is concentrating in poetry, and today my professor had us read this narrative poem. Lo and behold the poem mentions Jane's Addiction! I thought it was totally cool and it made me giddy as a school girl (which i am).

Anyway, I think the poem is pretty great, so I thought I'd share.

The Benjamin Franklin of Monogamy by Jeffrey McDaniel

Reminiscing in the drizzle of Portland, I notice
the ring that's landed on your finger, a massive
insect of glitter, a chandelier shining at the end

of a long tunnel. Thirteen years ago, you hid the hurt
in your voice under a blanket and said there's two kinds
of women—those you write poems about

and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you
a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed.
My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction

lyrics in Morse code on your window at three A.M.,
whiskey doing push-ups on my breath. But I worked
within the confines of my character, cast

as the bad boy in your life, the Magellan
of your dark side. We don't have a past so much
as a bunch of electricity and liquor, power

never put to good use. What we had together
makes it sound like a virus, as if we caught
one another like colds, and desire was merely

a symptom that could be treated with soup
and lots of sex. Gliding beside you now,
I feel like the Benjamin Franklin of monogamy,

as if I invented it, but I'm still not immune
to your waterfall scent, still haven't developed
antibodies for your smile. I don't know how long

regret existed before humans stuck a word on it.
I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light

of a candle being blown out travels faster
than the luminescence of one that's just been lit,
but I do know that all our huffing and puffing

into each other's ears—as if the brain was a trick
birthday candle—didn't make the silence
any easier to navigate. I'm sorry all the kisses

I scrawled on your neck were written
in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you
so hard one of your legs would pop out

of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you'd press
your face against the porthole of my submarine.
I'm sorry this poem has taken thirteen years

to reach you. I wish that just once, instead of skidding
off the shoulder blade's precipice and joyriding
over flesh, we'd put our hands away like chocolate

to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy
of each other's eyelashes, translated a paragraph
from the volumes of what couldn't be said.

[chaos]

It's beautiful. :cona:

[Artemis]

Yes, that really is a great poem.

Some really vivid and powerful imagery.

I like the bolded lines:


and those you don't. It's true. I never brought you
a bouquet of sonnets, or served you haiku in bed.My idea of courtship was tapping Jane's Addiction

regret existed before humans stuck a word on it.
I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light



I scrawled on your neck were written
in disappearing ink. Sometimes I thought of you
so hard one of your legs would pop out

of my ear hole, and when I was sleeping, you'd press
your face against the porthole of my submarine.I'm sorry this poem has taken thirteen years

[Hokahey]

We're praising lines like:

I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean

???

I was not a fan.

[Essence_Smith]

We're praising lines like:

I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean

???

I was not a fan.

Thank you for your support...

[Hokahey]

We're praising lines like:

I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean

???

I was not a fan.

Thank you for your support...

Are you Jeffrey McDaniel?

[Essence_Smith]

Are you Jeffrey McDaniel?

Just messing with ya...my sister does spoken word & has been pretty successful with it...she tours nationally, has been on tv a bunch and actually makes a living at it so I respect the form...

http://www.shanellegabriel.com

[chaos]

The vivid (and outrageous) metaphors emphasize the poet's youth/immaturity which draw a sharp contrast between the raw lust of his youth and the somewhat more mature longing for something that transcends it:

I don't know how many paper towels it would take
to wipe up the Pacific Ocean, or why the light

of a candle being blown out travels faster
than the luminescence of one that's just been lit

He regrets that the relationship did not evolve into something more (still undiscovered):

I wish that just once, instead of skidding
off the shoulder blade's precipice and joyriding
over flesh, we'd put our hands away like chocolate

to be saved for later, and deciphered the calligraphy
of each other's eyelashes, translated a paragraph
from the volumes of what couldn't be said.

Yeah, I am a sap.