Weekly Edition #27
Art by Abraham Neumann
The Nutritionist by Andrea Gibson
The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables,
said if I could get down thirteen turnips each day
I would be grounded, rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness lives.
The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight,
said for twenty dollars she’d tell me what to do.
I handed her the twenty and she said, “Stop worrying, darling,
you will find a good man soon.”
The first psycho-therapist said I should spend three hours a day
sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed and my ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet.
The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth,
said focus on the out breath,
said everyone finds happiness
if they can care more about what they can give
than what they get.
The pharmacist said Klonopin, Lamictal, Lithium, Xanax.
The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget
what the trauma said.
The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.”
But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River
convinced he was entirely alone.”
My bones said, “Write the poem.”
To the lamplight considering the river bed,
to the chandelier of your faith hanging by a thread,
to everyday you cannot get out of bed,
to the bullseye of your wrist,
to anyone who has ever wanted to die:
I have been told sometimes the most healing thing we can do
is remind ourselves over and over and over
other people feel this too.
The tomorrow that has come and gone
and it has not gotten better.
When you are half finished writing that letter
to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried,
but when I thought I’d hit bottom, it started hitting back.”
There is no bruise like the bruise
loneliness kicks into your spine
so let me tell you I know there are days
it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets
while you break down like the doors of their looted buildings.
You are not alone
in wondering who will be convicted of the crime
of insisting you keep loading your grief
into the chamber of your shame.
You are not weak
just because your heart feels so heavy.
I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth
with a red cape inside.
Some people will never understand
the kind of superpower it takes for some people
to just walk outside some days.
I know my smile can look like the gutter of a falling house
but my hands are always holding tight to the rip cord of believing
a life can be rich like the soil,
can make food of decay,
turn wound into highway.
Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says,
“It is no measure of good health
to be well adjusted to a sick society.”
I have never trusted anyone
with the pulled back bow of my spine
the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat
screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound.
Four nights before Tyler Clementi
jumped from the George Washington bridge
I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town
calculating exactly what I had to swallow
to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down.
What I know about living
is the pain is never just ours.
Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo,
so I keep listening for the moment the grief becomes a window,
when I can see what I couldn’t see before
through the glass of my most battered dream
I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind
and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.
So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin
don’t try to put me back in.
Just say, “Here we are” together at the window
aching for it to all get better
but knowing there is a chance
our hearts may have only just skinned their knees,
knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming
let me say right now for the record,
I’m still gonna be here
asking this world to dance,
even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet.
You, you stay here with me, okay?
You stay here with me.
Raising your bite against the bitter dark,
your bright longing,
your brilliant fists of loss.
Friend, if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,
my god that is plenty
my god that is enough
my god that is so so much for the light to give
each of us at each other’s backs
whispering over and over and over,
“Live. Live. Live.”
Listen to the poem here.
Other poems I read this week:
"He is Orpheus
trying to bring her back with the music
of his words, lines of a poem drifting now
into my dream. Picking the first chords,
my father leans into the neck of the guitar,
rolls his shoulders until he’s lost in it—
the song carrying him across the porch
and down into the damp grass. Even asleep,
I know where he is going. I cannot call
him back. Through the valley the blacktop
winds like a river, and he is stepping into it,
walking now toward the other side where
she waits, my mother, just out of reach." -After My Father by Natasha Trethewey
"In the vast abyss before time, self
is not, and soul commingles
with mist, and rock, and light. In time,
soul brings the misty self to be.
Then slow time hardens self to stone
while ever lightening the soul,
till soul can loose its hold of self
and both are free and can return
to vastness and dissolve in light,
the long light after time."
-How It Seems To Me by Ursula K. Le Guin
"I want the violence of my love
To leave my sleep and my lover alone. I am dedicated
To the same baffled heart I have always carried.
The diamonds and mud of my mouth. The midsummer
Lurching toward the late-summer heat that will kill
The sage and tomato plants tanning on the veranda."
-Romanticism (The Blue Keats) by Roger Reeves
"Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because–
because–I don’t know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep." -Don’t Go Far Off by Pablo Neruda
Recommended Listening:
Jaago जागो by Lifafa (on loop since i heard it) Les cactus' 67's - Jacques Dutronc Territory - The Blaze Winter Sessions - Oblique
Leaf Off / The Cave - José González & The String Theory Landslide - Beirut
Links of the Week:
Good Moves (1 animation a day. subscribe now!)
Who’s Afraid of the Female Nude? “Hydra” by Erin S Murray Jeffsum (for Jeff Goldblum fans) How Animals Eat The 10 Most Intriguing Films of 2019 Watch: Happy Animals
Upcoming events: Toto Night of the Nominee
Toto Funds the Arts (TFA) and Fandom bring you the Toto Night of the Nominee! TFA is an organization that nurtures and encourages young artists through awards, workshops, and other events. Toto Awards are given annually in the fields of music, photography, short film, and creative writing. The Night of the Nominee is a music concert that features the three musicians who have been nominated for the Toto Music Award.
This year, the three shortlisted nominees are:
Dhruv Visvanath (New Delhi)
Plastic Parvati (Kolkata)
Akrti (Bangalore)
Catch them perform at Fandom, Bangalore, on Thursday, January 17th, 9 pm onwards. The winner will be announced the next day at the Toto Award ceremony at Alliance Francaise de Bangalore at 6:30 pm.
Tickets: www.facebook.com/events/2212808435707813
The Alipore Post Poetry Brunch
Come be a part of The Alipore Post Poetry Brunch at Sante Spa Cuisine, Bangalore, on Saturday, January 19th, 2019, 12 pm - 2 pm. We will begin the afternoon with a Poetry Appreciation session to read, discuss and appreciate the power of verses. You can bring your own favourite poems, one something you've written or just look for one that resonates with you from the library at the venue. There will also be many poetry writing activities like Spin-A-Yarn poetry, blackout poetry, writing prompts and other experimental methods to make the creative process even more enjoyable. :)
Tickets: www.instamojo.com/thealiporepost/the-alipore-post-poetry-brunch
See you there! :)