Poem for Wednesday

National Poetry Month
By Elaine Equi

When a poem
speaks by itself,
it has a spark

and can be considered
part of a divine
conversation.

Sometimes the poem weaves
like a basket around
two loaves of yellow bread.

"Break off a piece
of this April with its
raisin nipples," it says.

"And chew them slowly
under your pillow.
You belong in bed with me."

On the other hand,
when a poem speaks
in the voice of a celebrity

it is called television
or a movie.
"There is nothing to see,"

say Robert De Niro,
though his poem bleeds
all along the edges

like a puddle
crudely outlined
with yellow tape

at the crime scene
of spring.
"It is an old poem," he adds.

"And besides,
I was very young
when I made it."

--------


TTT EE not-really-spoiler notes:
1) When Christopher Lee tells Brad Dourif that he smells like horse, I hear "whores" every time. If my son had not put the subtitles on, I would still believe Grima had been to a brothel.
2) Mirando Otto is SO RIGHT about the stew scene. In general I adore her commentary.
3) I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks (ooh, one for the unpopular opinion meme!): I love Liv Tyler. I love her as Arwen. I love Arwen in TTT whether she was there in the book or not. I would have been fine with Arwen at Helm's Deep.
4) Boromir and Faramir need to hit Denethor over the head with a palantir. Repeatedly. Not until he's dead, mind you, just until he realizes how badly he needs to get laid improve his attitude toward his younger son.
5) The way Sean Bean says "he loves his brother" has got to be illegal.
6) I don't believe in innate nobility. I don't want to meet anyone who was born without the ability to be tempted. I think I actually prefer evil and conflict to absolute purity. I like Jesus to mean it from the bottom of his heart when he asks God why he has been forgotten, and if Faramir does not think for a minute about taking the Ring before making proclamations about leaving it on the road, then I have no use for him, as a role model or fantasy figure or anything else.

(Hee, that's two unpopular opinions! My horoscope said I would do this today...)

For anyone who did not do enough crying yesterday: Boromir in his funeral boat, by Robin Wood (of the Robin Wood Tarot, one of my favorites), courtesy who's an old friend of hers.

Because I have no shame: Broadcast, by me, at Mind Caviar. Feel free to stop laughing any time. No, really. Oh yeah: femmeslash warning. Also, Mary Sue. And no, the warrior princess wasn't originally who it was about, but shut the hell up about that (yes, you, , , etc.)!

Also courtesy who got the same result -- is that good?


You are an Avari! Little is known of your kin and
no one is sure how the little that is known of
you kin came to be known. You refused to follow
the summons of the Valar to leave the Waters of
awakening and go to Aman and for that you are
termed the Avari or Unwilling by the other
kindred of elves, you refer to yourself only as
Quendi. Truth be told you don't really know much
about or particularly care about the powers.
Only six words of your native tongue are known
and they all apply to the other kindred of
elves and they all translate to deserter. Other
things that are known about your races are
logical deductions and educated extrapolations,
these paint a picture of a hardy race that is
slow to trust, more willing to trust what they
see before them than chase vague rumours of
what may be and a race that knows a thing or
two about surviving in harsh conditions.
(Image: Night Elf from Warcraft III, she has the
edginess that defines the Avari.)
Which kindred of Tolkien's Elves are you?
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