By Edward Field
Box is likely one of the first American poets to put in writing proudly and obviously approximately city homosexual life.This new-and-selected (Field's sixteenth ebook of verse total) exhibits that his virtues—and limits—have remained constant all through. At his top box is direct, likable, modest, fascinating, a storyteller : he writes purposefully and without delay of bathhouse existence within the Seventies, Jewish-American history, center jap travels in an international the place, not like ours, males like one another; and allegorically of the Pacific octopus, who wishes love,/ who's a large number in the event you meet,/ yet who can open up like a flower with petal fingers. At lower than his top, Field's unadorned kind could make him sound predictable: his poems are just as attention-grabbing as their tales and concepts. these days there's not anything radical left, under no circumstances/ within the Village, he complains in a poem from the Nineteen Nineties. a contemporary Sept. 11 poem items to a gang of psychopaths taking on the govt.. Irreplaceable within the background of homosexual American writing, box helped invent the various attitudes and the subgenres which are now in universal use. If a lot of Field's personal poems now look flat and dated, adequate nonetheless appear clean to offer severe power to this ebook.
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Extra resources for After the Fall: Poems Old and New
Are you blind? Would you have nothing more to say If I ever flew away In the end is it you is it me Do I have anything? What am I for?
My paradox is that I weep at this While being glad I have a love to miss. Sonnet III Heartsick I have been this long, long day Heavy is my disposition, yet I smile and try my best to hide away The pain, the life, the love I can’t forget Sorry am I for the ones I fool They ask for nothing save my company And yet I cannot seem to break the rule That sayeth once I love twice bound I’ll be Alas, I often slip and to them show That far away my heart desires to go. Sonnet IV It seems only a moment past I listened to the dulcet tone Of thy too far off voice at last But now I find myself alone Yet, my eyes closed, I am not so For underneath my fingertips I feel your flesh, caressing slow, And hold thy tongue between my lips Past caring how forlorn it seems I’ll sleep to meet you in my dreams.
Empty This empty space cannot be filled Your kind words bleed right through me And I could cry but I’d only lose my tears Just another form of release Release what – I’m empty You could pass your hand right through my body And touch the wall behind me But who, for all my emptiness, Who would have the strength to lift me up? My faith in mortal man is badly bruised The gods have proven to be deaf Or else they have a perverse sense of humor Apparently these are European gods For there is nothing funnier than a fat man in a tutu.