Monday, April 18, 2011
I am not sure where I bought this -- probably at Talking Leaves…Books. I remember why I bought it, though. I think it was three, maybe four, summers ago. I had just finished reading The Transformation, by Julian Spahr and I had this idea that I wanted to make use of more autobiographical information in my poems, so I began looking around for other contemporary poets working with autobiographical information.
I had a memory of having read about Jennifer's autobiography, The Middle Room, on Silliman's blog.
I had a memory of having read about some new prose poems by Jennifer on Silliman's blog.
These two memories combined to form a sentence in my mind that went something like this: Jennifer Moxley has written a book of autobiographical prose poems.
So I went out looking for Jennifer Moxley's autobiographical prose poems and ended up buying The Line, which contains only the prose poem half of the equation. Not that I minded -- I love Jennifer's poetry -- but it wasn't exactly what I was looking for.
I eventually discovered my error and ordered The Middle Room.
from The LIne
However much we wish it so, everything does not change in a moment. The sedative present, tugging, sucking, and many voiced, timelessly freights the mind. There will be no more marking of days. Under your right arm, a memory crutch, under your left, the future, a failure kicked out upon waking. But as punishment you can still dream. A nursing infant, the birds you have killed, a hill so steep your ascent of it leaves your lover straggling beneath you. Each night in houses you can never go back to you leave your promise behind.