Thursday, November 3, 2011

Aimless Reading: The P's, Part 17 (Ethan Paquin)

The Violence
Paquin, Ethan
The Violence

I think this was sent to me by the publisher. I am not one hundred percent sure.

Ethan was part of the Buffalo poetry crew of the early to mid-Aughts. I think I was at the tail-end of my grad school years when he arrived. He made an impact on the poetry scene immediately, starting, with Ted Pelton, a poetry/fiction series at Medaille college, where both taught, and also a small press conference.

I once gave a poetry reading in the attic of his home.

It was part of a series of readings put together by Kevin Thurston, another grizzled veteran of the mid-Aughts Buffalo poetry scene. He called the series "Panic in the Attic." At the time, Kevin owned a home with a classically huge Buffalo attic, as did Ethan, myself, Ted Pelton, and a few others. Kevin had the brilliant idea of throwing poetry readings in each of the attics during the warmer months.

I think mine was the only attic that didn't host one. Ethan probably had the best attic of all. It was the size of a large Manhattan apartment. Anyhow, I remember we had both bought our first homes at the time. In between poetry readings, we were both busy learning how to drywall, wire light switches, lay flooring and so on.

None of us live in those homes any longer. Kevin's marriage ended and he moved into an apartment and then to Korea, where he now looks quite happy. Ethan's marriage ended and he sold the house and moved to another before getting back with his family, having a third child and moving to New Hampshire, where he now looks quite happy. Ted's long-time relationship ended and he eventually got married, had a daughter and sold his house, and he now looks quite happy.

Me, well, I am still in the same great relationship, but I have since moved three times and have daughter. I'd imagine I look quite happy, too. And I am.

from The Violence


Punishment


You'll find sometime where rain rains daggers in
down to persuade you. Like the matter discharg-
éd all about me as I smash a lamp with your gold-
en name          my bleeding hand which would murder me
again and again and cast the body into a super-
fluous sea full of tyrants with horns and wings but
God thou trac of evacuated skyline I want to pry a-
part, and piss on, and pummel my face.




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