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Molly Arden
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My pleasure. I thought someone might object to Mr. Stern. Gladly, I seem to have slipped that one through. -M.
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When votre ami Molly Arden says "Alors! J'adore le français!" or if I, on a brille pomme jour I say "English, I abhore!" -- it is not that I am unpatriotic. I am un Américain fier -- enorme, you might say. However, when je regarde THIS video of Valérie Rouzeau balancing an assiette de bonbons -- golden sugary fondre of language and then poem and sound and all of it and done so deliciously -- I feel like weeping. Let's all commit to use two or three languages to express ourselves. A tout le moins. Follow the English text as... Continue reading
Posted May 20, 2011 at The Best American Poetry
Molly's taking time tonight to slip off her flats, shake down her hair, have that extra glass of ______ (what the hell, I'm not driving). Let's take some time tonight. I'll take out my bag and finally show you all those little trinkets I've been collecting. We'll both lean in when we laugh. Pretend that you made me a desperately delicious dinner -- probably something in a pasta -- and that now we're going to linger over the last bits of the day with some wine and get chatty. You'll tell about the time that you regret and I'll show... Continue reading
Posted May 19, 2011 at The Best American Poetry
Une merveille du ménage, en effet! On all points, absolument. -M.
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In order to arrive at what you do not know you must go by a way which is the way of ignorance. In order to possess what you do not possess you must go by the way of dispossession. In order to arrive at what you are not you must go through the way in which you are not. from T.S. Eliot’s “East Coker” The guts to face the unknown, to willingly embrace an air of innocence, is simultaneously strange but exhilarating. For the poet, heavily reliant upon reflection and observation, to cease interaction with thoughts, information, or feelings is... Continue reading
Posted May 18, 2011 at The Best American Poetry
Jim Cummins! Mon Dieu! You too? -M.
Molly likes it when you like, DL. Coo Coo, mon croque-en-bouche.
Mr. Bonhomme de neige really said it all, "Je Chaude!" and when you're the hottest et mal you're never zero. N'est-ce pas?
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Tonight’s entry begins in the small closet in the upstairs hall. There, a bag of shameful confirmation is knotted evidence of a ritual I’ve practiced since my teens. It’s difficult to discuss without the risk of sounding horribly shallow, it might be only a poet who would recognize the significance of the ceremony involved in selecting an annual summer wrapper. This ritualized spring rebirth of the self is made by way of spandex, nude lining, underwire, a few pieces of hardware. Usually it’s one suit a year, on an indecisive year, maybe two. Always a careful combination of separates crafted... Continue reading
Posted May 17, 2011 at The Best American Poetry
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Molly is barely under her own dress today. The teeth in her mouth biting air, the teeth in her zipper biting hair. Twisted tired. Too much time in the tub tonight. Maybe it was that small thimble of gin (and then agin) Je besoined just a petit puddle to dit what je need to ecrite in mon lettre pour mon hot piment. Pour. Poor you. Mon coco, my chou, Today, our neighbor left a cake (de beurre) on the doorstep. In the rain. Stoop, troops. Seal six, steal sex. It’s ashes, asses, all fall down. Fingery mess. Ring me round... Continue reading
Posted May 16, 2011 at The Best American Poetry
How right you are, Karen! Hands are almost always the best tool, almost always. -M.
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House Guest The sad seamstress who stays with us this month is small and thin and bitter. No one can cheer her up. Giver her a dress, a drink, roast chicken, or fried fish it's all the same to her. ( from “The House Guest” by Elizabeth Bishop, 1968) Molly’s never been a very accomplished guest. For me it’s like being lost in a foreign country --disenfranchised, compartmentalized into Samsonite carry-ons, exhausted, dizzy from hunger with an upset tummy. I am an insatiable know it all who’s every desire is, at all times, to be in tight command of my... Continue reading
Posted May 15, 2011 at The Best American Poetry
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May 12, 2011