This week in The Poetry Section: two poems by Ana BoĂ…ÂľiĂ„ÂŤeviĂ„â€ˇ.
Rise in the Fall
Itâ€™s spring in Manhattan, but everyoneâ€™s wearing
summer dresses, through that bit of cold
that death. At the table next to mine, the young Brit and the witch
brainstorm about holding
enormous healings. At this point Iâ€™d settle for you
just trembling next to me. Donâ€™t you know how to do that
Do you know how unhappy one is
who wants a ghost for a horse
when told that only the living can marry the living?
This poemâ€™s boring. I dreamed some lesbian wrote a really good poem
called Pinko and
I woke up to a straight straight world.
Letâ€™s sit here in the cafĂ© for now. Weâ€™ll rise up
next fall, when they can no longer deport me.
And at the end of our revolutionâ€¦ Itâ€™s real hard to say what Iâ€™m seeing
I see, a planet?
the kind of green I canâ€™t even describe
Iâ€™m falling asleep. I see
They found me sleeping
on the tallest wave
blanket and all. They said my name and
down I wept-
next I stood on the sand and
the love pulled back
I could see the sea floor
all those hinges in the sand-grass
needed tongue-grease to work. I said Come back
and it came back in, like it forgave me
Thatâ€™s all. Pinko was not even that good but
I can still change everything
We can change everything.
The Day Lady Gaga Died
What is this day: is it like a rainbow
an abstract I kinda grasp, is it a house with the white streamers on it
how can I get at it.
Once I knew a girl called herself Beauty
and her leather accessories Beasts.
So can things be what I name them, is that the secret.
Once on a time in Osteuropa
a girl lived who went to the Contours Club:
she touched herself on a Slope among the Suncloudsâ„˘.
That all sounds vapid. Yeah, I touched myself. Kind of fat,
never thought I was a natural, a star,
I just didnâ€™t â€śgetâ€ť the others. But you,
you donâ€™t want to hear that part, you just want me to keep having sex
among the politics.
Fuck you: all I want to write about is
New York School is because
you have to name things in New York.
Otherwise, too much exists
Ana BoĂ…ÂľiĂ„ÂŤeviĂ„â€ˇ was born in Zagreb, Croatia in 1977. She emigrated to NYC in 1997. Her first book of poems is Stars of the Night Commute (Tarpaulin Sky Press, November 2009), a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Her fifth chapbook, Depth Hoar, will be published by Cinematheque Press in 2010. With Amy King, Ana co-curates The Stain of Poetry reading series in Brooklyn. She works at the Center for the Humanities of The Graduate Center, CUNY.
You may contact the editor at firstname.lastname@example.org.