[Stylist] poem I read and had to share

[Ann Chiappetta]

Hey Chris and all-

Examining poetry, for me, is like being a detective of literature and a
talent for understanding the human condition. I also find intuition is part
of it, too. I take notes of the words chosen, the symbolism, inferences and
rhythm, even non-rhyming poems follow some kind of pattern. 

I am thinking, wondering, is the author the fly or is  the fly their lover
or is the poet pointing out  that both of them  can be the fly?

This is why I love this poem.

 

The last stanza reminds me of  collapsing in wet grass, ankles wet from
pushing through it and then  leaving yourself open to the earth, the sky and
the  bugs.  This  could be how the  poet views their relationship,   leaving
themselves exposed and losing  themselves a little bit at a time.

 

Each line and words counts towards the conclusion and each stanza flows and
links to the next one.  I think my favorite line is: I pull my lover open
like a zipper,

I drag a trowel through them,

I lick the paint off my own stick,

 

So there you go. 

  

There Is a Black Fly in Your Chardonnay

Rindon Johnson

 

Outside, I have never been lonesome,

Always a fence, a plank, an eyebrow in the ocean,

A baby received in a house, anything tall is a tree.

The sky rearranges itself in the desert;

The sky rearranges itself in the water;

The sky rearranges itself while I am in the sky.

How lucky I thought I was to see the street lights turn on,

Clouds like rows of planting, mistakes we make and agree to continue,

A view of the river, my rock in the glade,

Bigger, relatively, and still, until,

I pull my lover open like a zipper,

I drag a trowel through them,

I lick the paint off my own stick,

I have a cold back and wet ankles.

Later, a slow moon laboring over the hillside;

Later, the fog reflects the moon;Later, my blood is sucked and I itch.

Will we will we ever find home? 

The car calls us in the distance,

To walk the stairs, to take off my shoes, to stand 

Wringing hands, scratching grass blades on toenails. 

You are starting to see things we could never see before like:

You have been born,

Or how I waited a whole year for September,

A piece of fruit,

A source of fire,

An edge, an excuse on a small scrap of paper,

The woods in my mouth.

It is so hot today like yesterday and the day before.

 

Copyright C 2022 by Rindon Johnson. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on
June 10, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.

 

Rindon Johnson

Rindon Johnson is the author of The Law of Large Numbers: Black Sonic Abyss
(Chisenhale, Inpatient, SculptureCenter, 2021), among other titles. He was
born on the unceded territories of the Ohlone people and currently lives in
Berlin.

 

Ann M. Chiappetta, M.S.

Making Meaningful ConnectionsThrough Media 

914.393.6605 USA

Anniecms64 at gmail.com <mailto:Anniecms64 at gmail.com> 

All things Annie: www.annchiappetta.com <http://www.annchiappetta.com>  

 

 

 

 

Ann M. Chiappetta, M.S.

Making Meaningful ConnectionsThrough Media 

914.393.6605 USA

 <mailto:Anniecms64 at gmail.com> Anniecms64 at gmail.com

All things Annie:  <http://www.annchiappetta.com> www.annchiappetta.com 

 

From: Stylist <stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org> On Behalf Of Chris Kuell via
Stylist
Sent: Monday, June 13, 2022 1:23 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List' <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Cc: ckuell at comcast.net
Subject: Re: [Stylist] poem I read and had to share

 

Hey Annie,

 

I've read this poem a few times now, and if I'm being perfectly honest-I
don't get a whole lot out of it. I like the title-a reference to a line in
an Alanis Morriset song-and the poem has a nice lyrical nature. Some of the
imagery is quite beautiful. but as a  whole, I have no real idea what the
poet is trying to convey.

 

Would you share your thoughts on it? Other opinions?

 

Chris

 

-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://nfbnet.org/pipermail/stylist_nfbnet.org/attachments/20220613/b3bbc9c1/attachment.html>