In Search of a Voice

This chapbook of some of the poet's earliest confensional work was originally published by the Plowman Press in 1989. The poems were mostly written at the University of Southern California and in the years following, although some date back to classes at New York University.Three sample poems follow:The TransferI dreamt you had leftand were laughing at mefor still standing alonein a place reserved for two,but I wokeand kissed your faceand you rose with meto celebrateagain, but you...
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This chapbook of some of the poet's earliest confensional work was originally published by the Plowman Press in 1989. The poems were mostly written at the University of Southern California and in the years following, although some date back to classes at New York University.Three sample poems follow:The TransferI dreamt you had leftand were laughing at mefor still standing alonein a place reserved for two,but I wokeand kissed your faceand you rose with meto celebrateagain, but you couldn'tor I couldn't,and then we were on the roadwith your plane and your new schoolas your morningand my house and my jobas mine, but you smelledthe same as you didin Georgetown, still had troubleadjusting my car seat,I held your secrets for you,a promise, maybealways,and I wish I had knownthat that was the last timeI would kiss you,hold you while you held me.I came to visit. You peckedme on the cheek hello,like my mother's aunt,then called to someone offstage,and I faced the audience alone.Watching the Jersey Central Locomotive Shunt Cars, February 14, 1977 for my fatherShe stumbles over railin ice slung air,a tilted shadow of LadyLiberty chipped in her caband the spiked sun glazedon her hood.With a feckless loadof rock hoppers, she knucklesthe mud and burblesher aged diesel downthe platform track.Rancid, rusted, near rot,she takes the BoundBrook Bridge and quiversthe morningas ten a.m. callsfrom the Presbyterian church bell.My Lunch with GodWe'd had a date for lunch,one o'clock this afternoon,a back table at Morton's,but God never came.I'd had his word,he wouldn't stand me up again.I even ordered his favorite, sacrificedcalf and chicken fat for him.But once more, as I guessedit would be, God broke his promise,claimed he'd gotten tied up,and apologized for the remiss.This is Hollywood,I should understand,phone calls left unreturned,another crisis on the set,but why lead your childreninto the valley of deathwhen you know you're too busyto lead them out of it?