I have a similar problem. Not identical, because I do read a lot of poetry, but very little of it has to do with angels. But part of the brilliance of this community is that it exposes me to poets from all over the place! Which, in the way of poets and reading poetry and talking about poetry, will probably lead me to more poets. And so and and so forth, which eventually results in me swimming in poetry and maybe even having something to contribute of my own. So you see, WIN - WIN.
It starts with bloodshed, always bloodshed, always the same running from something larger than yourself story, shoving money into the jaws of a suitcase, cutting your hair with a steak knife at a rest stop, and you're off, you're on the run, a fugitive driving away from something shameful and half-remembered. They're hurling their bodies down the freeway to the smell of gasoline, which is the sound of a voice saying I told you so. Yes you did, dear. Every story has its chapter in the desert, the long slide from kingdom to kingdom through the wilderness, where you learn things, where you're left to your own devices. Sam's driving, and Dean's* bleeding shotgun into the upholstery. It's a road movie, a double-feature, two boys striking out across America, while desire, like a monster, crawls up out of the lake with all of us watching, with all of us wondering if these two boys will find a way to figure it out. Here is the black box, the shut eye, the bullet pearling in his living skin. This boy, half-destroyed, screaming Drive into that tree, drive off the embankment. Sam*, make something happen. But angels are pouring out of the farmland, angels are swarming over the grassland, Angels rising from their little dens, arms swinging, wings aflutter, dropping their white-hot bombs of love. We are not dirty, he keeps saying. We are not dirty... They want you to love the whole damn world but you won't, you want it all narrowed down to one fleshy man in the bath, who knows what to do with his body, with his hands. It should follow, you know this, like the panels of a comic strip, we should be belted in, but you still can't get beyond your skin, and they're trying to drive you into the ground, to see if anything walks away.
So - as I said on the original thread, which I urge you to check out because the other poem is probably my favorite Siken work ever - I don't even ship it, but doesn't this scream Sam/Dean?
*The original names are Theodore and Henry, in that order, but I adapted them to make a point.
Somehow I get the feeling Siken wrote about Sam and Dean originally and he was the one who changed the names.
Also, is it just me or could this easily be told from a fallen/desperate Castiel's point of view? I mean, it could be just about Sam/Dean but the end from "They want you to love the whole damn world but you won't," to "who knows what to do with his body, with his hands." seems to be something the "I did all of it for you"-Castiel would think. I love "we are not dirty, he keeps saying. We are not dirty..." by the way. Sounds a lot like Dean to me.
Ugh, I fear I'm interpreting far too much already, but honestly, I need to check out more of his work, both poems are gorgeous!
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branchandroot
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Date: 2010-03-29 10:48 am (UTC)I just wish I'd read more English poetry (which isn't children's rhymes) so I could post some... :(
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Date: 2010-03-30 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-30 05:14 pm (UTC)Only good!
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Date: 2010-03-30 07:16 pm (UTC)*And yes, I know. Stretching it.
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Date: 2010-03-30 08:31 pm (UTC)*cough* got a bit carried away *cough*
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Date: 2010-03-30 10:59 pm (UTC)Driving, Not Washing
Richard Siken
It starts with bloodshed, always bloodshed, always the same
running from something larger than yourself story,
shoving money into the jaws of a suitcase, cutting your hair
with a steak knife at a rest stop,
and you're off, you're on the run, a fugitive driving away from
something shameful and half-remembered.
They're hurling their bodies down the freeway
to the smell of gasoline,
which is the sound of a voice saying I told you so.
Yes you did, dear.
Every story has its chapter in the desert, the long slide from kingdom
to kingdom through the wilderness,
where you learn things, where you're left to your own devices.
Sam's driving,
and Dean's* bleeding shotgun into the upholstery.
It's a road movie,
a double-feature, two boys striking out across America, while desire,
like a monster, crawls up out of the lake
with all of us watching, with all of us wondering if these two boys will
find a way to figure it out.
Here is the black box, the shut eye,
the bullet pearling in his living skin. This boy, half-destroyed,
screaming Drive into that tree, drive off the embankment.
Sam*, make something happen.
But angels are pouring out of the farmland, angels are swarming
over the grassland,
Angels rising from their little dens, arms swinging, wings aflutter,
dropping their white-hot bombs of love.
We are not dirty, he keeps saying. We are not dirty...
They want you to love the whole damn world but you won't,
you want it all narrowed down to one fleshy man in the bath,
who knows what to do with his body, with his hands.
It should follow,
you know this, like the panels of a comic strip,
we should be belted in, but you still can't get beyond your skin,
and they're trying to drive you into the ground, to see if anything
walks away.
So - as I said on the original thread, which I urge you to check out because the other poem is probably my favorite Siken work ever - I don't even ship it, but doesn't this scream Sam/Dean?
*The original names are Theodore and Henry, in that order, but I adapted them to make a point.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-31 09:14 am (UTC)Also, is it just me or could this easily be told from a fallen/desperate Castiel's point of view? I mean, it could be just about Sam/Dean but the end from "They want you to love the whole damn world but you won't," to "who knows what to do with his body, with his hands." seems to be something the "I did all of it for you"-Castiel would think.
I love "we are not dirty, he keeps saying. We are not dirty..." by the way. Sounds a lot like Dean to me.
Ugh, I fear I'm interpreting far too much already, but honestly, I need to check out more of his work, both poems are gorgeous!