By David McGimpsey
When you tore off the tops of canola —
yellow canola flowers —
would you leap in a bathtub of canola margarine
just to make the simplest of despair?
Implored by means of involved readers to be 'classy' and 'real' for as soon as, David McGimpsey has composed a series of canonical note-books on all issues 'poetic' and 'poetical. ' Birds! vegetation! heritage! unhappy leaders! The note 'aubade'! They're all the following, in a serial, country Fair–bound number of lyrics set within the working-class belvedere of Asbestos Heights.
Among the fresh lemon-lime sodas of the area and the rousing lyrics to 'Bootylicious,' Asbestos Heights amps up McGimpsey's trademark sideswiping of formal rhetoric and prosody with pop savoir faire to find his boldest assortment. think Petrarch in a Tweet struggle approximately the place to shop for an outstanding pair of father denims. think Yeats yet with much fewer swans. think a poet who used to be advised in the past that not anything strong ever comes out of a spot like Asbestos Heights.
'David McGimpsey is unfuckwithable, poetry-wise, and I'll stand on John Ashbery's espresso desk in my cowboy boots and say that. '
— Michael Robbins
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Extra resources for Asbestos Heights
Example text
J ( ,;LL ": � �1 . 26 When In our breast, We had observed the wounds of this land, A lot of trust was put in the Curers, A lot of prescriptions were also at hand. It felt as if in a day or two, All the ailments would disappear, And, then, all the wounds should heal. It didn't happen so: The sicknesses we had were so old, The Curers failed to make the diagnosis; Thus, all their efforts went in vain. Now Try to analyse as much you like, And blame as much you feel, The breast is the same, as is the wound; Tell us what is to be done, How can we, now, heal the wound.
In the lake floated a bubble's leaf; Held a while, and then it burst - so softly. So softly, lightly, the pale coloured wine, It was filled in my goblet - so gently. The glass, the carafe, The roses formed by your hands: As if a distant shadow, in some dream, It arose and then faded - so gently. The heart recalled a promise - so tenderly. You said: " Tenderly". The Moon bowed and murmttred: "Still more tenderly": ( 20) ( Duste Ten Sung ) . r I �1, �AJIL-hfJ. v'L(�� Jf/J!. ;J;_,(; . ::-A'. J v..
J ( ,;LL ": � �1 . 26 When In our breast, We had observed the wounds of this land, A lot of trust was put in the Curers, A lot of prescriptions were also at hand. It felt as if in a day or two, All the ailments would disappear, And, then, all the wounds should heal. It didn't happen so: The sicknesses we had were so old, The Curers failed to make the diagnosis; Thus, all their efforts went in vain. Now Try to analyse as much you like, And blame as much you feel, The breast is the same, as is the wound; Tell us what is to be done, How can we, now, heal the wound.