By Rae Armantrout
What do "self" and "it" have in universal? In Rae Armantrout's new poems, there is not any inert substance. Self and it (word and particle) are ritual and rigmarole, song-and-dance and lengthy distance name into no matter what darkish topic may possibly exist. How may possibly a self now not be egocentric? Armantrout accesses the strangeness of daily incidence with wit, sensuality, and a watch alert to underlying trauma, as within the poem "Price Points" the place a guy conducts an imaginary orchestra yet "gets no issues for originality." of their investigations of the cosmically mundane, Armantrout's poems use a unprecedented microscopic lens—even while she's glancing backwards from the outer reaches of area.
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What do "self" and "it" have in universal? In Rae Armantrout's new poems, there isn't any inert substance. Self and it (word and particle) are ritual and rigmarole, song-and-dance and lengthy distance name into no matter what darkish topic may perhaps exist. How may well a self now not be egocentric? Armantrout accesses the strangeness of daily prevalence with wit, sensuality, and an eye fixed alert to underlying trauma, as within the poem "Price Points" the place a guy conducts an imaginary orchestra yet "gets no issues for originality.
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Example text
Like sigh of love the bosom raising, The domes, against the waters’ blue, Trace the pure contour of the phrasing, Swelling full, as round breasts will do. I land as my skiff touches ground By a façade of pink; and there, A pillar chaining it around, Next to a rising marble stair... Gondolas, palaces, her nights Of seaborne revels, sweet chagrin... Venice, with all her wild delights, Sings us that song and lives therein. A pizzicato plucked upon A fragile string... ∞Ω 32 Emaux et Camées, 1852–1872 III Carnaval Venise pour le bal s’habille.
10 Emaux et Camées, 1852–1872 LE POEME DE LA FEMME Marbre de Paros Un jour, au doux rêveur qui l’aime, En train de montrer ses trésors, Elle voulut lire un poème, Le poème de son beau corps. D’abord, superbe et triomphante Elle vint en grand apparat, Traînant avec des airs d’infante Un flot de velours nacarat : Telle qu’au rebord de sa loge Elle brille aux Italiens Ecoutant passer son éloge Dans les chants des musiciens. Ensuite, en sa verve d’artiste, Laissant tomber l’épais velours, Dans un nuage de batiste Elle ébaucha ses fiers contours.
Against the melody chromatic, Venus, her breast with droplets pearled, Rises up from the Adriatic, Her body pink and white unfurled. Like sigh of love the bosom raising, The domes, against the waters’ blue, Trace the pure contour of the phrasing, Swelling full, as round breasts will do. I land as my skiff touches ground By a façade of pink; and there, A pillar chaining it around, Next to a rising marble stair... Gondolas, palaces, her nights Of seaborne revels, sweet chagrin... Venice, with all her wild delights, Sings us that song and lives therein.