Such a beautiful poem...I say that, because I got lost into your words...your words were vibrant and alive in such truth that was painted so immaculately.
I've never read Weldon Kees, but you poem makes me want to. I loved what you have done here. Its got a fresh, modern feel to it. The ending was fantastic:
I am your daughter, an inconsistent,
mess, diseased, liable to resistance
Ya know, I remember just enough of Weldon Kees, from "Kaleidoscope" poetry anthology, I believe. Now I'll be wondering where the book is. Anyway, your verse reads as eloquence from one named Weldon Kees -- even if it was a different Weldon Kees. ;-) Chalk it up to the old-school name.
"I am your daughter, an inconsistent,/mess, diseased, liable to resistance." And what a droll confessional ending!
I've emulated more prose-poets and songwriter-poets than verse poets along the way. Bradbury, Durrell, Nin, Paz, Dylan, L Cohen, D Barthelme. Always intriguing to hear or get inside another artist's voice, or have it be a spontaneous tribute in a more montaged process.
Remnants, indeed, all that remains, and is collage-recycled yet again. . .
Your poem shows a supple sure hand, the way it summons a known poet's voice, yet proceeds on its own idiosyncratic course re remnants to a kind of Dickinson-feeling conclusion.
This poem resounds like a slow-fading memory in the reader's mind's-eye and ear long after reading.
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