Aggregate of Disturbances (Iowa Poetry Prize) by Michele Glazer

By Michele Glazer

Right here, the writer confronts the slipperiness of language and conception as she probes common procedures - the lives of bugs, the uncertainty of affection and the deaths of people. The poems negotiate among wish for anything irrefutable and an uneasy bedrock of paradox.

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Ballad of the Poverties from per thirty days Review

There’s the poverty of the cockroach state and the rusted bathroom bowl
The poverty of to thieve nutrients for the 1st time
The poverty of to mouth a penis for a paycheck
The poverty of candy charity ladling
Soup for the terrible who should always be there for that
There’s the poverty of thought poverty of the swollen stomach shamed
Poverty of the degree mill the poll that is going nowhere
Princes of predation permit me inform you
There are poverties and there are poverties

There’s the poverty of inexpensive baggage bursted open at immigration
The poverty of the grew to become head, the avoided eyes
The poverty of bored intercourse of tormented sex
The poverty of the bounced fee the poverty of the dumpster dive
The poverty of the pawned horn the poverty of the smashed studying glasses
The poverty pushing the sheeted gurney the poverty cleansing up the puke
The poverty of the pavement artist the poverty passed-out on pavement
Princes of finance you who've no longer lain there
There are poverties and there are poverties

There is the poverty of hand-to-mouth and door-to-door
And the poverty of news patched-up to promote there
There’s the poverty of the kid thumbing the Interstate
And the poverty of the bride enlisting for war
There’s the poverty of prescriptions who can afford
And the poverty of the way might you ever finish it
There is the poverty of stones fisted in pocket
And the poverty of the village bulldozed to rubble
Princes of weaponry who've by no means tasted war
There are poverties and there are poverties
There’s the poverty of wages stressed out for the funeral you
Can’t get to the poverty of the wage cut
There’s the poverty of human exertions provided silently at the curb
The poverty of the no-contact criminal visit
There’s the poverty of backyard sale scrapings unfold
And rejected the poverty of eviction, marriage ceremony mattress out on street
Prince permit me inform you who won't ever examine via phrases
There are poverties and there are poverties

You who go back and forth by means of deepest jet like a housefly
Buzzing with the opposite flies of plundered poverties
Princes and courtiers who won't ever research via words
Here’s a replicate you could inspect: take it: it’s yours.

Extra resources for Aggregate of Disturbances (Iowa Poetry Prize)

Example text

I would instead place the wing down there, dispatch the beloved whole. I hear myself I want I want I want. I am afraid to sleep with you. For the last years of my marriage my breathing disturbed my wife’s sleep. Here is the bird. As apart as I can make it.  Valediction for Claudia And if she can not turn back without turning To stone, to silence, to say Dearly Departed, I am leaving, turn of the mind, the heart’s Rearrangement With the past, still it must be hard To feel that it is not wrong to turn.

After he stopped I stopped. After he paused I asked, he turned.  I asked. After he died. John Is in the Next Room John is in the next room. The dead man I sit beside who keeps the house up until all hours. How late is that is a question. That he is still is to be expected and that he is still John is a surprise. At the edge of his lip I see a puddle of saliva tremble that would fall were he to move. It is too obvious to mention that moving is beyond him. And the thing will slip of its own generative mass with a viscosity that promises it will lengthen as it falls, suture a wet lip to a clean shirt.

Does your life feel different, the way immediately you know  when the tunnel is no longer France, it has become Italy? That darkness isn’t the same and the train rumbles the tracks with a different racket. What I can’t ask you couldn’t tell me. The darkness is the same. Write soon. Forgive me when I use you. Holding his cup of mucous, cells, erratica, pus, what else? Then something-other’s clumsy-handed someone and it spills. M  Conjunctions for J. P. just after, when respiration had quit — she stuck , thrust the vacuum cleaner’s hose head down his throat to suck him out and he could breathe again it didn’t last and he exclaimed do it again, ohhhhh baby!

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