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This blog ran for more than two years with no graphics--and it received about 50 page views. I was advised to add graphics; after seeing the huge public that followed blogs dedicated to homoerotic images, I decided to use that kind. The result was a dramatically increased number of monthly page views, and the number has remained fairly steady. Most of the images were found on the internet; although they are assumed to be in the public domain, they are identified as far as possible. They are exhibited under the Fair Use protections of United States copyright law: their function is simply to attract readers to the poems--I receive no economic benefit from them or from the blog. Nevertheless, they will be removed if they are copyrighted and the owner so desires. 1260 x 290

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Thursday, May 26, 2016

A SORT OF CONSOLATION

Slim and smooth as a teen-age boy,
With hands and lips willful and deft,
He led me around like a toy
Duck on a string . . . until he left,
Taking a great piece of my heart
A double defection and theft.
So I was left with my   art.




























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3 comments:

Gilbert said...

Far and few of us was lucky in life to have experience this. Thank you. Well said.

Pier Roberto Giannelli said...

Another way in which the poem acts out its discourse is the fact that when "he" is removed from "heart," what is left is "art."

Pier Roberto Giannelli said...

This is an example of what I consider the purest and most intense kind of poem. The discourse, the statements, are acted out by the poem itself. On the level of statement, the poem briefly narrates a loss, and that loss is manifest in the form of the poem—the “defection and theft” are realized in the form itself, in the following manner: The poem leads one to expect an octave or double quatrain of eight-syllable verses. But it consists of only seven lines (It is defective—the eighth line is missing, has been taken away), and the seventh line has only seven syllables: "So I was left with my art.” (The missing eighth line might be something like ”Of everything else bereft.”)
Another example of this level of poem is “To a Young Lover,” found elsewhere in this blog/anthology. There, the word “now” mutates from a simple temporal adverb to an urgent incitement to sexual intercourse, while performing mutations of two of John Keats’s most nearly perfect poems.

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