Monthly Archives: January 2007

Monday’s Verse 1-22-07

Hello, readers.

All I know about Michael Blumenthal is that he has a collection of
poetry called “Dusty Angel,” which is funny because the manuscript I’m
working on is tentatively titled “Angel Dusty.” But I joke on purpose
because I was chuckling to myself as I rode the subway reading this
poem Friday night, probably looking like one of those guys who, you
know, chuckles to himself as he rides the subway. Also I’d had a
couple beers, so who know how all this appeared to other passengers.
The point is, Mr. Blumenthal seems to have an appreciation for the
humor of the quotidian, and expresses it with an endearing
familiarity. And the long lines provide some sonic loveliness along
with the literal cruelty. Finally, the last line offers a fun
counterpoint to last week’s reading. Or to the Strokes’ first record.

There’s much more to say on this one, as it is craftily written.
Anyone want to chime in? -ed.


It’s such a relief to see the woman you love walk out of the door some nights
for it’s ten o’clock and you need your eight hours of sleep
and one glass of wine has been more than enough
and, as for lust–well, you can live without it most days
and you are glad, too, the Ukranian masseuse you see every Wednesday
is not in love with you, and has no plans to be, for it is the pain
in your back you need relief from most, not that ambiguous itch,
and the wild successes of your peers no longer bother you
nor do your unresolved religious cravings or the general injustice
of the world, no, there is very little, in fact, that bothers you these days
when you turn first to the obituaries, second to the stock market,
then, after a long pause, to the book review, you are becoming
a good citizen, you do your morning exercises, count
your accumulated small blessings, thank the Lord
that there’s a trolley just outside your door your girlfriend
can take back home to her own bed and here you are
it is morning you are alone every little heartbeat
is yours to cherish the future is on fire with nothing
but its own kindling and whatever is burning in its flames
it isn’t you and now you will take a shower and this is it.