Absolute Flux
after Wendy Xu
The first time I read Middlemarch
sitting at the counter in a little backwater café—
my sidekick neither friend nor foe
but a classmate since kindergarten
a blush of orange rouge on his cheekbones
the hint of a shadow on his upper lip
It felt OK to observe the tweezed brows
carefully drawn with dusky gray pencil
delicate upper lids dusty lavender to mauve
he would be the one to have me read that book
in fact he insisted the same way he demanded
I call him Leonora instead of Buddy and not tell anyone
about the pin curls hidden under his knit cap.
In these parts it’s insane to ignore what’s right before our eyes
to remorselessly disregard lark song in a meadow
—it’s still there—spinning a thread of honeyed air—
Where was I going with this? Was Leonora’s
relationship to other people any different?
Was ours intentional—without obfuscation—a riot
of morning glories clinging to a chicken wire fence
there beside the edge of my vision
if I ever have the chance to get up close again? But form
won’t allow it—mist fogs my train of thought—
I can still see the tattoo on Leonora’s collarbone—
blood dripping from the razor’s edge.
_____________
Dale Champlin
Review by Dave Mehler
One thing I appreciate about this poem and the others of Dale’s set in this issue that are ‘after’ someone else’s work is how brilliantly she not only interacts with the piece she’s imitating through subtle little references in phrasing or narrative arc, but also how thoroughly she makes it her own. In this way she uses the other poet’s poem as her basis or model of inspiration to then go her own way with a new poem of her own. If you have time it might be worth it to you to look up the other pieces of hers that use this strategy. You might try it yourself. It’s a fertile field but as difficult as to pull off successfully as ekphrastic poems (one based on visual art rather than language). The trick is to not merely imitate or describe the other work, but to extend, elaborate and converse with another artist, or their art. It’s fascinating to note the similarities and differences with the original.
Take a look at this original by Wendy Xu here, and have fun comparing:
Absolute Variations
By Wendy Xu
The first time I read a line by John Ashbery
was in a little café in Massachusetts, from left to right
There it was written across my friend’s collarbone
It felt right to be there with someone
who would show me something like that
when we had never met before
In this country it feels insane to accept our facts
To idly and without remorse on a Tuesday remember
the meadow—if it’s still there—trumpeting its tendrils—
I wonder if that was a moral place—
if the meadow has only relationship to other objects—
without intention—without obfuscation from belief—the clot of orange
there along the innermost edge of vision—are tulips—
if I ever have the chance to get up close again—form is not all
there is—I wouldn’t allow it—thought bubbles fogging
up my screen—I remember my friend had a sort of ecstatic experience of pity there—
he had recently lost his belief
that he was doing the right thing—half frozen out of himself
with worry—evergreen in friendship—we watched the dogs
go round the loop—their tails like wheat—
they ran and bobbed in time—
nobody including myself could feed my friend
the correct answers—nor descend all the way there and back—
through reddish hell—just for him—
Source: Poetry (November 2023)