Recent Google Searches to my Blog--
"kidnapped by Tess Gallagher" -- geez, I hope that's the name of a poem and this isn't a news item I missed.
"stinker the poodle" - people looking for the Dan Savage essay he read at the Paramount on This American Life, which was hilarious and ultimately "Stinker" wandered on stage. No, I don't have the full text.
"metaphoric stillbirth" -- no idea.
"what will people think of me?" of course, this was Google UK
"roar bongs" -- nice. have I even used the term "bong" on this site or "roar?"
"couplet firefighters" - again, I hope they are looking for a poem.
"poets like Linda Bierds" - Ah, two meanings here-- Poets like LB (poetry fans) or poets who are actually like LB (wannabes maybe?)
"stinker the poodle" - people looking for the Dan Savage essay he read at the Paramount on This American Life, which was hilarious and ultimately "Stinker" wandered on stage. No, I don't have the full text.
"metaphoric stillbirth" -- no idea.
"what will people think of me?" of course, this was Google UK
"roar bongs" -- nice. have I even used the term "bong" on this site or "roar?"
"couplet firefighters" - again, I hope they are looking for a poem.
"poets like Linda Bierds" - Ah, two meanings here-- Poets like LB (poetry fans) or poets who are actually like LB (wannabes maybe?)
Kidnapped is my favorite Gallagher poem.
ReplyDeleteDo you know what collection it's from? I'd like to read it.
ReplyDeleteIt's from Instructions to the Double, but it is also in Amplitude: New and Selected Poems (this is the book I have).
ReplyDeleteKidnaper
--Tess Gallagher
He motions me over with a question.
He is lost. I believe him. It seems
he calls my name. I move
closer. He says it again, the name
of someone he loves. I step back pretending
not to hear. I suspect
the street he wants
does not exist, but I am glad to point
away from myself. While he turns
I slip off my wristwatch, already laying a trail
for those who must find me
tumbled like an abandoned car
into the ravine. I lie
without breath for days among ferns.
Pine needles drift
onto my face and breasts
like tiny hands
of watches. Cars pass.
I imagine it’s him
coming back. My death
is not needed. The sun climbs again
for everyone. He lifts me
like a bride
and the leaves fall from my shoulders
in twenty-dollar bills.
“You must have been cold” he says
covering me with his handkerchief.
“You must have given me up.”
V--
ReplyDeleteTHANK YOU!
K