this one. fuck this poem.

i wanted to share this not to come off as corrective but because i actually think it really adds to the text to know that not only is it not from a poem, but that there’s a fuller version of this quote that is just as good. and it’s actually really good advice on how to a write emotion without becoming sentimental. james hall, the interviewer, is himself a poet worth looking into if you’re unfamiliar.

James Hall: I love that you risk sentimentality in the poems. Can you talk about how you construct a poem’s emotion without letting that emotion subsume the poem? What tools are available to a poet to mitigate emotion successfully?

Richard Siken: I didn’t see it as risking anything, and I suppose the tool for mitigating emotion is undercutting, but I’ll try to answer the question sideways: Even if you don’t believe in God, you have to believe in narrative. Things happen, one after another, world without end. Just because you’re self-aware doesn’t mean you can change what’s happening. Eventually someone is going to break your heart. Eventually something you love is going to be taken away. And then you will fall to the floor crying. And then, however much later, it is finally happening to you: you’re falling to the floor crying thinking “I am falling to the floor crying” but there’s an element of the ridiculous to it—you knew it would happen and, even worse, while you’re on the floor crying you look at the place where the wall meets the floor and you realize you didn’t paint it very well and when you’re having sex with your next lover on this very floor they will also notice that you didn’t paint it very well and they will think less of you for it. And then you think “Is that sentence too long?” And then you have to hold the  contradictions of sobbing uncontrollably and wondering about grammar in your head at the same time. I think if you are true to the entire experience, not just the sad part, you don’t risk sentimentality because you’re not overloading the experience with fake, melodramatic feeling. I also hear that whispering helps.

here’s to everyone who looked for this in crush and was confused because it isn’t there. the original interview is kind of hard to source nowadays because of how often it’s misattributed: https://web.archive.org/web/20060501211545/http://www.gulfcoastmag.org/GCIssues/gc18.1%20folder/18.1%20Samples/18.1IntSiken(Hall).html

Тополя (Poplar Tree) | 1996 | Valentina Kostyleva | Ukraine

Based on the poem by Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko. A young girl falls in love with a Cossack who goes off to war. She waits faithfully for his return, but as time passes, he does not come back. Heartbroken and despairing, she fears he has died or forgotten her. The villagers pressure her to marry someone else, but she refuses.

In her sorrow, she seeks help from a traditional Ukrainian village witch/folk healer, begging for a way to preserve her love and avoid an unwanted marriage. The witch casts a spell that turns the girl into a poplar — tall, slender, and always reaching toward the distance, as if still looking for her beloved.

Wait are we called mammals after mammary glands? Are mammals named after tits???

ARE WE THE BOOBS CLASS?

OH

We are. And we also named our galaxy after boob juice. Twice.

"milky way" is obviously milk, but the hidden part is that "galaxy" comes from the Greek γάλα (gála), meaning "milk".

It's the tit-goo path tit-goo-thing. We are very, very breast focused as a species.

Eukaryote (good-kernels) as opposed to prokaryotes(before-kernels). We are the Domain of Fortunate Cellular Nuclei.

Animalia (of the anima.) we are in the Kingdom of the Breathing, or the Air-Souled.

Of the Phylum (tribe or clan) Chordata (having a string). We are the Clan of the String, referencing the spinal cord.

Class Mammalia, of course. the division of the titties.

Order Primate, which is a bit stuck-up, but I suppose the people doing the naming get to pick. Primate is of course primary, or First/Highest. Interestingly, this is in the sense of it being a job; a primate is a bishop of Christianity. This is reflected in the medieval Scala Naturae, where “primate” is an office held by the “natural” or divinely appointed top being in each tier of existence. Seraphim are the primate angels; humans are the primate people; lions are the primate animals; oak trees are the primate plants; and diamonds are the primate minerals. Translating the intent here, we are the Order of Ordained Authority, which we share with other natural bosses such as lemurs.

Depending how you want to do this, we are also suborder Haplorhini, the dry-nosed. This is separated from wet-nosed apes.

After this we land in the repetition of Homina-homina-homina-homina where there are several classes that drill down ever further, all of them rooted in “hominid.” Everyone knows homo is “man, human” but the root of why it’s “man” is because it is first “earth”. Human means “earthling”, and is rooted in “not-divine.” We are the family, subfamily, tribe and genus of earthlings.

By the time you get to species we are very lonely indeed, with only one species in our genus. This is actually a terrifically lonely place, and in this we are “sapiens.” This doesn’t mean just “wise” but “being wise,” which is more of a duty than a descriptor.

When you put it in context: Domain of Fortunate Nuclei, Kingdom of the Air-Souled, Clan of the String, Class of Milky Boobs, Order of the Bosses, Family of Earthlings, Tribe of Earthlings, People of Earth, Earthlings, Thinking Earthlings.

The point of taxonomy does seem to be making oneself a box that excludes all others in order to feel properly lonely and alone in it; one’s place in the world defined until one is alone. however, zooming out a bit, it does make for some stirring company.

Magnolias are so ancient plants that almost every other plant and insect who came to being around the same time as them has gone extinct by now. They are the loneliest plants in this world. Does anybody understand how much grief it gives me that the symbolic flower of Kuras is magnolia.

may i please direct your attention to the poem dinosaurs smelled magnolias by dalton day!!!!!

WHAT is that one poem (?), abt a modern worker contemplating the numerous forgotten who were actually responsible for all the ‘great’ deeds of history

found it!!

So I just went through three notebooks to find this, because I knew it was there.

I was at the ROM, about six years ago, at a special exhibit on Babylon. And there was a brick, formerly part of a palace. And Nebuchadnezzar, the one who built the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, had had his name in cuneiform stamped on every single brick, to emphasize that he had built it.

And on this one, a workman had carved his own name, Zabina’, into the block too, in Aramaic. Here’s the brick. It’s 2600 years old.

How wondrous, this wall stone,

Shattered by fate.

Castles are smashed,

The work of giants, crumbled.

Ruined are the roofs,

Tumbled the towers.

Broken the barred gates.

Frost in the plaster,

Ceilings a-gaping.

Torn away, fallen,

Eaten by age.

A longer version, side-by-side with the original text: