After the Fall: Poems Old and New by Edward Field

By Edward Field

Box is without doubt one of the first American poets to put in writing proudly and obviously approximately city homosexual life.This new-and-selected (Field's sixteenth ebook of verse total) exhibits that his virtues—and limits—have remained constant all through. At his most sensible box is direct, likable, modest, fascinating, a storyteller : he writes purposefully and at once of bathhouse existence within the Nineteen Seventies, Jewish-American historical past, heart jap travels in an international the place, in contrast to ours, males like one another; and allegorically of the Pacific octopus, who wishes love,/ who's a multitude if you happen to meet,/ yet who can open up like a flower with petal fingers. At lower than his top, Field's unadorned type could make him sound predictable: his poems are just as attention-grabbing as their tales and concepts. these days there's not anything radical left, in no way/ within the Village, he complains in a poem from the Nineteen Nineties. a up to date 9-11 poem items to a gang of psychopaths taking up the govt. Irreplaceable within the background of homosexual American writing, box helped invent many of the attitudes and the subgenres which are now in universal use. If lots of Field's personal poems now look flat and dated, adequate nonetheless look clean to provide critical energy to this publication.

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It was too hot or something. he spit it out on the rug, some of it on my shoes and pants. “Sir,” I asked, “that first novel, did you really eat your own flesh as a young writer? were you that hungry? ” he called. ” 41 the old woman came in. ” the old woman ran out for the lemon and sugar. “the government claims I owe them 70,000 dollars! they don’t bother Krause. the son-ofa-bitch rides around in a Cadillac and owns a twelve acre estate. don’t ever trust Krause. he’s a bloodsucker. he’s sucked the bodies and talents of at least 3 dozen writers dry.

I told her. “uh? whatzat? what? ” “what? waz? ” the dwarf unloaded on another guy and everybody laughed, even I laughed. that dwarf could punch. he had a lot of practice. he danced to the bar doing a little soft shoe then he noticed a sailor very blond and young and scared. the kid pissed in his pants and smiled at the dwarf. the dwarf chopped him a good one; his next smile was a bit bloody. then the dwarf put another on his chin knocking the sailor over backward in his chair, out cold. o.! all hail the champion!

I stand under a small electric light and send messages to a dead Garcia, and I am old enough to die (I have always been old enough to die) as I stand before this wooden maze and feed its voiceless hunger; this is my job, my rent, my whore, my shoes, the leeching of the color from my eyes; master, damn you, you’ve found me, my mouth puckered, my hands shriveled against my red-spotted sunless chest; the street is so hard, at least give me the rest I have paid a life for, and when the Hawk comes I will meet him halfway, we will embrace where the wallpaper is torn where the rain came in.

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