By Janet Foxman
Although Disposable Camera is Janet Foxman’s first book-length assortment, one wouldn't comprehend it given the wry sophistication of the poems came across inside. The inspiration of the disposable digicam permeates the complete booklet, the place Foxman considers the instabilities in even our inner most attachments. right here gulfs extend, for example, among twins, among the musician and his software, among the recluse and his inconsolable solitude. no matter if a hermit; a dual; a filmgoer totally involved in Triumph of the Will; or Masaccio, simply after he’s painted the Expulsion—the poems’ audio system percentage a nagging nervousness that delight won't exist outdoors the trouble to visualize it, and that efforts at artwork and making, even if obligatory to their executor, are most likely regrettable from the beginning. A officially creative and bold booklet, and one who screens a sophistication well past the poet’s years, Disposable digicam will be a necessary addition to American poetry.
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Encore (in the event of a standing ovation) Twin 1: I am. Twin 2: I am. 13 Pairs of twins were asked if they had engaged in the following activities frequently, occasionally, or not at all during the past year: Went ice skating. Took cough syrup. Cared for tropical or goldfish. Shot a gun. Took a sleeping pill. Sang in a church choir. Attended a burlesque show. Went square dancing. Cared for a potted plant. Took tranquillizing pills. Read the Bible. Danced the Twist. Participated in a drag race.
No longer do they look capable of kicking up cumbrous puffy skirts. 34 Last Act: The Creation A man in a cloth diaper crosses the stage to tell the setting. Out again comes the famous mime. All that illegible gesticulating— what is he, God? No. Only a man in a white unitard waving his hands through puffs of dry ice—a dead art. 35 Three Rex Three times a day the woman next door is pulled across our living room window by her dog, whose life is tripartite: Piss against a bush. Crap between tall grass.
And craved to pin you down. And craved for you to pin me down. It was getting dark. The happy wrestlers got up and left. In the lighted windows of the wholesale shops, Stuffed animals bearing hearts, and music boxes, And other tokens of love that can be had there only by the dozen. 45 I thought of the twelve chenille birds I bought for you. How you wrapped the claws Of the two you spared around the lamp at your bed. 46 Dinner à Deux On his bedroom floor I ate Falafel from the bowl He held between us And from his hand My portion of a bird’s nest And a date mamool Then from the takeout bag That seemed to intuit My gratitude With its rows of thank yous He took a napkin And there transliterated My name into His native language And mercifully didn’t wipe His mouth with it 47 Lines for a Love Poem A hand working a rag against The window from outside A hand working a rag against The window from inside Each had had enough of seeing The world through dirt 48 New Life 1 Under the oaks, raccoons gorge on apricots.