All Just by David Herd

By David Herd

The poems during this assortment are made out of the fractured words and competing idioms of up to date move and the interpretation among private and non-private spaces—conversations that commence and are damaged off; public bulletins intervening in inner most occasions; an emergency that's approximately to spread within the heritage. Taking bearings from Dover and London and wrestling with topics of elegy and protest, legitimate constructions that make certain the place humans can cross, and the futures that move them, the poems discover the social areas within which humans circulate. The booklet asks what it skill to be at huge on this planet and what language is on the market to record the adventure.

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Example text

It’s almost night and starting to get light! The planet, too, adrift in an infinite blizzard of stars— Where most of us are sick and starving in the pitching dark, and the partying masters up above don’t know where we are either. We love one another. We don’t really know anyone well, but we love one another    Lighting a candle for my father I am also my father lighting a candle for his in the past, where he is also his father lighting one for me     And I’ve lost my fear of death here, what death?

I believe one day the distance between myself and God will disappear.       On Broadway blonde high-heeled skinny kindersluts smoking and giggling in terror The dark side of the knife And the way certain places on earth amount to forgetting the future, and heaven’s prefiguration— Then the I died (for laughter and beauty)   The beating of her neighbor’s heart upstairs keeps her awake all night We don’t learn she thinks we remember If we’re lucky Now she is going to put on some nice cut-your-wrists music “Most of the poetry I read makes me feel like I’m already dead” And look everything is turning into something else (and that is true) Risperdal whisperdoll all alone in the dark garden blowing out a dandelion    First the telephone went, then the electricity.

Though didn’t Christ tell us, “In my father’s house there are many rooms . ” And I would tell you what it’s like, real fear. And how there are human beings for whom the sun is never going to shine is never going to rise again, ever, not really— not the real sun. They’re not exactly waking up in radiant awareness and celebration of their own presence these days, who’d get rid of themselves with no more thought  (if it were possible) than you would give to taking off a glove. How in deep sleep sometimes even we get well.

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