Tag: cigarettes

Wikipedia Poem, No. 118

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

image_4995658736
INTERVIEWER: What was it like to take high tea with William Butler Yeats?

     Cartwright calmingly my        hero  main part 
         was just         recomment it  Finally I   did most of a more 
     though, big heart       was extremely courteous, and I though,
big head, rathead her wonderful looking 
     in particulars 
       I reaping was just a    cold bath, and when 

     lit      it for Yeats, and still don't feel           he was     
just recomment back that surprise 
      he realized the said, “I had the fruits of my chamber." He 
realized that surprise he     was extremely courteous, and still don't 
know 
how much he      day. 

He       was much he aged when 
we went in. Finally      I didn't       know on 
it's    just a cold me down. So I were         drunk early 

    succeeded the      fruits of reached here? 
And he was          just recomment. I asked for 
  Mr.     Yeats, and still don't feel 

he           drunk early succeeded various and asked for 
Mr. Yeats, and my chamber.     He was just the funniest 
       the       day. He said he        was left     over. 

The taller the fruits 
of realized that surprise not asked for 
      Yeats. 
Very kind. At a cold   bath, and 
   we arrived in the sense to me 
he was left over revise not           asked 

   forget in. Finally I didn't know, 
     but in my own. So I       were drunk 
          early succeeded various and 
         
take off        on my own.      So I gave revise he       
was extremely could see though, big heart was just 
    a        cold bath, and I still          don't know       my

Who is Mr. Yeats? Who is Ben Jonson?
Source: Stitt, Peter A. “John Berryman, The Art of Poetry No. 16.” Paris Review. Winter 1972. Web. 3 Dec. 2015.

Notes from a dream, 1215-172013

Joseph M. GeraceLeave a comment

(over my shoulder/from a dream)
12162013

1. “Ashuver Sixlio”

2. “As I failed to shoot the dog”

3. Lot of dreams tonight. I curse myself for not waking to sketch them along the way. But last among them:

On the streets of NYC, with Andrew as sort of assistant, photographing the street. Lots of people. Smiles but also secret shooting of the homeless and glamorous at perfect unobserved rest. Anyway, at some vague point we encounter a group of 8 to 10 girls aged 16 to 22 (I intuitively know/guess) and they start to follow us. Flirting at the same time annoying and gadflying. We welcome the attention, the company, the shared energy, but they are a distraction, clogging the sidewalk as we try to navigate through without too much negative juju coming our psychic way.

Andy and I stop at some point to deal with an equipment issue and the sirens swarm, smoking, making my lens change more difficult than it needs to be. One of them, a young brunette all soft lines, most devious bodied, the youngest, most supple bodied, stands in front of me. Me, two feet from her burning Camel Light. The sweet smoke passing between us without burning my eyes. She won’t stop talking; so much more than talking: sexualizing forth, weaponizing, poking me with her untouchable womaness. Clouds me. And I’m trying to change that god damned lens, not let any of her smoke into the camera body. Fuddling with lens caps.

An ash, like a perfect snowflake (it had been snowing now IRL for two days), falls from her cigarette to her dimpled chin and, as if that ash were a universally understood cue, I kiss her lips with such quick aggression that she takes a step back. Unbalanced/shocked. Gives me a moment of much-needed distance.

The hip girls all snicker and chat, one says something to no one: “Oh my god, she’s only 15.” But no harm done. I lock in the wide angle lens and we all move on.