From the street,
she sees a hammock affixed
to some bare
elms in a city
park. A how to live
in urban green before
it greens. Bad
poetry never makes good
architecture. Good
architecture makes good
poetry if
the intentional flaw
doesn’t compromise
the structure. She wonders
how tight
those knots are tied.
you really made me (and i still do) try and imagine the architecture of bed poetry. I give you big applause for that.
and your poem is tightly knot, it is wonderful. It is good whether you chose to call it poetry or architecture.
LikeLike
Thanks. Architecture of Bed Poetry–I’ll have to think about that some. Funny.
LikeLike
so now I discovered you are into architecture, that must make it all way more interesting.
LikeLike
I work for an architect as my day job, so it inevitably make it’s way into the writing.
LikeLike
(btw – can i reblog this?
and where to get your book?)
LikeLike
Certainly you can as long as it is clear who wrote the poem. Thanks. Wish I had a book. Ha.
LikeLike
Ya have seen in your About that you work for an architect, that is why I thought your view (literally) of bed poetry would be more interesting.
It also says in this about Caryatid so I thought it was out and in the reach of an hand.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on Utopian Fragments and commented:
This is yet another wonderful poem from Amy Nash whose work always stir something. I am happy I can reblog it right here and am urging you to sign up for updates from her blog to get to know her unique way with the words.
LikeLike
Wow. Thanks.
LikeLike