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    Heights of the Marvelous: A New York Anthology
    Heights of the Marvelous: A New York Anthology
    Heights of the Marvelous: A New York Anthology
    Ebook278 pages2 hours

    Heights of the Marvelous: A New York Anthology

    By Macmillan Publishers

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    About this ebook

    In the cutting-edge manner and method of Verses that Hurt and Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poet's Café, this anthology gathers recent work by many of New York City's most daring young poets. Contributors to this eclectic, exhilarating collection include Jordan Davis, Maggie Estep, Mimi Goese, Kenneth Goldsmith, Sharon Mesmer, Lee Ranaldo, Prageeta Sharma, Mac Wellman, and others.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateMay 26, 2000
    ISBN9780312274139
    Heights of the Marvelous: A New York Anthology

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      Book preview

      Heights of the Marvelous - Macmillan Publishers

      ANSELM BERRIGAN

      A short history of autumn

      New York City fails to be spectacular from my teacher’s car.

      And the van that booted me into Brooklyn last night, it has

      my sympathy. My sympathy was parked in a strange place last

      night. It hasn’t come back. Did I think of my sympathy as a dog?

      A dog licking my neck all night?

      Sympathy licking my neck all night kept me up all night &

      the anti-depressant medication I swallowed before bed tho’

      it wasn’t prescribed to me & I wasn’t depressed kept me up

      all night. I thought of a man who couldn’t cry for years &

      years. He couldn’t fly, so he died.

      After he died he rose to a two egg breakfast that tasted

      terrible. Work was terrible too, later. Before the movie—

      Vertigo. San Francisco looking not too much different this summer

      than it did forty years ago, in Vertigo. After the movie I

      felt tired & creepy. I went to the office where I used to live.

      I used to live there with a bad inflection. Every other word

      out of my mouth was off. I’m off to off work off, etc. Life

      was profoundly stupid then. I guess that wasn’t an inflection.

      I visit the office sometimes late at night, to think about

      what life was like then, & usually I can’t remember.

      And as I don’t have much of an imagination, to go along with

      a bad memory (Rrrrriiiinnnngggg!) It’s Jena. "What happened

      to your rationality? It jumped out the window. Then

      let’s go to Paris! Sure." (hangs up phone) Where was I?

      I was getting a ride from my teacher after class one night.

      we were talking about how to read your head and heart at the

      same time & how hard that can be. She dropped me off at the

      World Trade Center. From there I walked to Union Square. On the

      way I began to freak out. Everything around me looked great.

      I hadn’t been that cold in three years.

      I want to hear people read poems. I went to have a drink somewhere

      else. I went to the office where I used to live. All in all

      it wasn’t enough. Where was the life I later led? Shall my tongue

      settle in its little tomb? Is this at all an improvement?

      Someone is at the door. Shall I ask them in?

      Mercy flight

      Some people should take a break. Have you ever

      met so many finished works? Doesn’t it just kill you?

      Yes! & it is terrific to say yes as Lisa says & says yes.

      & so I say to the different variations of taking off

      one’s pants, don’t put any on. Teachers & their pants

      theories & their pants, the suburban moon. The D-train

      over the Manhattan bridge when I should be at my job

      has pretty legs. The pretty graffiti on the girders, pink

      legs with black outlines like those of the bleached blonde

      boy pouring a sack of cedar mulch next to the slant

      of wood he’s come to call garage. & it’s a pleasure

      to see him seeing his future & to plant myself squarely

      there through no action in particular. Black & yellow

      pansies admire themselves endlessly on his lawn

      where I sit admiring him. We are fabulous examples

      of ourselves—strange birds invited to veer off course

      so naturally we go. To call this nature would be completely

      misleading, unless, of course, you think there is a course.

      Bloodletting

      Fifty American cheerleaders booking uphill on Rue LePic

      & what I understand, I’ve been given a list of things

      very valuable to me: a choo-choo train wearing a bluegrass

      t-shirt, my Pollyanna ring, a lovely crater. Where do pigeons go

      at night? The belltower is invisible, my brain is on the floor

      I name it Flat Bear the Stuffed Animal & remember:

      I don’t like delirium/I do like a melange of tom-toms

      & Canadian spies parading down Lorimer St. Oh joy

      why have you shut your glass doors to so many of my friends

      & their neuroses that are very serious, like a tucked-in shirt

      and the end-all be-all meatball parmesan? Peggy knows

      the meaning of life, I have to get her my fax number at work

      to be enlightened. I know it’s not philanthropy, where my fork

      always seems to be on the wrong side of the plate. Maybe

      a beggar’s hiss on a 105-degree July evening in Williamsburg:

      Mick, Mick, is the Renaissance worthy of our attention?

      Will you still love me if I don’t want to sleep with you & eat yoghurt

      my whole life? Have a seat sweety. Lay your sweat on my shoulder.

      Advice to a young philosopher

      It should be in your nature to instantly trivialize anything

      you read in italics. Everyone thinks they deserve a reward

      for not dying, but there will always be someone available

      to hate you. Your reward can wait, can wallow in mud;

      I love mud. That it’s not quite the water & not quite the

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