National Poetry Month--Day 2
Again I'm posting a random poem from a random book by a random poet pulled from my vast poetry library. I'm doing this because I'm not writing a poem a day like I have in the past and this might possibly inspire me to write at some point during the month.
Today's poet is Michael Burkard:
when elizabeth bishop painted
INTERIOR WITH EXTENSION CORD
she must have realized in some untoward
unconscious fashion or semiconsciousness
that i who finally came to read her poems with
excitement when i finally read them as a sister
writer instead of a member of some intelligentsia
if that is the word for it—when i finally read them
then a few days later was not in any way heading
to maryland for my second sober anniversary without
her white covered sunburst book of collected poems
on my lap under my arm in my hands under my awkward
pen as it wrote exictedly some lines besides hers or in
the margins or the white spaces of the page=dreams
—she must have realized that years later a reader/fan/
writer in his/her own rite would look to enter this
interior from the suggested door from the mountain
heaping flower side door to look up once in the interior
to see the extension cord form that vantage point as
a spider web of sorts not that she painted it at all that way
but it looks like the beginning of something alligned
partly with the wall-meets-ceiling line and the slight
"hooks": visible holding it in place to wall and ceiling
looks like a day to start something or keep starting something
not to end something like a writer’s life even when he/she
feels the invited or uninvited call of the so called end