Spilling
Spilling
By Rebecca Gonzalez
i belong in this glass
awaiting the gulp
caressing the cracked lips
not making my way down
the long dark tunnel at the center
i am envious of the clink of ice
the glass is half-full then
empties as the
slight-
of-
hand
leaves me displaced on Formica
trickling
down
to
the
tiled
floor
going further
this tiny stream, s t r e t c h i n g out
like a hand
reaching
for the napkin
I came in from the tyrannical Texas heat, stripped naked to basque freely in the A.C., and then drank this poem which refreshed me like a chilly Coke and Bourbon “aussi-spoonmonti-boufonti”…yum & bootylicious!
Ms. Gonzalez captures a common sentiment here (thru ’embibing’) and I think delivers originally a metaphor comparing life with liquid…unless, that is, if i’m still suffering from sun-stroke and this poem is just a ‘what if i was koolaid?’ observation…somehow, i feel it’s more than meets the eye [or mouth] {Transformers was cool, by the way}.
The visual poetry: ‘trickling
down
to
the
tiled
floor’
was awesome in number of
places in effect ‘s t r e t c h i n g’ my imagination/stimulation.
People say: “oh poetry is meant to be spoken, it’s a verbal uttered entity!” yeah, yeah, yeah,…I think our world puts too much emphasis on ‘extempor-anus’ speaking (excuse my potty mouth)…our cultural icons have to reach perfect B-flats jumping thru rings of vocal talent to get a place on ‘American Idol’ and in our hearts…our politicians have to be masters of the 10-second sound-bite and shine on the silver screen like transvestite Norwegian Gods. Damn, how bout just saying what’s on our minds!? I belive in the democritization of expression…down with the aristocracy!!! {which i unfortunately deem to be the greater part of Academe…look in the back of any ‘mainstream’ poetry journal and all its contributors are Dr.’s and MBA’s…sorry, i’m not trying to start anything here}.
But I see a blank piece of paper or a MS Word screen and think of it as an artist’s canvas to get away from all that hoopla and just be expressive and creative.
To me, when someone reads to themself, it does ignite a voice in the head and the work can of course be re-read, observed, and SEEN–and that has certain advantages over the spoken word that doesn’t necessarilly sacrifice sound. Others would disagree with me…it’s their choice. Not that i don’t love to hear an occasional poem…i get a lot out of that too…but i prefer the written word.
I think the author of ‘Spilling’ may in part agree.
I hope this doesn’t seem like a tirade…just call the ‘waa-mbulance’ on me. Just something to think about…
Thanks Rebecca! i won’t pick up a glass of lemonade the same for a long while…Write more!
As for me, I am ‘reaching for the napkin’, then reaching for the phone to call my therapist.