Sommer Nectarhoff's Blog, page 8

The First Line

Smoke Gets in Your Eyesby William Matthews

I love the smoky libidinal murmur
of a jazz crowd, and the smoke coiling
and lithely uncoiling like a choir
of vaporous cats. I like to slouch back
with that I'll-be-there-awhile tilt
and sip a little Scotch and listen,
keeping time and remembering the changes,
and now and then light up a cigarette.

It's the reverse of music: only a small
blue slur comes out--parody and rehearsal,
both, for giving up the ghost. There's a nostril-
billowing, sulphurous blossom fr...

Eden

I took a rib from my chestAnd watched it fall to the dustMy son would come from boneAnd suffering would soon follow
There is pain in knowing the futureBut it is a burden I must bearTo be God is not to be perfectAs some fools may think
- 5/16/14
(nectarhoff)

Melancholia

Creation is born of old anguishcum fresh, hot and seething justLonging to pour forth from the pen
They all had their vicesDrink or drugs or sex or anything, reallyNo venom could cure their poison
Deep down all I truly know is thatThis is why Hemingway took to paperBut even he couldn’t get it all out
So what’s the god damn point?It twisted and tugged and I’m sureWe all fought it, didn’t we?
It was melancholia wrote their lines.So when you’re all alonewith nothing left but words, I hope,  ...

Three Things

Three Thingsby Anna Akhmatova
Three things enchanted him:White peacocks, evensong,And faded maps of America,He couldn’t stand bawling brats,Or raspberry jam with his tea,Or womanish hysteria.. . . And he was tied to me.
This poem takes the form of a catalogue, and in the first line Akhmatova states that “Three things enchanted him.” She then lists those items before moving onto the things that “He couldn’t stand." Afterward comes the kick, “… And he was tied to me.” The raw emotion of this poem...

The White Gallery

“I disguise myself as a man in order to be nothing” - Francis Picabia

I will not tell you my name, but you are undoubtedly familiar with my work. The critic Apollinaire recently described me as the greatest visionary of our time. Perhaps the art you believe I created truly is extraordinary. But it does not matter, for I am a thief.

Those around me see past my hollow eyes and are surprised by the emptiness they find. They think they must be mistaken, but they are wrong. It is the shame that has...

Darkness is Often Overlooked

Ad Reinhardt, Abstract Painting, 1963. Oil on Canvas, 152.4 x 152.4 cmThere is much more than meets the eye in this painting by Ad Reinhardt. When I first saw it I was fifteen and visiting the Museum of Modern Art in New York. I must’ve stood in front of it for a solid five minutes before I realized the painting was not just one big swatch of black. It’s even harder to distinguish on a computer screen, but the piece is composed of nine distinct squares, each of which is a different shade of r...

Other

I stood on your chest after I knocked you down. I spat in your hair and rubbed dirt in your face. 

I am why you don’t sleep at night. 

You would cringe at the evil I commit each day, if only you knew. 

And still, with everything I do, I carry your name upon my lips.

I took the lives of ten million jews. I wore a smile for years.


I was here before the flood, cast down to walk beside you. I am neither snake nor demon. My skin is not red, but I bleed red.

I have many faces. And yet, I l...

Blood Poetry

He sat at his desk
Scrawling lines of blood all across the parchment
The words ran redlike little rivers of himself
For years he sat thereWriting with his blood
He did not finishuntil his veins were dry
But by that timeThe ink had turned to dust
- 4/25/14
(nectarhoff)