emily rose | the poem flying off the page

6 11 2007

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Poetry Dispatch No.201 | November 6, 2007

Special KEROUAC Anniversary Edition, No.5 In Celebration of the 50th Anniversary of

ON THE ROAD

THE KEROUAC KONNECTION, 2007

EMILY ROSE | The Poem Flying Off the Page

In my once, annual contact with new and established writers (one week every June) at The Clearing, here in Ellison Bay, Wisconsin, I have been beyond fortunate in witnessing writers, all ages, but young in particular, find their voice, nurture it, question it, put it down on paper, and for some, like Emily, really give it voice (performance personified). Let it rip, fly high, dramatically, poetically off the page, bouncing off walls, banging on windows, breaking free.

Not all poetry was meant for life and death upon the printed page. The Beats knew this in their very humming bones. (Where’s the stage, man? The platform? The soapbox? I got things to say, to shout! Gotta let it out! You gotta listen!)

You can’t go back to Kerouac and Company and not hear Jack jazzin’ it, Ginsberg howling, Corso cavorting, Snyder contemplatively-echoing from far off Western/Eastern mountain tops, or Ferlinghetti freewheeling it in a slow dance all his own.

And lest we forget ‘the women-a-the-Beat’ who also took the stage front and center, there was among them in the ‘70’s (is still) the ‘enchanter’ Anne Waldman (FAST SPEAKING WOMAN, and Other Chants, City Lights, 1975, Pocket Poet Series #33).

Fast forward, 2007—the Kerouac Konnection, 50 years later, out there, everywhere…‘the Beat of/On The Road yet, still…

So, here’s the Konnection…Emily Rose.

Hear it now…in HER own words—and just imagine her shtick upon the stage. Norbert Blei

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Bad Libido by Emily Rose

Take my libido, please
“Cause honestly
It’s more trouble that it’s
worth.

It’s standing in the corner
Pointing to the biggest
Asshole in the room
Saying,
“Go home with that guy
‘Cause he’s got an ego
Big enough to compensate
for your lack of confidence.”

And he’s ‘sexy’ with his
Lack of interest
Leave you with the check
Lying naked in your bed
Sort of attitude that,
for some reason,
Is somehow
Totally irresistible.

‘Cause I don’t
Have bad judgment,
But my libido does.
So take it,
Honestly,
‘Cause I don’t want it.
After three drinks it
Drowns itself in
Desperate attraction.

And you’re looking
Pretty good right now
‘Cause you’re artistic
And unemployed
And there’s nothing
More attractive
To my drunken libido
Than a man with no purpose
“Cause his purpose
Rest somewhere between
My libido
And the morning after.

Take it.
Honestly,
‘Cause it’s cheap
And indiscriminate
And pissing me off.

Hey,
How you doing,
You totally unattractive
Regret waiting to happen?

“Cause I’m a lonely woman
With a Queen size bed.
That’s right,
Queen size,
With a velvet comforter,
And my libido’s making
Hint hint bedroom eyes at you
While I’m trying to
Resist her insistence that
You’re a diamond in the rough,
When you’re really just another
Snake in the grass.

So,
Take my libido, please
“Cause it does me
No good.

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Bliss by Emily Rose

I met you when I was nine,
Perhaps I was too young.
You had always intrigued me,
Even before our introduction.

Our affair began in my basement—
Hidden from my mom.
It only took a moment
To be addicted to your taste.

You weren’t yet deep inside me,
It was a prelude to our life.
For at that moment I knew
That I’d be with you always.

I was not your first lover.
Many have known you through the years,
But if they knew the danger,
They would have walked away.

My beautiful addiction.
My adored poison.
I try so hard to hate you,
But my body is obsessed.

The simple beauty of the act.
The scent that saturates…
My skin
My clothes
My hair
My mind

Our occasional affairs
Became habit,
And too soon
Turned to routine.

I free you from your confines,
Place you betwixt my lips,
Gently suck the fire through you,
And you give me what I need.

The—deep—in—hale
That brings me close to death.
You fill my lungs with warmth,
You clear my head of cares.

Oh my beautiful addiction!
My sweet, sweet poison!
They told me I should give you up.
They told me to walk away.

So, I tuned my back.
I told you no—
But you knew that I’d return.

Now, I hold you between my fingers,
Press you to my lips,
And as the smoke returns—
I remember,
that loving you
Is
Bliss.

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Where the Poets Run Free by Emily Rose

The overturned bottle
Lying head first
In the ice bucket
Sings of my condition
In the jazz smoked confines
Where I sit,
Intoxicated by the words
Stroking my ears
For the last few hours.

My head spinning
Swimming with images
In phrases.

She’s knocking
on my insides,
Hungry for permission
To come out and play.

She’s
The demon
The poet
The ID

She wants
To know
She wants
To feel
She wants
To speak
She wants
It all.

My eyes shut tight
Against what is,
My mind dances
In the feeling of it.

Don’t want to return to
The thunderous silence
Of train rides and
Paychecks
Coffee stains and
Phone bills.

Want to stay here with
Jazz kisses and
Prose parades
Electric skin and
Open ears.

Where the poets
Run free.

crp016_t.jpgfrom: CIGARETTE LOVE SONGS AND NICOTINE KISSES, by Emily Rose, Cross+Roads Press, #22, 2004. $10. Limited edition, 300 copies. Only a few archival/signed copies remain for libraries and collectors. Price: to be negotiated

P.S. If you’re lucky, if you’re in the Chicago area, catch her act/poems/person sometime at Performance Poetry venue or another in the city “of the big shoulders.”

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