Monday, April 04, 2005

Poetics and Public Culture: Poem: park lane

Finally getting around to adding some film from the Frank Davey retirement/Poetics and Public Culture Conference held in London ON recently--located here. The pictures turned out awfully, unfortunately.

A poem, then, for the lovely hotel I stayed at, The Park Lane:

park lane

a room trapped in itself
a door opened once, then
a second time

lets in the outside
a stir w/in like a constant occupation

room 4.1.2.

no writing paper, pen or china cup
but a fridge, two beds
   too many towels

the carpet, shower mat

one good station worth listening to


a cup of tea takes work
hot drops on the knee
ruins a laminate, softens or precedes
a preoccupation


men reading papers
eggs spilled over toast, jam
no conversations here
breakfast at King’s

they all are


there is a reward for listening

these are the days I can not eat
absence placed in the mouth

a phone call to start the day

the room is
but for steam

Listening to The Stranglers. A rainy Monday eve.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

a beautiful poem
nicely condensed


shame such
good work
sits alone
so long... long...


my girlfriend is from london ontario


The Pound of Flesh

10:35 a.m.  

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