One of the things about Marie's poetry and imagery that speaks to me is the way she mixes the intimate with the foreign, the uncomfortable with the familiar. The cover features a dusky alley; there are chairs where people sat, will sit. Light filters down making things sort of visible. The title 'Eyelash Inconsistencies' is full of vowels, sharp 'c's and 's'es. I think of eyelash kisses, deformity, tears, age - I notice that my eyelashes point down when I am tired. How did that happen?
Yesterday, as the sun was setting, Patrick found me in the shed, with Marie's book. 'What are you doing?' he asks. For some reason I feel the need to balance Marie's book in various places to juxtapose the pristime pages with something convoluted and a bit seedy. I hope this isn't self-indulgent and that you can read all the words! The poem is smashing!
Posts
