BRHFL » poetry http://brhfl.com ramblings by brian hefele. Fri, 14 Sep 2012 13:37:36 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.3.1 and the papers reported a tragedy at the high-rise. http://brhfl.com/2008/02/01/and-the-papers-reported-a-tragedy-at-the-high-rise/ http://brhfl.com/2008/02/01/and-the-papers-reported-a-tragedy-at-the-high-rise/#comments Fri, 01 Feb 2008 05:00:57 +0000 brian hefele http://7.73 drunk on the thin,
high air,
i touched you
but a minute before we died;
we were delirious,
so content and saying
‘i can’t go
‘without
‘you.’
and as we tossed small
last-minute words around
we heard a serviceman yell
a rapid-fire mangle of
requests for sanity and
he probably dialed nine-one-one,
but anyhow
we leapt.
a minute before we died,
drunk on the
thin, high air,
i kissed you
and we stared down
at the dizzy street,
at the cars, the kiosks
with striped canvas roofs
that we maybe bought
two hot dogs from
on our very first night out.
and i reminded you that
men and women
do… not… fly.
but softly you smiled
and you went first.
immediately i followed
and from then on
we spent our nights
cozy together
in shrouds.
i have made at least three people cry reading this. i know this is a hard poem, and i have tried to brush this fact off by introducing it with a very plathlike understatement of, ‘this one is just a little love poem,’ at readings. but in honesty, this is really difficult, it’s essentially romanticizing suicide. and that’s not an acceptable idea, though we see it in literature throughout history. pyramus and thisbe each kill themselves by the same sword out of love for one another. but i’m missing context here, and that is because i hate context. i like slices, slivers, moments in time. the reader will establish their own context, their own backstory, or else they won’t and they’ll just think i’m some insane asshole. anyway the whole idea fascinates me, a love so strong that the absolute most important thing is to die together, whatever the surrounding situation may be. this one is still a bit hard even for me to read, but it’s certainly my favorite of my older works.
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11.59pm, inner city gas station. http://brhfl.com/2008/01/01/11-59pm-inner-city-gas-station/ http://brhfl.com/2008/01/01/11-59pm-inner-city-gas-station/#comments Tue, 01 Jan 2008 05:00:49 +0000 brian hefele http://7.71 this is the place where i die,
staring over the back of my
polished red four-door,
eyeing the infinite row
of empty pumps,
barely dipping
in murky shallow nonwhite light.
i see them through a
tunnel-vision,
and i picture a phantom,
six pumps down,
with a handgun beneath his jacket.
but i stand still, staring,
listening to the lub/dub
of carcinogenic blood
pum•ping
through the vapor-lock vein
that tethers
mechanical heart to
mechanical body.
the phantom does not approach,
and he does not move his hand.
i feel my fingers gently pulse
as my heart pushes harder, but
inside… i am calm.
and it is here that i stand waiting,
staring, listening, waiting, until
this pump
clicks
off.
this was a very real&hellips; i mean, i was never murdered at a gas station, but i had a very strange foreboding feeling, almost the experience of a premonition, as i was fueling up once. at the time i wrote this, i did indeed drive a red four-door, a 1989 saab 900 in imola red. anyway it was one of those very emotive moments that pushes a feeling deep inside of a person, and i was able to draw this out of that. i’m still pretty pleased with it. i think i did a good job pacing it, and the title as introduction works for me.
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following a picnic, late march. http://brhfl.com/2006/05/01/following-a-picnic-late-march/ http://brhfl.com/2006/05/01/following-a-picnic-late-march/#comments Mon, 01 May 2006 05:00:21 +0000 brian hefele http://7.65 inkblot clouds
act out a play in old english
that we watch together, alone
in the center of this infinite field
surrounded only by
occasional spring sneezes
the thick grasses
bite at my bare feet,
a sharp sensation that makes me long
for your satin-soft touch
tickling my body
your flesh, a sensual sarong
that slowly slips around and off me,
reveals my subtle side, and
suggests that you show yours
to sate some curious fantasy,
some eager yen
but the inevitable cacophony
of a sky now filled with
cawing crows
quickly kicks me back to this reality
of sharp grasses and inkblot clouds
and an invitingly infinite
aloneness
with you.
sexy time! this one still works pretty well for me. it is, of course, a bit sexual, and it is, of course, disgustingly romantic on top of that. i think i took good control over my words here, the overall sound and rhythm of this still pleases me years after. the title is successful as an establishing element, though it is also unfortunately a direct reference to a (now-)former anniversary.
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dyad http://brhfl.com/2006/04/01/dyad/ http://brhfl.com/2006/04/01/dyad/#comments Sat, 01 Apr 2006 05:00:05 +0000 brian hefele http://7.67 why is it that you jitter
when i touch you?
and i can feel you
radiate warmth
a feeling like curled up by a fire
but we are not, no
we are just two nude statues
toppled together.
i touch you,
you jitter,
and you crumble apart.
your trembling heart
bleeds to the ground
and spatters like a rorschach
that i stare at, frozen
for endless hours,
trying to make meaning of you
and all of your details,
so complex, like a mandelbrot.
you smile and stare at
me… staring back at you
and for just a moment i stop
decoding, analyzing, understanding
who and what you are.
and in this moment i reach out
to pet your marble-smooth lips
and with your sweet-kitten giggle,
you ever so slightly
jitter.
one of my more sexual pieces from the past, laced with unrealistic romanticism. i simply cannot help but love love, such is my lot in life, i’m afraid. this one relies on some weird imagery, and i guess that’s okay, because it’s surrounded by very accessible and much more poignant imagery. if you get the references, fine, but if you don’t i think it still holds up. i’m not sure how much i like that approach, some of my pieces rely fairly heavily on jargon, simply because i am very strict about the precision of my words. and my attitude has always been, well if it doesn’t make sense, look it up. and if it does, i think there’s a deeper connection between writer and audience. but when it’s watered down like this, i don’t know. anyway i still like this pretty well. though i don’t know much about kittens giggling.
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(if it turns you on) http://brhfl.com/2006/03/01/if-it-turns-you-on/ http://brhfl.com/2006/03/01/if-it-turns-you-on/#comments Wed, 01 Mar 2006 05:00:12 +0000 brian hefele http://7.59 if it turns you on
one final time
i will recite this poem
in semaphore
as you drift away
forever,
slip off to become
just the subject of some
vers libre
from an occasional lover,
with words, always quick
to turn you on.
this one is untitled, which is astoundingly rare to me and suggests i never actually got it to a point where i considered it finished, or finished enough to be canonical. it’s got a couple of things going for it – it’s a metapoem, which definitely became a big part of my writing around this time. or, at the very least, a thing that i was very willing to play with. it’s also a love poem, a sickeningly sweet vomit of my emotional immaturity cum hopeless romanticism. it’s short, it’s untitled, and for whatever reason, i still think it’s worth clinging to.
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poetry is love. http://brhfl.com/2006/02/01/poetry-is-love/ http://brhfl.com/2006/02/01/poetry-is-love/#comments Wed, 01 Feb 2006 05:00:55 +0000 brian hefele http://7.62 cigarette flicked in his beer
like in some silly sitcom
that couplet has ended
in ten quick words, ten quick
minutes for that couple to end,
he tested her humor with some
one-liner crack like i’m not one
to be coy are you one
to be easy?
her cigarette flicked
in his beer and she
stormed out, her stamping
stampamplified,
like in some silly sitcom
and the laughtrack reel
rolled what a silly ending
to a silly metaphor,
poetry is love.
this piece i still rather enjoy. it’s quick. not just short, it has a fast pace to it, and i’m happy that i was able to control that. it’s just kind of silly and playful, in contrast to a lot of my work. but it’s also rather cynical, i suppose, and that’s very much me. it’s sort of about love, but not in my typical grasping, emotionally immature voice. i guess because it’s about failure. and to me, finding success in love is rather unrealistic, and my more ‘romantic’ pieces are thus quite fantasies. this is also a metapoem, although that’s less the point of it than many of my pieces from the time. but it is unavoidably aware of itself, wrapped up nicely at the end. though it’s more playful than i can imagine myself being right now, i’m still pleased with this older piece.
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titles are simple. http://brhfl.com/2006/01/01/titles-are-simple/ http://brhfl.com/2006/01/01/titles-are-simple/#comments Sun, 01 Jan 2006 05:00:00 +0000 brian hefele http://7.56 tonight i must be a poet.
i must squeeeze out
images,
suckle the newborn page
from the generous breast
that is my soul.
images are difficult;
they come to me
as naturally as
the gazelle
eating
the lion.
tonight i must be a poet.
i must bleeed out
images,
slit and drain with golden nib
the tender wrists
that are my soul.
images are dangerous;
they come to me
as peacefully as
the man
in the dark
with the knife.
but endings are the hardest.
they come to me
like death.
this is another old piece that hasn’t aged particularly well in my mind, but one that i’m still mostly comfortable hanging on to. the gimmick of the words elongated by the triple ‘e’s shows an embarrassing immaturity and lack of restraint. the images make no sense together. but it was well received by my peers at the time, for whatever reason, and i think it probably marks the start of a few recurring themes for me&hellips; it’s not confessional per se, but it is approaching that more than my previous work had. it’s also one of my first metapoems, a theme that continues to play out at times when writing occupies my mind more than most things, and therefore starts to also occupy my writing more than&hellips; well, more than makes sense. it’s also one of my earlier pieces to really play with the title instead of just slapping something on.
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dirty money, killing true women http://brhfl.com/2005/12/01/dirty-money-killing-true-women/ http://brhfl.com/2005/12/01/dirty-money-killing-true-women/#comments Thu, 01 Dec 2005 05:00:47 +0000 brian hefele http://7.47 Mary Kay, Inc. is a mafia.
Mob bosses drive pink Cadillacs and
Sell killerdruggyfacepoisons
To misguided teenaged babes,
To women who wish
To get out of themselves
Once you dip in
To the pastes and
To the powders,
You may… never… stop.
(Ad•dic•tion
To who you are not.)
I•den•ti•ty,
You are killed.
Your dealer’s dealer’s dealer
Knows precisely who to be;
She’s a pretendpretty pinkandperfect,
Enhancing Women’s Lives.
this is a piece from when i was in community college. i was asked to read it at a women’s event of some sort, and then asked not to. over concerns of offending the audience, over legal concerns, whatever. at the last minute i was basically told ‘fuck it,’ and ended up reading it. it went over well enough. as far as my older work is concerned, this is probably my least favorite that i am willing to hold on to as canon. it’s gimmicky, it’s from a time when i had little control over my gimmicks. it’s also very much before what i would describe as my confessional period. but it has sentimental value, i suppose, and i still believe in the message. natural beauty for life!
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