{"id":131562,"date":"2018-12-06T09:00:35","date_gmt":"2018-12-06T14:00:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=131562"},"modified":"2018-12-06T16:24:54","modified_gmt":"2018-12-06T21:24:54","slug":"poetry-rx-you-are-the-penultimate-love-of-my-life","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2018\/12\/06\/poetry-rx-you-are-the-penultimate-love-of-my-life\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry Rx: You Are the Penultimate Love of My Life"},"content":{"rendered":"

In our column\u00a0Poetry Rx<\/a>, readers\u00a0write in<\/a>\u00a0with a specific emotion, and our resident poets\u2014Sarah Kay, Kaveh Akbar, and Claire Schwartz\u2014take turns prescribing the perfect poems to match. This week, Sarah Kay is on the line.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>

\u00a9 Ellis Rosen<\/p><\/div>\n

Dear Poets,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never been in a relationship. I\u2019ve crushed, I\u2019ve rejected, I\u2019ve (potentially) stalked, I\u2019ve dated, I\u2019ve idealized, I\u2019ve fallen for fictional characters, I\u2019ve kissed\u2014but I\u2019ve never been in a relationship. I realize I don\u2019t need a partner to live my best life, but all the same, I crave it. I crave a hand in mine, a jaw to nuzzle, an ear to whisper into, a voice reading to me. Is there a poem that expresses this craving without viewing romantic love as a life-altering, world-saving thing? <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Best,<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Not Lonely, Just Looking for a Lover<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Dear Not Lonely,<\/span><\/p>\n

I love this request. And I\u2019m thrilled to be able to recommend a poem by Rebecca Hazelton called\u00a0<\/span>\u201c<\/span>You Are the Penultimate Love of My Life<\/span><\/a>\u201d<\/span> that starts,<\/span><\/p>\n

I want to spend a lot but not all of my years with you.
\n<\/span>We\u2019ll talk about kids
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 but make plans to travel.
\nI will remember your eyes
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 as green when they were gray.
\nOur dogs will be named For Now and Mostly.
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0 Sex will be good but next door\u2019s will sound better.<\/p>\n

There will be small things.
\n<\/span>I will pick up your damp towel from the bed,
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 and then I won\u2019t.
\nI won\u2019t be as hot as I was
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 when I wasn\u2019t yours
\nand your hairline now so
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0 untrustworthy.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Many love poems assume that romantic love <\/span>is<\/span><\/i> a life-altering, world-saving thing. I really appreciate that this poem is an ode to the kind of craving you mentioned, without fixating on the notion of soulmates. I think it makes you human to recognize and indulge in this desire, and wise to still keep it in perspective. I wish you companionship and intimacies of all kinds, in many forms, life-altering and otherwise. A lover not world-saving is still worth craving.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013SK<\/span><\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Hi!<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019m a trans guy with religious parents who are unsupportive when they acknowledge my transness \u2014 and they rarely acknowledge it at all. I mainly feel that I do not belong or fit in with my family. Any suggestions for some encouragement or angst that sounds like it would resonate with me?<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

\u2014Sore Thumb in South Carolina<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Sore Thumb,<\/span><\/p>\n

To know who you are, to be able to name it, and to live as your truest self, requires a level of honesty, courage, and risk-taking that deserves congratulations and celebration. I wish that is what you were receiving from your family. I am sorry that they are unable to fully see you or support you in the way you deserve. There are so many poems I would like to recommend to you. Hieu Minh Nguyen\u2019s book <\/span>\u201c<\/span>Not Here<\/span><\/a>\u201d<\/span> touches on navigating filial responsibility and parental disappointment, and I have recommended it in this column <\/span>before<\/span><\/a>. I would also love to point you toward <\/span>Cameron Awkward-Rich<\/span><\/a>, <\/span>Miles Walser<\/span><\/a>, <\/span>Danez Smith<\/span><\/a>, <\/span>Paul Tran<\/span><\/a>, <\/span>Chrysanthemum Tran<\/span><\/a>, <\/span>Justice Gaines<\/span><\/a>, <\/span>Paige Lewis<\/span><\/a>, and <\/span>Andrea Gibson<\/span><\/a>, who are just a few of my favorite writers whose collective works navigate a vast landscape of trans and nonbinary lives and experiences. I know that when I struggle to untangle the knots in my head and heart, reading other people\u2019s poems often leads me to language I didn\u2019t even know I was looking for. If you feel that you do not belong or fit in with your current family, perhaps you can find some kinship in the language others use to express their transness, their families, their angst, and their joys. <\/span><\/p>\n

But my job in this column is supposed to be to recommend you <\/span>one<\/span><\/i> poem, and so I have settled on a poem by J. Jennifer Espinoza, from her chapbook, \u201cOutside Of the Body There is Something Like Hope.\u201d (I love every poem in this chapbook, and it is a limited-edition print, so I also highly recommend<\/span> grabbing one<\/span><\/a> before it is gone forever.) This poem is not available anywhere online, and so I asked Jennifer and her publisher to give us permission to print it here in full. I\u2019m so grateful they said yes: <\/span><\/p>\n

My Trans Body<\/span><\/p>\n

I pick up the phone and send you some words
\n<\/span>about my trans body. They float across America
\n<\/span>and are careful not to touch anything between<\/span><\/p>\n

us or worry about who sees them. They just
\n<\/span>crackle and spin and soar through the air
\n<\/span>observing scenes of everyday events\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

many birds moving like a single animal,
\n<\/span>trees swaying in place,
\n<\/span>men being men to everything\u2019s detriment.<\/span><\/p>\n

When you hear my words it reminds me
\n<\/span>I\u2019m solid matter. In some sense I am
\n<\/span>the daydream of an alternate universe.<\/span><\/p>\n

In another sense I am far too present here.
\n<\/span>I say <\/span>look at my shoulders, look at all I carry,
\n<\/span><\/i>but all anyone sees is their shape.<\/span><\/p>\n

No one hears what my legs do or remembers
\n<\/span>how I built them from nothing.
\n<\/span>How I trudged through the dull grey shit<\/span><\/p>\n

of a gendered life until I could no longer take it.
\n<\/span>They make movies about us being sad
\n<\/span>and dying but they never talk about<\/span><\/p>\n

what it is for us to be alive,
\n<\/span>to love life so much we choose this brokenness
\n<\/span>just to have the smallest taste of it.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m not trying to play with your emotions.
\n<\/span>I don\u2019t want to be your inspirational object.
\n<\/span>I\u2019m saying <\/span>I am here now, embrace me<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

or get out of my way.<\/span><\/i> I have big plans.
\n<\/span>They involve staying alive. They involve
\n<\/span>claiming my space and never being quiet again.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I am so thankful to Jennifer for this poem\u2014these words about her trans body, floating across America, now on their way to South Carolina. Jennifer\u2019s poem is about her body and her body\u2019s story, and it isn\u2019t the same as yours. But I do want you to know that you, too, are solid matter. I cannot see your shoulders from here, but I care about what they carry. I hope you find kinship with people who recognize and celebrate you choosing a courageous, honest life. Even if you are not ready to say, \u201c<\/span>I am here now, embrace me \/ or get out of my way,\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span>I want you to see those words and know that you deserve them. I know you have big plans, and I\u2019m so excited for you.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013SK<\/span><\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

Dear Poets, <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

I\u2019m feeling quite lonely this week and I was wondering if you knew of a poem that both acknowledges that sadness, but is not consumed by it. I\u2019m feeling very swallowed up in my loneliness and I need a nice poetry life preserver! <\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

Thank you,
\n<\/span>Lonely<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear Lonely,<\/span><\/p>\n

We get quite a few letters that inquire about loneliness, but the way you phrased your request really stood out to me: a poem that acknowledges the sadness without being consumed by it. I want to recommend to you a poem by Jos\u00e9 Olivarez, from his book Citizen Illegal<\/em>, called\u00a0<\/span>\u201c<\/span>Not-Love is a Season<\/span><\/a>.<\/span>\u201d<\/span> The poem begins: <\/span><\/p>\n

not-love is a season.
\n<\/span>i drank fire. a dozen blankets<\/span><\/p>\n

couldn\u2019t keep me from shivering.
\n<\/span>winter is an unavoidable fact.<\/span><\/p>\n

unless you\u2019re from Cali &
\n<\/span>I don\u2019t trust people who don\u2019t know<\/span><\/p>\n

the freeze of loneliness. the dead
\n<\/span>branches abandoned<\/span><\/p>\n

by the birds still chasing summer.
\n<\/span>my homies all telling me<\/span><\/p>\n

i\u2019ll meet someone else. like i want
\n<\/span>to meet someone else. my wound deep.<\/span><\/p>\n

but mine. already time working to ease
\n<\/span>my grip on my hurt. I know misery<\/span><\/p>\n

thaws.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I love the way this poem recognizes loneliness as a season, instead of, say, a hole one must climb out of. A hole is difficult to escape, and can seem impossible at times. But a season <\/span>must<\/span> arrive (\u201cwinter is an unavoidable fact\u201d), and it also must pass. That is what seasons do. Already, the narrator can feel time working to ease his grip on his hurt. Your loneliness is here, but will not be forever. It is okay to acknowledge the loneliness, it is even okay to relish it a little bit. But allow room for thawing. Remember that there have been other seasons and prepare for new ones that are coming. As Jos\u00e9 reminds us: \u201clove is a season that begins like a leaf. \/ when in the dead winter a tree dreams \/ of a crown it will one day wear.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2013SK<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Want more? Read earlier\u00a0installments of\u00a0Poetry Rx<\/a>.\u00a0<\/i>Need a poem?\u00a0Write to us<\/a>! Next week, Sarah Kay will be answering questions.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Sarah Kay<\/a>\u00a0is a poet and educator from New York City. She is the codirector and\u00a0founder of\u00a0Project VOICE<\/a>\u00a0and the\u00a0author of four books of poetry, including\u00a0<\/em>B,<\/em>\u00a0No Matter the Wreckage,<\/em>\u00a0<\/em>The Type,<\/em>\u00a0and\u00a0<\/em>All Our Wild Wonder.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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