{"id":22893,"date":"2011-11-03T13:00:31","date_gmt":"2011-11-03T17:00:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=22893"},"modified":"2012-07-11T13:03:01","modified_gmt":"2012-07-11T17:03:01","slug":"%e2%80%9cim-over-the-moon%e2%80%9d","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2011\/11\/03\/%e2%80%9cim-over-the-moon%e2%80%9d\/","title":{"rendered":"Brenda Shaughnessy\u2019s \u201cI\u2019m Over the Moon\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>It takes guts to apostrophize a heavenly body. Everybody\u2019s seen them: Sappho, Keats, Mayakovsky, O’Hara, you name it. After all these millions of years, what\u2019s left to say? And to write a poem addressing the moon herself\u2014a breakup poem, no less!\u2014you had better be extremely naive, or else know exactly what you\u2019re doing, and get lucky, too.<\/p>\n

This is what bravery looks like in a poem. It is not (necessarily) a matter of sharing personal information. To my mind, a brave poem is one that risks seeming stupid or grandiose or frivolous, that nods in recognition at various poems that came before, then sweeps past, racing toward the thing it came to say.<\/p>\n

The first time I read Brenda Shaughnessy\u2019s poem \u201cI\u2019m Over the Moon\u201d five years ago, it was a Sunday and I was sitting at the breakfast table. I remember because \u201cI\u2019m Over the Moon\u201d is the only poem I have ever read out loud at a breakfast table. Having read it, I had to share it. The poem\u00a0 marked a new directness in Shaughnessy’s work (\u201cI’ve had to learn to be direct\u201d), but all the sass and sense of humor I loved from before were intact. Lately \u201cI’m Over the Moon\u201d has been on my mind again (ever since we published two of Shaughnessy\u2019s more recent poems<\/a> in the Review<\/em>).<\/p>\n

It is the first entry in our series \u201cThe Poem Stuck in My Head\u201d: <\/p>\n

\n

\u201cI\u2019m Over the Moon\u201d
By Brenda Shaughnessy<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t like what the moon is supposed to do.
Confuse me, ovulate me,<\/p>\n

spoon-feed me longing. A kind of ancient
date-rape drug. So I\u2019ll howl at you, moon,<\/p>\n

I\u2019m angry. I\u2019ll take back the night. Using me to
swoon at your questionable light,<\/p>\n

you had me chasing you,
the world\u2019s worst lover, over and over<\/p>\n

hoping for a mirror, a whisper, insight.
But you disappear for nights on end<\/p>\n

with all my erotic mysteries
and my entire unconscious mind.<\/p>\n

How long do I try to get water from a stone?
It\u2019s like having a bad boyfriend in a good band.<\/p>\n

Better off alone. I\u2019m going to write hard
and fast into you, moon, face-fucking.<\/p>\n

Something you wouldn\u2019t understand.
You with no swampy sexual<\/p>\n

promise but what we glue onto you.
That\u2019s not real. You have no begging<\/p>\n

cunt. No panties ripped off and the crotch
sucked. No lacerating spasms<\/p>\n

sending electrical sparks through the toes.
Stars have those.<\/p>\n

What do you have? You\u2019re a tool, moon.
Now, noon. There\u2019s a hero.<\/p>\n

The obvious sun, no bullshit, the enemy
of poets and lovers, sleepers and creatures.<\/p>\n

But my lovers have never been able to read
my mind. I\u2019ve had to learn to be direct.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s hard to learn that, hard to do.
The sun is worth ten of you.<\/p>\n

You don\u2019t hold a candle
to that complexity, that solid craze.<\/p>\n

Like an animal carcass on the road at night,
picked at by crows,<\/p>\n

taunting walkers and drivers. Your face
regularly sliced up by the moving<\/p>\n

frames of car windows. Your light is drawn,
quartered, your dreams are stolen.<\/p>\n

You change shape and turn away,
letting night solve all night\u2019s problems alone.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n

Permission to re-post the poem, from<\/em> Human Dark with Sugar<\/a>, has been granted by Copper Canyon Press.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It takes guts to apostrophize a heavenly body. Everybody\u2019s seen them: Sappho, Keats, Mayakovsky, O’Hara, you name it. After all these millions of years, what\u2019s left to say? And to write a poem addressing the moon herself\u2014a breakup poem, no less!\u2014you had better be extremely naive, or else know exactly what you\u2019re doing, and get […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4715],"tags":[3682,4727,4713],"class_list":["post-22893","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-poem-stuck-in-my-head","tag-brenda-shaughnessy","tag-human-dark-with-sugar","tag-im-over-the-moon"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nBrenda Shaughnessy\u2019s \u201cI\u2019m Over the Moon\u201d by Lorin Stein<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"November 3, 2011 \u2013 It takes guts to apostrophize a heavenly body. Everybody\u2019s seen them: Sappho, Keats, Mayakovsky, O'Hara, you name it. 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