FUCK YEAH EILEEN MYLES

I write because I would like to be used for years after my death.

—Eileen Myles, Peanut Butter (via sarahlancastaaa)

Genevieve, Eileen Myles

nesbiff:

One boring March evening
my parents were
trying to think
of something
to do since
Dad was sober
for a change
they decided to fuck.
At that moment
I got an idea
I wrestled with it
finally
said, Ok, fuck, I’ll try it.
That was in December.
Now we’re in May
& still don’t know 
what to do. I wish television
existed in 1949.
It would’ve been Bilko
instead of me
and you’d be doing something
else right now.
You understand my problem
I suppose. Why this?!
and the leaves shake
it’s getting light again
that’s how it always starts
—you get caught up again.
Memories are for lovers
but I really don’t know one
who isn’t like my mother
really telling the same story
over & over again
until someone decides
to leave home. If Mom left town
the kids would have a house.
All the runaway notes
I left in childhood
were just substitutes
for Mom will you please leave.
But here I am getting
caught up in my own story.
I need a teevee
or to be in a series
—Lesbian Mother
a cute thirty-five year old woman
living with her collected kids
in a covered wagon
turning them onto booze
& shit. A very human drama.
To be very real you have to be
full of shit. Like the
streets. Why don’t you run for Mayor
you slob, and clean this
town up! I’m very embarrassed for us.
I won’t bring my kids 
up in this mess. 

Mal Maison, Eileen Myles

nesbiff:

And so I got some marigolds
instead of slitting
my wrists tonight.
And guess what I
had to live through
today—hanging on
to the phone with
my desperate wrist
on Sunday, guess
what I had to
live through, what
new shame, humiliation
rejection which I guess
is also worth it, I guess
it is, right, I could be
dead, right—and this
is so much better.

To say that Galassi and Myles represent two disparate points on the continuum of American poetry is to state the obvious, I know. This was a meeting between the poetics of the Flatiron District and the poetics of the East Village. A meeting between the Union Square Park’s elegance of, say, Elizabeth Bishop and James Merrill (and Galassi, too), and the Tomkins Square yawp-ery of say, Frank O’Hara and Allen Ginsberg (and of course Myles).

—Over at David Biespiel’s Poetry Wire, he talks about an extended conversation between Jonathan Galassi and Eileen Myles in The Poetry Wars. (via therumpus)

(via therumpus)

millionsmillions:

“Inferno is, of course, ‘a poet’s novel’ and so it hit me at the perfect half way point; Eileen is the poet, Eileen is the narrator, and the book is about her and New York City and poetry and sex and love. I felt all shook up by the messy intractable beauty of some of the lines, but even more so by the willfulness of this narrator, this character, this poet writing herself into being.”
- A Year in Reading: Emily M. Keeler

millionsmillions:

Inferno is, of course, ‘a poet’s novel’ and so it hit me at the perfect half way point; Eileen is the poet, Eileen is the narrator, and the book is about her and New York City and poetry and sex and love. I felt all shook up by the messy intractable beauty of some of the lines, but even more so by the willfulness of this narrator, this character, this poet writing herself into being.”

- A Year in Reading: Emily M. Keeler

wavepoetry:

Eileen Myles reading with a puppet. “After life is a dubious conjecture. I’ll tell you when I get there.”