literature

Volpi.

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Daily Deviation

Daily Deviation

July 28, 2014
Volpi. by winterkate displays a mastery of language, rolling relentlessly from one powerful and fresh image to the next
Featured by ShadowedAcolyte
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Literature Text

You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat –
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.

You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.

If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight –
you may learn something there.

Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.

Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well springs or witch dens. Old storybook magic.
We've kept it between our gold teeth.
Still, if you don't feel it,
all spells sometimes fail.

Try the Polleria Volpi – its knives gleam like America,
cleave fat thin as tissue – no recrimination here.
Prosciutto thin as pride. Hams
sway from the ceiling. Thin chains. Sword of Damocles
a pig's bone, half-sharpened. Popped joints
wink and glint. Shiny now, devoid of flesh. I've seen myself
as such before, chopped and trussed,
turned inside-out. You recognize that stripped wing, caught short in panic,
half-extended?

There's an old man smiling
behind his glass counter. Green eyes glimmer coin-bright.  
Ask him to cleave meat
sheer as shadows. Smell the air.

Chicken eyes are old iron,
scratched and worn dull. Lucca is watching you,
writing your story. Tragedy, romance, comedy?
Byzantine saints know.
Tongues painted closed.
They never tell.

Our tongues are rivers
drowning lost stories.
Paper shrivels like autumn
in dark spaces, in damp heat.
Lucca will write your story
for a time. They don't keep.

You'll eat. Feeling guilty
for your hollow teeth?
Lucca will slice us thinner
one day. All stories
end.

Still, the city watches,
blinks shut the great clocks.
Don't live in black ink.
You are the pen.

I write invisible, script out
other's tales. Lucca told me
to tell you
that you are the pen.
We never like to acknowledge that something has died.
-A.A., July 4th, 2012

Hopefully this'll clear up why I haven't been on as much lately ;)
Comments93
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glossolalias's avatar
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Overall
:star::star::star::star::star: Vision
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Originality
:star::star::star::star::star: Technique
:star::star::star::star::star-empty: Impact

The way you weaved your words together, one image after another, was breathtaking and overwhelming: I felt as if I was there, witnessing every sight through your eyes, and the way you transcribed pictures so vividly- you certainly were the pen. The cadence was stunning, every mark of punctuation flawlessly placed, and I found myself completely enamored with your diction: even when I might have struggled to place many unseen things into my head, the language was captivating and so genuine that I couldn't help stepping along your journey. Your vision for this poem was magnificent and accomplished well with application of technique that can only be described as perfect.

I don't think there is such thing as a full mark of originality within certain topics, though I must say, this is one of the best traveler's poems I have come across in that the language was superbly unique. The way you chose to personify the city was executed precisely, and each rhetorical venture you set out on reaped reward-

Now as for impact, while this poem left quite an impression, by the end of it I felt more longing than anything: these are your experiences, and while you did bring them to life, they left me craving the true face of Lucca, and while that is an impact on its own, it wasn't quite what I was looking for out of this.

Overall, this is just a gorgeous and fascinating piece of literature. Vastly enjoyed and I am glad you shared it.