Untitled
by Ricky Novaes de Oliveira
Time sensitive. Brownish clusters on dry plots. Urban scrawl, the mountains that gaze back at you. I clear my notifications. A sense of space and its distance, of intricate functionality over ornate frill. Cafes & graffiti, private & public, aristocrats & disposed. Dispossessed. Bus guy. Grimy nails. A bucket. Muttering. The bus dropped me off on campus. Fried guy. Speaking to something. I didn’t understand. We were both lost. In the shade. I was new. Not to him, but to here. Trees every which way curling & unfurling, hosting the day’s last lights. Wind brought good whispers: Lil Wayne from stereo speakers, birds in discussion, the whir of research. I hear the cars approach here. Not much going. Estate sale. Not in service. Stop. All way. The roadrunners run me off their block. Classical music detergents. Flood light deterrents. As if where you lay your head at night determines the appeal of Debussy. Downtown. Sun down. Low-rider Sunday. Everyone is playing Dre & Snoop, hip-hop & reggaeton, MC this & MC that, corridos & rap, R&B. We’re dancing. The girls at the Dog House. & I’m dancing, too. State park exigency. I trailed the noises to an evening menagerie. Even the zoo animals howl when the people leave for another attraction
Read by the poet:
Thank you for reading the Poem of the Week!
Another poem birthed over my recent trip to ABQ. Like last week’s poem, this poem is a collection of observations, overhearings, and random thoughts I had while exploring a place new to me.
This poem is definitely a work in progress; it isn’t titled, it has a weird structure, and there’s definitely some “fat” (i.e. superfluous words) that could be trimmed. Nonetheless, I wanted to show off a more “raw” poem that hasn’t been edited much because it speaks to my process of writing. I write mostly on my phone, in the Notes app, as I go throughout my day. Walking, driving, and riding are very generative for me; movement helps me to see more, think more, and eventually write. So this poem is a bit of a “walking poem” that wanders as much as it thinks out loud.
Here’s where you come in: I would love your feedback on this poem! What’s good? What’s meh? Does anything speak to you? Any possible title ideas? Feel free to leave your thoughts below, and maybe one day I can polish this poem up thanks to your help.
If you like the idea of a “walking poem” that is reflective both of place and state of mind, here’s a ~book recommendation~: Harryette Mullen’s “Urban Tumbleweed.” If you haven’t read Mullen yet, you’re missing out. This is a great book if you are interested in poetry, constrained writing, urban spaces, or Los Angeles in general.
That’s all for now. Big news soon.
Dancing, Ricky
Potential title - Fuck up some commas