I’ve been talking a lot about a TV book that I’ve
been working on, and I just made a big decision about the book today (one
exciting only to me), so I worked on it instead of writing a new poem. It’s
like a poem.
Actual news footage when it’s mostly cops walking
outside of the crime scene tape.
When my most political
act is passively aggressively not sending out thank-you notes after my son’s
birthday party. The trauma of my petty Madame Bovarian despair is at the core of all
In true crime reenactments, when the actors are
thinner or fatter or more beautiful or uglier than the people they’re playing,
what authenticities does the director want?
All the moms and their bottles of wine. My
mother’s sex life.
On The Walking Dead, it would smell terribly everywhere. On The Walking Dead, they probably would
have terrible teeth. There should be many more flies on The Walking Dead.
The television show that’s about swimming
Andrew Lincoln played a schoolteacher on a British
television show. He drinks a lot and each episode of the show begins with the
weekday imprinted in some improbable place. His face is different.
When the shows melt together, which ones melt
together like The Walking Dead and Lost or The Walking Dead and M.A.S.H.
they call them names, the more you know you’re beating them.
Television, so noisy. Lost my body in my
spectatorship. I wish I could use my love of television as a way of making
Is this place secure from walkers? Art is never without consequences.
The hypertextual k-hole
of watching shows on the computer. I can read about the actors, watch their sex
tapes, find out their hometowns.
The shows that I
Knope: That Chimeric Democracy We Fancy.
nerdy guy from Breaking Bad is the
nerdy guy on The Walking Dead. Does
he know this?
Intervention is a synthetic
catharsis. The very best shows are.
is always happening on Gray's Anatomy. Shit is always going down. A character
literally gets hit by a bus. A boy gets impaled by a fence, a plane crash, a
train crash happens. A brain tumor, a hostage situation, an explosion.
21st century sitcom feels like its written by the book, yet the post-ironic, neurotic chatter distinguishes it
from its hammier predecessors.
TV, you have my permission.
The voiceover is subliminal self-help, but Meredith’s
strange lisp distracts me.
How will the show reinvent itself after they
move on to other hospitals? On television, jobs are purgatorial affairs.
I read a book while I watch the show. When I
feel vigorous and shining, I like the way Gray’s
Anatomy plays as backdrop to all of the work I do. I can drop in and out
while I fold laundry.
We don’t need a time machine when TV
wrings so much from tragedy.
Television drama: not
catharsis but flattening the fluttering and frenetic self to a tidy archive. The
show sells the evolution of self, a redoing. The television show is after all a
language event, an accounting of the self.
them- Alicia Florrick on The Good
I sometimes ask students to write a poem by transcribing an existing poem backwards. The syntactical relationships are loosened, and something new is made of the poem's lexicon. The exercise will be in the next edition of Wingbeats. With Laurie Ann Guerrero's permission, I transcribed the poem "Babies Under the Skin" from her new collection A Tongue in the Mouth of the Dying and wrote this new poem:
The Under Babies
Touch of nourish, turn us
living. Stay the thought of
milk as muscle, as mother to
yearning babies. To my fingers,
meek and musty, your kiss is a nipple,
a grasp to reach the wet pink and papery
lipskin air of mouthfuls swallowing
death in even the most rooting of mouths.
Fish, wind, and water birthed you, so I celebrate