I had a period in my late teens to early twenties where I wrote a lot of poetry. I didn’t write musing or stories. It was all poetry. I have boxes of journals sitting in the garage that are full. At the time, poetry was my cathartic writing, much like this substack is now.
At the time I lived in Seattle and I started attending Poetry slams and did a few readings. Wow, those are nerve wracking. Nothing like laying your soul out there for the world to hear… and I don’t know what I was expecting, but I generally just got profound silence when I finished. No one would come up to me afterwards… it just was. And it left me with an odd feeling.
The only time I was succesful at getting published was when I sent in a poem to Bricolage, the University of Washington book of Poetry, Writing and Art. They accepted a poem that I wanted to call “Love is…” but they didn’t like my title so just used the line I repeated the most, “I am Wretched in Sight”. If you know Harlan Ellison’s writing, you might recognize the influence.
Mentally, I frequently return to this poem. It is definitely dark on the surface, but contains hope, love, and selflessness. The lack of consent from the man does bother me…
“I am Wretched in Sight” or “Love Is”. By Andy Swanson. Published in Bricolage, Volume 11, Number 1, Spring 1993, pp 56-57.
Man in the desert, Ran from me today, I am wretched in sight -- And he, starving, a greying raisin, Saw me in my peeling eyes My double jointed knees And my twitching reflex. He ran away, Quick as he could. But I am of the desert, And lonely. I instantly loved this man -- Instead of the three steps I needed To catch him, I took twenty, To not hurt his pride. I held him in my unforgiving limbs And through his screams Drowned his drought in my saliva. Breaking my tail, holding him I forced myself on him. He ate me and smiled -- Scared, his lips twitching. I am wretched in sight -- I know, I pleaded with my eyes, And he screamed again, Higher, louder, with health. I am wretched in sight -- I left my little, New growing tail, twitching For his tomorrow And ran away, quick as I could, The skin on my eyes doubled over.
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