ECKLEBURG BOOK CLUB | You as Poetry by Rose Hunter

YouAsPoetry_front_cover

 

You as Poetry by Rose Hunter

“The caveat is — I don’t read much poetry these days, although when younger I read poetry avidly. I bought this new collection of Rose Hunter poems because I had read two of her earlier collections, and liked them very much; ironically, I first discovered Rose’s work in prose, a small work she published some years ago called, ‘Another Night at the Circus.’ After that, I began looking for anything else she had written.

You As Poetry does not disappoint, although she has much to live up to based on her previous work. Besides Rose’s evident poetic style, which happens to be one I find both accessible and stunningly powerful, I especially liked the “thread” running through these poems, the reading of which will be enhanced by starting at the beginning and reading through to the end, avoiding the urge to skip around from one interesting title to another. That thread is ‘you.’ (It would certainly be interesting to know if there is a real you and who that you is.)

“There is a strong flavor of Mexico running throughout these poems, much of it about Puerto Vallarta.

“This book gets my strongest recommendation..”
                                             —Donigan Merritt, author of The Common Bond.

“Rose Hunter creates energizing convergences of form and language and then she pulls them apart again…changing directions, perception, and hearts.” – Susan Smith Nash, author of The Adventures of Tinguely Querer

“The uncountable layers of our 21st-century identity – in You As Poetry, Rose Hunter makes them visible in a provoking and compassionate collage of the human condition.” – Dorothee Lang, author of Worlds Apart (Folded Word Press) 

 

You As Poetry
by Rose Hunter

$14.95 paperback
2013, 82 pages, 5 x 8

Cover by Arlene Ang

ISBN-13: 9780615877358 
ISBN-10: 0615877354

PURCHASE HERE

 

Excerpts 

 

You As Francis Bacon, Figure With Meat

 

Because you are grey? Because you are blue?

Because you have one eye? Or

because you are your face, screaming

in front of carcasses like slippers

to go with your mad pope robe

or elephant ears to match your rage

in this, your echo chamber, Xanadu

or a cardboard box; the idea of light beyond

but you can’t see that and I can’t

know that, and there is nothing either of us

can do with a white arrow on the floor.

Mouth like a strangling and I do not know

if you are alive or dead and still ranting

one hand grasping your cane.

 

***

You As Canyon

 

Along the river that drop with no railing

and think how there are so many of them

balconies without bannisters

and footpaths along precipices

and holes in the street; from that point of view

not a safe place to be drunk

which is why we all are

on cobblestones and steps with crumbling

tongues: remember: your fear

of such things made me fearless

because I wanted to show you the world

is not as frightening as you think

I wanted to demonstrate

not the precipice, but the gorge

 

which means: we do not stumble

but plunge fully into

 

what is right there, muted; the bear park

(I saw its lights) and knew it was you

because I needed to know it wasn’t

that other guy (the one with your shirt)

you have many fake twins:

the pizza delivery, tequila

salesman canopy tour, guy?

 

Best walk on the road; the gravel

from passing trucks is real as shard

sparking over the edge

disappearing into you.

 


Rose Hunter is the author of (the poetry books) You As Poetry (Texture Press), [four paths] (Texture Press), and to the river (Artistically Declined Press). She has appeared in journals such as The Barcelona Review, Geist, New World Writing, Cordite, Juked, DIAGRAM, The Nervous Breakdown, > kill author, Bluestem, PANK, and The Doctor T.J Eckleburg Review. She is from Australia originally and now lives in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. She tweets, @roseh400. 


 

Macaw

Macaw
with painted eye koi pond
plunged into the amphitheater
with three day shadow black

rhinoceros beak like that
gnarled tongue like that
 
glottis stop on the verge
not like this is how
I am going to lose you but this is
 
how I have lost you already, now
foot in mouth macaw
with pipe cleaner bumper bar
 
mustachio ara militaris
thick throated m mexicana
with kind of like presumptuous
 
leprechaun suited cobbler
foot on crank
grasping the last
 
hoarding your dollars
wings hunckered
emphysematic, you
 
squawking about drafts
while in my imagination
el guacamayo your
 
spread and sweep
not like this is how
I am going to lose you
 
pistachio and green apple
with golden and blue rider
yoked back flying, on Sunset
 
panhandling and Christ like
piñatas and red or throwing
stained glass and talavera, kitchen
 
benches and the whole enchilada
over the rail such colors we were
 
now mountain valley jungle pass


Rose.HunterRose Hunter is the author of [four paths] (Texture Press 2012), and to the river (Artistically Declined Press 2010). She is from Australia originally, lived in Canada (Toronto) for ten years, and now lives in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. She keeps a photo blog at rosesfotosdeldia.wordpress.com.
 
 
 
 
 
 


 
 
 

 

 

 

Amapas

And how you sat at the bar right
there. That spot that was your spot
with amapa flowers in bunches
freshly smashed and pink
 
cherry blossom umbrellas
semi transparent, negligee
or your thin skin. Lapacho, also, why not
 
because we were such wild ones?
even such would have
stopped for a moment, I remember
the underwater bump and bubble
more like a tinaco I can’t hear
what you’re doing I can’t see
what you are; open mouth
amapa trees
 
in bloom; the end of high season
is approaching and I feel feathered again
 
to be one of those who know a place
well enough to make statements
that don’t mean a thing but a shrug
 
the heat is coming.
it will send the tourists scuttering…
 
and the lottery, when will be
the first day of rain? it won’t be
the person with most time who wins.
 
Jaguar cobblestone and rushing river; a road
is something for wading, what else
 
instead I told a story like
it was here you hit your head
one time and not in dancing with me
but lighting a cigarette, your forehead
and the bridge of your nose
 
freshly smashed and the pink
spider veins on your face.


Rose.Hunter

Rose Hunter is the author of [four paths] (Texture Press 2012), and to the river (Artistically Declined Press 2010). She is from Australia originally, lived in Canada (Toronto) for ten years, and now lives in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. She keeps a photo blog at rosesfotosdeldia.wordpress.com.