Monday, January 28, 2013

James Cook

From When Dylan Went Electric

At times the camera seemed to be revealing
its own inner workings as subject & object.

An argument with memory.

Pan slowly over rainy street.

Dark salt waves pulse.

The news man’s plastic face suddenly grown so sad & strange.

The world outside was subject to constant paralysis – curtains were invented.

The radio turned in on itself

(see camera above)

& beauty refused abstraction,
squandering all its silly money at the pawnshop,
reveling in the flickered light.

Never before had we been able to say what we were doing as we were doing it.

We told all our friends & then they told us what they were doing.

Often we were standing in lines.

This is how I remember the 21st century.

Listen: some kid’s drawing of an exploding flower.

The poem you wrote once about her eyelashes.

How you looked forward to coffee.

All the things that had nothing to do with disaster.
The town with its one water tower.
The cancelled sky.

James Cook's poems have appeared in various print and online publications, including The Cortland Review, BlazeVOX, Lake Affect, Scissors and Spackle, and Colbalt Review. His first full-length collection, Moments at Point Light, is in manuscript. He is currently at work on a book-length poem titled The Croatoan Songbook. He lives in upstate NY.