POEMS OF THE WEEK #23 & #24


Chelsey Minnis and Frances Richard

To wind up our series of poems of the week, selected by KF Contributing Editor Barry Schwabsky, we present second tastings of work by two of the most promising of the up-and-coming poets we've featured over the past five months. Colorado-based Chelsey Minnis' debut book was the breathtakingly elliptical Zirconia (Fence Books, 2001), which she followed by a chapbook, Foxina (Seeing Eye Books, 2002). Frances Richard, a critic for Artforum, published her first collection of poems, See Through (Four Way Books), last year. What Eileen Myles wrote about Richard's poems could easily have been said of Minnis as well: "She writes quietly and fiercely with the unpleasant force of nature yowling behind her back."

 

Clown
Chelsey Minnis



It seems that I'm growing more and more like a clown. First of all, I'm always sad. Secondly, all my knives are made out of rubber. Thirdly, it's like my house is on fire.

No, I'm definitely becoming more like a clown. I have a tendency to want to put on clown clothes. As soon as I put the clown clothes on I feel faintly happier...

Another sign is that I constantly feel like I’m alone in a dressing room. Most of the time I feel amused. Anyway, the only thing good about the circus is the tigers.

I realize that I could get both legs cut off by the circus train or get frightened by an elephant. But it's very depressing to sit around in a clown suit and think about death.

Sometimes I don't feel happy unless I’m in my clown suit. And, I enjoy hitting people on the head with a foam club. I really do...

When people see me they realize that it looks very sophisticated to wear a clown suit and smoke a cigarette. This is how I get all the ladies because they think I'm very droll.

People don't understand how you turn into a clown. You turn into a clown because you feel more and more like putting on a clown suit. When you’re around people you sense a kindliness. It makes you so nervous you can't stay calm. Which is why it feels perfectly normal to wear orange pants.

Plus, it's very subversive to wear bow ties. You can't imagine how jolly everything is. And the fright wigs... I don't want to be a clown but I'm sure to be one. My mother was a clown.

 

life of the phoneme
Frances Richard


	uh  eme

                          commotional


                          whoosh
before the streaming uh eme antediluvian

        spread the alluvial wash

making orderly channels for still-rolling 
particulate, the sentence is 

sedimentary, palpable, spit grammar a breakage 
canyon between 

silhouetted contours, faces, vases
onscreen educationally speak the visible 

halves meet in the middle as syllabic 
practice, shadows lurch

       500,000 words elusively pinned
       to 300 phonemes

       say outloud (a man's
       and woman's voices)   gluh…
			 …eme
				
		       pause, sentimental
		origin glitched

		early sound emergent as
		sentient, a mental 

		gleam

	   (short theme
	   song of union) (profiles exchanging
	   uh…uh) double fast clean 

articulate grains of unsense fused and seen, happy

music, 	   motes 

		split in the beam


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