Little Anodynes

Poems

Jon Pineda

• Éditeur: University of South Carolina Press
• Année: 2015
• ISBN:
  9781611175264
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: Poetry

The third collection by the prize-winning Asian American poet Jon Pineda, Little Anodynes is a sequence of lyrical, personal narratives that continue Pineda's exploration of his biracial identity, the haunting loss of his sister, and the joys—and fears—of fatherhood. With its title inspired by Emily Dickinson, Little Anodynes offers its poems as "respites, " as breaks in the reader's life that serve as opportunities for discovery and healing. Pineda deftly uses shortened lines and natural pauses to create momentum, which allows the poems to play out in a manner evocative of fine cinema, as if someone had left a projector running and these narratives were flickering and blending endlessly in an experience shared by the viewer, the storyteller, and the story itself.

One

First Concert

In front of us were
teenagers with shoe polish
black mohawks passing
a joint back & forth one
with hair pulled into nails
glistering with gelatin then
the lights went down & we
could feel Lee Rocker’s bass
lines filling our chests our
hearts pulled taut &
plucked amplified I was
a small kid eleven years old
& unsure grinning with
a contact buzz then my
friend nudged me &
pointed again we followed
the glowing speck as it spun
landed on lips brightening
for a sec then lost in smoke
Brian Setzer skinny &
tattooed was all sleeveless
snarl his tempered
crooning slinging his
glittery electric hollow
body he strummed &
stamped his buckled boots
the stage looking slick with
sweat & colored lights I
want to believe I was
learning something about
the world on the car ride
home my friend & I
punched each other we
didn’t know how to feel so
we took it out on one
another the lights on
the Hampton Roads Bridge
Tunnel ticked by combing
through the interior of
the Cadillac I would look up
& see my friend’s father
nodding to the music on
the radio his gray mop
of hair swatting at
the stretched cloth of
the ceiling strands stood on
end like an orb of electricity
one of those glass balls you
might find crackling with
small neon lightning in
a novelty store-front
window my friend punched
me in the stomach &
laughed we scrambled into
the trough of the floorboard
I returned the gesture this
was 1982 when I got home
my sister was standing in
the hallway with her arms
folded in front of her she
took one look at me & said
You’re high then laughed
quietly & went back in her
room where the walls were
covered in teen magazine
poster pullouts in another
year a car accident would
take away this version of
her sometimes I like to go
back to this brief moment
in the hallway the two of us
there sharing what we both
knew & would never know

Prayer

We found ourselves gone
into the crowd on Bourbon
Street a river with its
current of tourists breaking
the invisible levees until
certain things drew us in
someone’s wife undressed
among college students
quick to drape camera
flashes across her skin &
the man struggling to cover
her with his wrinkled suit
coat is her sad husband you
imagine his smile appears
as only an apology it is
almost January & the wind
lingering in the harsh
distance moves across
the marsh grass gathers
to speak its name over
the woman’s nipples
sharpening while people
nearby disappear into
themselves it is an easier
descent among the alley-
ways lining the empty
church its rusted grate
meshed with the stench
of piss & blood how we all
emerged then into Jackson
Square the Baby about to
drop & signal the end of one
year the beginning of
another finding a spot
within the crowd your hand
holding onto your wife’s
you feel there is always
a hint of sadness that hangs
back from any considerable
joy & waits your mother’s
sure words like a prayer
through life Remember
laughter turns to crying
before the hour slides into
place you decide you will
cherish the temporal
holding onto each other’s
face to steady yourselves
before the embrace of
the moment passes on you
enjoy a kiss among
the crowd of others
cheering through jazz &
blues drunk on Hurricanes

Outside in the sun
a Louisiana winter hums
within bristled palms you
overhear someone a table
away say Filipino Necktie &
swipe a single fingertip
across their throat others
among them laugh & it is
gruesome you thi...