Rudy Francisco has a visceral voice guaranteed to reverberate somewhere in your soul. His poems are lyrical and maintain a delicate balance between liRudy Francisco has a visceral voice guaranteed to reverberate somewhere in your soul. His poems are lyrical and maintain a delicate balance between light, ephemeral prose and heavy hitting slam dunks.
A brief 96 pages, I can see myself revisiting my highlights in the future, or at least snooping on his Instagram: @RudyFrancisco.
I have solar-powered confidence and a battery-operated smile. My hobbies include: editing my life story,
hiding behind metaphors, and trying to convince my shadow that I'm someone worth following.
A few of my favorites:
Instructions
Gather your mistakes, rinse them with honesty and self-reflection,
let dry until you can see every choice and the regret becomes brittle,
cover the entire surface in forgiveness,
remind yourself that you are human
and this too is a gift.
Silence
I'm learning that I don't always have to make noise to be seen,
that even my silence has a spine, a rumble
and says, I'm here in its native tongue.
Page
It just sits there, with a mouth full of entitlement, staring at you and wondering why it is still not a masterpiece....more
Poetry, in my opinion, is especially evocative when read by the author. Listening to Philip Larkin adds another dimension to the words, bringing them Poetry, in my opinion, is especially evocative when read by the author. Listening to Philip Larkin adds another dimension to the words, bringing them to life in a different way. The poems were easy to find online, and I read along as I listened. Previously, I've only dabbled in Larkin, but have always enjoyed his biting edge. I will definitely be reading more Larkin in the future.
My two favorites from this compilation were:
Cut Grass (entire)
Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death
It dies in the white hours Of young-leafed June With chestnut flowers, With hedges snowlike strewn,
White lilac bowed, Lost lanes of Queen Anne's lace, And that high-builded cloud Moving at summer's pace.
and
Vers de Société (snippet)
Just think of all the spare time that has flown
Straight into nothingness by being filled With forks and faces, rather than repaid Under a lamp, hearing the noise of wind, And looking out to see the moon thinned To an air-sharpened blade. A life, and yet how sternly it’s instilled ...more
One of the most achingly beautiful books of poetry I've ever read.
For the past two-ish years, sentences and images revisit me from Night Sky with ExiOne of the most achingly beautiful books of poetry I've ever read.
For the past two-ish years, sentences and images revisit me from Night Sky with Exit Wounds.
There is no escaping—might be time for a reread.
Immigrant Haibun
"... He lay beside me and placed a word on the nape of my neck, where it melted into a bead of whiskey. Gold rust down my back. We had been sailing for months. Salt in our sentences. We had been sailing—but the edge of the world was nowhere in sight. ... Stars. Or rather, the drains of heaven—waiting. Little holes. Little centuries opening just long enough for us to slip through. A machete on the deck left out to dry. My back turned to him. My feet in the eddies. He crouches beside me, his breath a misplaced weather. ... The fog lifts. And we see it. The horizon—suddenly gone. An aqua sheen leading to the hard drop. Clean and merciful—just like he wanted. Just like the fairy tales. The one where the book closes and turns to laughter in our laps. I pull the mast to full sail. He throws my name into the air. I watch the syllables crumble into pebbles across the deck."
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