This is a test
- 112 pages
- English
- ePUB (mobile friendly)
- Available on iOS & Android
eBook - ePub
Blindsight
Book details
Book preview
Table of contents
Citations
About This Book
Praise for Greg Hewett:
2010 Lambda Literary Award Finalist in Poetry
2003 Publishing Triangle Thom Gunn Award for Gay Poetry Winner
In poems that are full of wit, touching, and introspective, as well as formally inventive, we find the poet losing his sight, becoming a parent, and occupying middle age with a sense of calm and inevitability.
From "Skyglow":
we spin filaments of light into profiles,
drawing each other
through something resembling time and space and dark.
Let's call this something something vague and mythic
as the ether. Let's say we're ethereal.
Frequently asked questions
At the moment all of our mobile-responsive ePub books are available to download via the app. Most of our PDFs are also available to download and we're working on making the final remaining ones downloadable now. Learn more here.
Both plans give you full access to the library and all of Perlegoās features. The only differences are the price and subscription period: With the annual plan youāll save around 30% compared to 12 months on the monthly plan.
We are an online textbook subscription service, where you can get access to an entire online library for less than the price of a single book per month. With over 1 million books across 1000+ topics, weāve got you covered! Learn more here.
Look out for the read-aloud symbol on your next book to see if you can listen to it. The read-aloud tool reads text aloud for you, highlighting the text as it is being read. You can pause it, speed it up and slow it down. Learn more here.
Yes, you can access Blindsight by Greg Hewett in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Literatur & Poesie. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.
Information
IV. P.O.V.
The Drowning
It comes like a thought,
the figure rising to the lakeās calm surface
indistinct as an angel.
The public gathers onshore
reflecting
on what has transpired, on what is transcending.
Either you recognize yourself or you donāt.
Thereās no way to know
a life by examining
its features; the facts
skip like stones across
the surface, then sink.
Theyāll do the ID,
though thatās not the idea
of someone, the idea
one has of oneās self
beyond all identity,
oneās self to oneself, that place
where clarity disappears.
Instructions for Forgetting
There is a word I canāt remember for forgetting
who I am, for erasing
all those guideposts that every moment bring us
back to the garage of who we think we are,
the inner
monologue building up slowly, discreetly, like carbon monoxide.
Not amnesia. Itās more intentional than that.
Every brain ought to
come with special emergency instructions:
buy a last-minute ticket to anyplace
youāve never heard of;
discard all electronic devices, credit cards;
buy a new wardrobe;
on arrival, be sure the city reads like
a journal unlike your own;
excise your name and picture from your passport
and leave it on a park bench;
destroy photos; remember,
landscape is harder to forget than people;
now find a hotel, someplace
anonymous (apartments
become us too easily);
avoid grand boulevards with memorials
to the knowns or the unknowns;
donāt learn the local language;
visit museums with collections that interest you
not in the least (farm implements, ceramic
tile ovens, a whole mansion of op art);
on the outskirts, visit battlefields of wars
that never became history; see ruins;
wander train stations;
donāt buy a ticket;
eat at lunch counters;
frequent neighborhoods
where those as foreign as you
have begun to forget where
they came from, what they came for.
Self-Portrait as Greek Hero
The bronze helmet fits so I wear it, liking its shiny defiance.
A visor obscures the fear encamped in my features.
An army of bright chariots, photons pour into my eyes and die,
lending epic valor and violence to my well-fortified glare.
Visitors to the exhibit almost believe Iām a demigod,
but then detect the wristwatch I forgot to take off.
Illusion in ruins, the weapons of loneliness now glint all around me.
Self-Portrait as Heartbroken Prom Queen, circa 1967
Even for old guys like me, the lookās the easy part:
prosthetics, wig, vintage clothes, an hour with Photoshop.
The mussed beehive does the trick.
Itās the once-upon-a-time-
I-was-my-daddyās-princess-but-now-nothing-matters
feeling thatās tough to master:
I fall onto a retro champagne-satin bedspread,
eyes wide-open like a girl
murdered in the woods at night, imagining
the harvest-gold rotary phone wonāt ring no matter how much I swear to God
I will never ever act like such a bitch again.
TV-light reflecting off my unwashed face says that vocab word abjection like nothing else.
In the deep-focus background thereās a picture of me and him at winter prom
āhim an absence in blackāme a swirl of white,
a regular snow queen, holding red roses.
At a distance it looks like Iāve been slashed wide open,
but really Iām so happy as they hand me my crown.
Itās tough work being me, she and I decide with a sigh and a yawn.
Whether it is drama or trauma is hard
for anyone to know. We search the mirror
as weāre falling asleep, dreaming of future losses.
By the time I wake up I am a glittering mess.
Wig fallen off, rhinestones biting into my bald crown, and a suspicion that the ...
Table of contents
- Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Acknowledgments
- Contents
- Approaching Blindness
- I. Number Blind
- II. Scenes
- III. Mindās Eye
- IV. P.O.V.
- V. Spectacle
- Notes
- Funder Acknowledgments
- The Publisherās Circle of Coffee House Press
- About the Author