ngoc doan
for not so much the love of weather
for not so much the love of weather
an editors’ selection
for the manor house chapbook series
for not so much the love of weather ngoc doan
a manor house monograph | ny&sd 2014
yo u a re c o u n t ry li k e m e
when rain stitches the sky atmosphere’s proroguing if soggy flowers
of Autumn de-
cline
Spring’s pollinating
revolvers
pink yellow
and purple pink
redder
I admit no joy in pigmentations, sidledwalk pavement
in rain
worm
halves
9
squirrels race fence
birdfeeder, and pollen
spores accumulate on grass
there
we are like blue columbine
bursts
as us on the lawn is
evenings
see fireflies
10
it is April, so I always get what I want
stable
coaches, riding
loads
peter gilbert fills a hole
exposes
a calf
(seed
potatoes, perihelia posies
and cockatoo on fence
promised a man)
peaches keep crying
the crow’s waiting to hide things that
doesn’t what is to need secrets-
11
walk that dirt it is dusk already the rabbits ride
the horizon
wild they are to knife
lay your head duellum a wailing-some rent is retch
12
you’ve seen the sun towers of glimmering light
picture
your levity bareness whitens the back ends the other people they go by— (no scrutiny) they are strange to you make sense your disrobing consent you know these blossom trees are swept
what do you remember— it’s a day like do cry
any other
13
t h e at re
there are fruit trees and marble slabs uniform not every thing is this deep backlash slap of
every comment
purple
brutish
I’m content
sometimes
in the morning
I peel hardboiled eggs in sink water steams
and berry
this frustration I wish that I knew
figure
as if— pushing you off the bridge not by accident this is us walking in the dark.
14
in the beginning it’s free
you don’t care enough
our exuberance, a dream of LA
and
flown rapier lines on upper lips
there are stars on your ceiling
or do I see stars
at the end of the night a song is still
playing
—I’ve forgotten
what I was doing
15
c atc h
I
flushes
and
everything falls the world’s broken
I am not lief,
you, holdness
wave this way—
or we are not there
wake up to see the sky
bunch of balloons
fly
before telephone lines
16
b lue d fro m g u n
1. Ruby look twice at the bull’s eye it is robbery, nameless smile
that’s not for you
say, you’re the cowgirl! volcano rain
on your face
and I want a last ride through the prairies with you
17
2. ghost towns have no ghost oily vestige loudmouth anger those confuse me point, shoot set down my gun sheriff’s
stared!
18
3. over due the undertow
runs sour rum
lie to the dogs I ace deny you don’t blink!
19
fa llac i e s
it is so good my guy
planks
and
the other side
measures
inches for beat
as our fingers pride happy
tying
rue
bent and mold back -ward
rub me wrong wayward
I tie you down
20
s i e n na
her lipstick
trace her
mascara trouncing cigarette ash she is girl awestruck black, cocktails repartee variance/ iwantyou
four knots
—going vermouth joie slip down size singular
21
au g ust ra i n
the longevity in summer days the time of bearing it’s mine,
love
that yellows the decaying leaves drafted on windshield by watermark light blanches dust in air silence between radio songs
22
p o rc e la i n ri g h t
my Russian princess
tells of her favorite pup view the wind
bellying the window
curtains
bare twigs
trees backlit sunset
orange, red
and wax
cinders
its breath of flowery
sure, forlorn
dahlias cinnamon
sticks
the ballroom’s bareness
23
because our concern of time
you turn to say
—where would you go
24
w h at yo u d o to me
I cannot
sleep sideways that my arms are numb underneath
love you have the whole constellation on your back affliction of words
like fuck and more
obscene
wound
forgive me when the nights
of tremors, ache
no stars
stop you love glimpses of faith when the blinds do come down
love forbears
of faith all you
25
forgive me again, again
what do you do to me
but love
26
w h at i s
twin in sky,
spindle twinges
that radiate breast from breast. eerie freezes under me the tempest mood
drops at night
below the bed a weapon I’m ready to beat dead
27
p e re n n i a l s e e saw
my life runs lengthy the soothsayer’s presage but I rank
pinball tremors and
replay
consternations that I do not know I face you
—debalancing me as roundabouts
coursing
our childlike
speak on fairgrounds where we have found the sky flint and stormed
impassionedly
navigated
heart’s cyclone
whaling an eye
out shores
lost me 28
wa n i ng
The blemishes of half lies We pulled on the blindfold
and thought to take
baby steps
Did we grow
cold and worn
Those tattered shoes shoveled
until stumbled us.
29
few
among others— our world our place do not enter— the door is shut window opened to bend the air outside it snows the ice follows irritant imitative to voices they do not penetrate we find ourselves warm who have known this paradise are not
30
nov e m b e r p o e m
Winter has rudely arrived the cider tastes sour
it does not warm me always a draft from somewhere
the bedroom is a Russian battlefield I have hands of a lifeless person I cannot touch
you
jumping
nights to phantasms & daylight’s cold comfort as we go we march on frozen
plateaus
31
bundled up
double bind & cannot turn to hold each other lost in parkas
no expansion
wax i ng
The sky is sonnet white The landscape engulfs us
in its grief We feel ocean in tunnels of mountain snow
The distance from where we were to now is ever.
32
Manor House, LLC New York, San Diego http://manorhouse.co Copyright © 2014 by Ngoc Doan All rights reserved Frontispiece by Kerry Hyatt: “Moons,” watercolor on arches, 2009. Designed by James Meetze. Covers printed by Daniel Heffernan at Clove St. Press, signatures printed in the United States, and hand sewn in an edition of 250. Typeset in Mercury.
This is ________ of 250.
First Edition, 2014 ISBN: 978-0-9859095-4-3
AC K NOWLE D G E M E NTS Different versions of some of these poems have appeared in Conjunctions Magazine. The title, “Blued from Gun,” is an adaptation of the Jesus and Mary Chain’s song, “Blues from a Gun.”
manor house monographs 1. Dark Art by James Meetze, 2013 2. In The Air by Peter Gizzi / Richard Kraft, 2013 3. For Not So Much the Love of Weather by Ngoc Doan, 2014
selected for the manor house chapbook series not every thing is this deep backlash slap of every comment purple brutish I’m content sometimes