I want to kiss his mouth, touch my tongue against his.Richard Siken. Published in 2005 it had earlier won the ‘Yale Series of Younger Poets Competition’ in 2004, in addition to receiving several other recognitions.I am in love with Richard Siken. ‘Scheherazade’ is from his collection of poems titled ‘Crush’ the themes of which center around love and obsession. On the poet: Richard Siken (1967 Present) lives and works in Arizona.
What I love are his words. It’s not that type of love. Tell me how all.I know that he’s gay, but no matter. Until they forget that they are horses. Jumping off of the idea of storytelling, the poem puts the 'we' of the poems (what I interpret as the speaker and a lover) in a few different stories and looks at a few different things (horses, roots) that could be comparable to their bond.and dress them in warm clothes again.
I was working as feature writer at Anchorage Daily News at the time, supposedly brainstorming story ideas but really reading online poetry journals. Oh, Richard, will I ever, ever meet you in person?I still remember the first time I “met” Siken. I want to read until my lips are parched, until they bleed with the rhythm of his words.
I’m sliding them around my mouth, I’m eating them with my breath. Steal my wallet, my computer, my car, but do not steal my copy of “Crush.”I suppose since it’s Christmas I’m thinking of Siken’s poems. I read it until my wrists ached and my throat hurt and I thought I might go mad from it all, from the things I’ve yearned for and lost, all the things I’ve had and destroyed, all the times I’ve loved too hard or too fast or too distantly or just too fucking wrong. I sat on the couch, in the middle of a dark and cold Alaska winter, and read it over and over again.
That means it’s noon, that means/we’re inconsolable.”I ran that trail fifty or sixty times,and each time that line filled my head and I sang it along with my breath as ran through that valley, just me and the dog and the mountains and the air so pure and lonely and perfect that I knew that if I died right then and there my whole life would be worth it. I’d run this alone, with just the dog for company, and always, always as I struggled up the steep sections through old spruce forests and emerged back into the light, I would think of a line from Scheherazade: “Look at the light through the windowpane. Three or four days a week I’d run the Lost Lake Trail, an uphill run up the side of the mountain and then back down again.
What matters is that with all of the books in the world, I was lucky enough to have found Crush, to carry pieces inside of my head. That is a marvelous and incredible thing.Running into Danger on an Alaskan Trail in New York Times Magazine.Anchorage–A Gift of Diversity, Alaska Dispatch News“Ten Truths (and ten lies)” upcoming in Deaf Poets Society.“Second to the last time,” “Beluga Point, Alaska” and “The Weatherwoman had a Boob Job” upcoming in Breath and Shadow.“How She Lived” upcoming in Grayson Books Forgotten Women anthology“Conversations before communion,” “Wild breaths / and this” in GNU journal. I suppose it doesn’t matter.
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