PRIMICIA: BERTA GARCÍA FAET. MR. DAIFUKU THIS IS THE FIRST POEM I WRITE IN ENGLISH



roberto inocenti


mr. daifuku this is the first poem i write in english
mr. daifuku LOL i’m calling you daifuku this is hilarious
i don’t know how my first poem in english sounds ((figuratively i mean i mean
qua sociolect qua idiolect)) ((i mean we mean figuratively everything everything
should be in italics when i say “in my heart” i say “i am a body i am
a western body” “friedrich nietzsche is my best friend” “the convention of italics
embodies
a tradition” “contingent, of course” “hey i’m pretty much contingent”
“thanks”)) i don’t know
(i don’t suspect i can’t suspect) the
connotations the
possible clichés i’m over-exposing ((like wounds? like desire?)) and/or the
possible strangeness
((i mean i’m sure there is strangeness
and i’m glad, i simply wonder
whether it is
a good strangeness a good strangeness that may make the reader feel
something and feel like a mere thing like a constellation of knees + eyelids
+ lips
like i always feel
when i read but can’t read
i guess for instance kant? the flowers? nietzsche? or, say, a good strangeness
that may make the reader think is this a poem? why is this -i doubt it- poem
so odd because she wanted
it or it’s a flaw
of inevitability? take, as a paradigm, “simply” “simply” in “i simply wonder”;
i didn’t mean “i just wonder” “it’s just, i wonder if” i meant i think i meant
“i ask myself questions in a simple way” no wonder i do
no wonder i have
this embarrassing tendency i have
simple strawberries and simple aporias and simple tiny tiny
fluorescent strawberries-shaped supergiants and of course flowers the flowers
in my heart;
it’s obvious i was going to say, say, “in my heart”
because i possess (i think i possess but i don’t really possess
them
because i’m not a sexist)
in my heart
yes flowers

as i was kind of saying i possess all those prodigies
all those sweet fruits and socially awkward stars and all those flowers; the flowers
in my heart
are pretty very pretty
because it’s in my heart where nonfiction fiction and maybe love who knows uh
kind of happens wait wait
i’ve lost track gotta close these extravagant double parentheses close
your eyes SURPRISE! SPRING AND ALL!))

as i was kind of saying i don’t suspect (i can’t suspect) the
connotations
of my (socially awkward)
witticisms
of my possible failures of my possible
ignorance/daring ((i borrow this dichotomy from a spanish saying)) saying it as if i said
“these are the connotations
i want my first poem written in english to be
drank with” “please be aware my lover my
vocabulary
is light & easy when it’s not light & easy please be aware i borrowed my
sophistication

since i don’t trust (i can’t trust)
the lexical aspect of this poem mr. daifuku
i’ll focus instead on structure i hope it’s neither exhausting nor trite i’m ignorant of
your canon ((now it’s my canon too because i live here i belong  
here here meaning
i guess the universe? the flowers? america?))

the first poem i write in english mr. daifuku
is for you but also to submit it
to some literary art prizes thing
my main goal here and in the universe
is to be a flower
and to “talk” ((“talk” is so wrong and/or so figurative
in so many senses)) about
what happened at my place four days ago and what happened at your place
two days ago in america
and to “talk” about what is happening right now but i wonder whether
“i” ((“i” in the context of a poem and of a life is so wrong so wrong))
am right to write about what
i don’t know
so yes it’s a meta-poem
and meta-seduction (please be aware i’m talking
about not talking but but
i found these weird
litotes!
i also found these miniature hopes
in my murky but syropy but
happy
heart
so yes it’s a heart i’m
happy i found
the keys)

probably we ((america the canon everyone)) don’t know nothing (nothing) and we write
kids and raise
poems and puppies anyways so i confess i knew
my previous questions were rethorical
:D

offtopic this is dull i’m much a better (?) poet/woman in spanish sorry this is
agrammatical AND
false

the first part of this poem ((i’ll continue next week)) is also to discuss what
it is to write a poem in english
being a privileged immigrant etc. ((i want to write about
being and ser and estar
in america and about
politics because i tend to shout “I CARE ABOUT POLITICS
AND THE ETHICS OF CARE!” all the time still i’m a mess i rain i
snow bluish pinkish flakes of
all misted up
roars all misted up
murmurs all misted up
dissonances and bizarre cultural objects all over
all over
the romantic rain i
swear
i snow believe me)) wait wait
is this a plausible image, like, snowed rain? wait wait
i want to write about how i write about how
difficult it is
to write and raise
spanish strawberries spanish poems ((*poems*)) in
providence, RI
and also i want to say i bought honey and i hate honey
it’s for you
if you don’t eat it it will die
in my shy oh why so shy kitchen
shelf
and also to ask you at what time does your party end and tonight do you want
me
to comer over? we could watch a movie tomorrow





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