By Kara Candito
In Kara Candito’s prize-winning debut assortment a “garish/human theatre” involves lifestyles opposed to richly textured geographic and psychic landscapes. those poems are high-speed meditations on a global the place Walter Benjamin meets the “glitzy chain-link of Chanel scarves” and Puccini’s Tosca meets the din of the days sq. subway station. Ferociously witty and extremely lyrical, style of Cherry speaks to us in a language that's concurrently inner most and public, sensual and cerebral. (20081223)
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Additional resources for Taste of Cherry (Prairie Schooner Book Prize in Poetry)
Sample text
As in: You must love me. Still, you were mesmerized that bald second before the blood began — the raw skin — pale and organ pink, like two pearled secrets you said I could never keep. In the morning, the scabs burned like some outlaw underworld against the bone china and the Belgian waffles drowned in whipped butter. It stung in the shower when the soap dripped down my arm, stung when we stood on the roof watching the weather gather like the hem of a dress we trip over and back into ourselves. | 51 Polarity Dear Sir, You make betrayal seem easy.
At night, when my parents fight, I stay pressed to the television. The newscaster 26 | says there are hostages in Iran. What keeps us here? I asked her once in late spring, the grass still sun-warmed under our feet. Alone in my bed, I swear I can hear them breaking the horses, their high, human cries. Dark barns no one claims to own. 10. V. screen, squint at my back. One carved his own initials into his arm and has to wear long sleeves all summer. You’re supposed to use a girl’s, his sister says, scowling in pink makeup, thick like a second face.
You said, is that all, darling? These are the stories we invent when the North Star turns out to be a Cold War satellite. So, tell me this is rapture — the mind’s needle swinging towards the next summit. Tell me, dear Sir, because the compass needle is shot and it’s raining here. Please send a body bag. Sleepless tonight, I feel the magnet behind my eyes, my mind tugging toward the pole of you. Like the tongue that tests the metal bar of a meat freezer, I am learning the taste of my own blood. | 53 Strange Zippers | A Poem in Which the Heroine _______ Ha più forte sapore la conquista violenta.