Happy National Poetry Month to my US readers!
My poem “February” is being published by Seedlings in their Spring issue, which will be available in their online shop starting April 8th! You can order your copy of the magazine here. In addition to the print magazine, Seedlings is selling prints of individual pieces, including my poem. The print run is limited, so if you want a handprinted copy of my first poem published in the UK, follow the above link to Seedlings’ online shop! And if you do buy a print, please send me a photo of it when it arrives! I’m so excited to see my poem living out in the world, hung up on a wall or in a frame <3
When I was looking through the calendar at the beginning of last semester, and I saw that April 7th fell on a Sunday, my newsletter day, I knew exactly which poem I would be sharing today.
This poem, “April 7th,” was published in the 2023 edition of The Messenger literary magazine. It is a found poem from the first 58 pages of the 1917 screenplay by Sam Mendes and Krysty Wilson-Cairns, and I hope you enjoy:
April 7th
1.
The rustling of leaves, and birdsong
There is rain.
Soft,
a man is sleeping next to him
eyes are still shut.
his eyes — gentle, wise.
The only difference is
an envelope.
warmth, a pocket.
Fires are stoked
against the Priesthood.
A handkerchief with
ham and bread.
The world above has disappeared
in the snow
hiding any sins there may be
underneath.
2.
half-light
a simmering sense of photographs.
hushed shadows
Alive as far as I know.
the map hesitates,
cuts its way across the paper.
The tide is wrong.
After dawn,
a parting gift:
An envelope
(hides his shock in time.)
Two small packs of biscuits,
daylight,
just us
to the throne.
3.
Daylight. Breathing heavy, braziers
have been lit. They slow down.
A sudden smothering silence.
He pushes aside,
on the verge of tears.
He steals glances at him, concerned.
The two men remember,
his body, his voice.
A fire is lit.
A small bed.
His face shines queerly,
a miracle, this holy laugh.
4.
The whole world is lunar.
The only sound is his breathing,
both men are still.
One arm outstretched, a heavy breath.
They move.
He looks to him,
Fuck me.
5.
A photograph.
The two men are frozen,
a flash of blinding light.
Dust swirls in the room,
Lips, wide open,
arm grasping on.
Trust.
Don’t let go of me.
6.
Why in God’s name did you
choose me?
I thought it would be something
easy, I never thought it would be this.
7.
He was moaning, sweet.
The middle of the night,
couldn’t get enough of him.
Pleased,
a bottle of wine.
He looks at him, chokes up.
8.
Beautiful.
He gently cradles him,
wraps one arm around his back.
There is blood on his lips,
profound sadness follows the shock.
He holds his hand.
Death is close,
already in his eyes.
He is no longer breathing.
Nothing is heavier than
the body of someone you loved.
(found poem from 1917 screenplay by Sam Mendes and Krysty Wilson-Cairns)
Poets.org defines a pure found poem as “consist[ing] exclusively of outside texts: the words of the poem remain as they were found, with few additions or omissions. Decisions of form, such as where to break a line, are left to the poet.” Condensing 58 pages of screenplay to an eight stanza poem meant a lot of omission, but each word of the poem is in the order it appears in the screenplay.
The title, “April 7th,” is a nod to the beginning titles of the film, which read “April 6th, 1917.” The film itself ends the morning of April 7th. My poem, while the language was found from the beautifully written screenplay, does not follow the plot of the film. It is not necessarily about the characters in the film. I wanted the title to be a nod to the text of the film, but not be directly tied to April 6th. As I was rereading the poem while writing this newsletter, I kept thinking of In Memoriam by Alice Winn. I’ve been thinking of that book constantly since I finished it last week.
1917 was the last film I saw in the cinema before COVID-19 shut the world down. Since then, it’s become one of my favorite films (if you follow me on letterboxd, you already know that). The filmmaking, the script, the acting, the score. . . I’m amazed by every aspect of it. 1917 is a masterclass in filmmaking, and I remember sitting in my dorm room during my second year of college, studying the screenplay, seeing what I could learn from Sam Mendes’ and Krysty Wilson-Cairns’ writing.
What I’m Reading: sharks in the rivers by Ada Limón, I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman, Ararat by Louise Glück
What I’m Watching: Young Royals season 3!
What I’m Listening To: “When You Wake” by MacLaine, Lizzy McAlpine’s new album Older
What I’m Loving: @dancersdiary’s photos of Fumi Kaneko and William Bracewell in The Royal Ballet’s Swan Lake, sunsets after 8pm, sautéed spinach with garlic, the bootleg videos on Instagram of Aaron Tveit and Sutton Foster in Sweeney Todd