daddy-long-legs
back up &
inspiration till i hear
daddy as i
spirit – that tickle of sur-
down-stairs to
doubt some devil or pink-
on that white
scales north face of lace
curtain – slips & s-
lips to tremble
drag his dark a-
cross my pure light of
me sigh – play
god to little
cup in one rough
hand an easy smudge of
prising strength i
cradle right
launch into light he
receives believing me no
winged angel the size
of a cave he met
mountain with whom
he wrestled through long
night & won
*
hornets
generator intensifying towards
cyclic sun &
deranged as from that split
bomb
the heat-seeking line –
my material
multiplying towards winter –
on his rose
as air’s angry spores or obscenely
post with those
in & leave
close : a knotted thrum stalling
for a last hour
grey cob hotting up unholy
popping
or contact Mario at mmpetrucci@hotmail.com
humming
the far sides of paper
& plaster – their pent little
noon energy condensed
in a flaw that
frost cleaved behind
cement & every dawn more
puncture each night
-heavy
momentarily
dropped before gaining
all through June
past July
garden press-ganged
minutely to fortify a crew
one sloppy sailor glutted
on liquors asleep
another aquiver in
an eye-socket of sparrow
in view in pears or alone
on pine door or
tiny callipers curved
for conquest maw upon maw
until these men allotted white
with mortar & spray
seal them
the day halved yet
suddenly healed except when
the very spot I lay a
palm upon &
that might be my own
I see behind the wall that gross
oils – the striped
corn
(c) Mario Petrucci 202y
To order, contact X Press by clicking here:
“I want poetry to burn with vocation, and yet be fresh, open-aired. one is luminous, stirring, bracing. Younger readers and writers, especially,
will find nothing here that overcrowds or bores. Instead, these wild rosebuds blossom to multiple readings, perfumed with a genderless quality I find nowhere else.”
one completes the trilogy of ‘core’ volumes taken from Mario Petrucci’s immense i tulips project, cementing his place amongst poetry’s most
consistently inventive voices. With their fluid syntax and spirited sensitivity to meaning’s multiplication across line endings, these poems constantly reinvent
themselves in the ear, achieving a complex clarity that challenges and rejuvenates. Elevated into compelling landscapes of imagery and form, the reader repeatedly
encounters electric flashes of humanity and self-recognition. From its engaging opening, through the disarming stillnesses of the central section, to its epic title
poem composed as capstone to the 1111-strong i tulips sequence, Petrucci’s one offers vitalities of thought and feeling that green the ground they break.
i tulips (2010) and crib (2014), both with Enitharmon, were the first two instalments of the trilogy this collection concludes.
On i tulips:
On crib:
“An outstanding achievement that unlocks the door, as the best collections do, to a new country in the reader’s imagination.”
Poetry London
“Invigorated as much by an acute awareness of fragility and temporality as it is by a celebration of new life.”
Times Literary Supplement
* * * VIDEO excerpt from one .... (not for redistribution) * * *
"that guy—a" - something entirely new on Gaia and environmental urgency, voiced through poetry...
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Reviews of one...
“xxxxxxxxxx.” Exxx 182 (June 202y; Pxxxx McXxxxx).