Joy
Lahey
Working Note
Most of the work I’ve done involves, among a number of variables, two constants: syntax (i.e., the order of words in a sentence which in itself conveys meaning by connection and relation and tones of beginning, questioning, stating, and winding down in alternating arrangements) and a sense of place which for me is usually derived from nature, particularly that found in the wilds of Louisiana and Mississippi or the environs of New Orleans. These have more often than not been been the two stable coordinates in my explorations through the wildernesses or civilizations of language creations. The search for the unknown I seek in or between words begins in solitude (in my favorite chair) and the silence of the printed word and the worlds it fabricates. In my writing I have often used prose fragments collected from encyclopedias, novels, works of literary criticism and theory, what-have-you, or any words found or thought of to flesh out the “bones” or the syntactic structure of the sentence and to accompany the rhythms of English speech I hear in my mind. In addition to the semantic gaps and space for interpretation created by this bonding of phrases and fragments from unrelated sources, edges have become a focal point for me. Words standing alone or logically joined create edges, an issue in contourconstructionclosedplane.
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I “Thought upon thought” overdraws a count crewel ties long sentences feathers growth the bulkiest channel substance stitches slowly or two whip-poor-wills to explain light a pubic ballast II Bonaparte's grant tactics with fixed income holdings in the unsettled areas after World War II and laced the lemonade |
as if she agreed like side effects, recurrence and necessary that summer St. Francis Caracciolo’ III "Don't count on it" with steel beams and brick double track tunnel vision covering furniture walls floors rather than incidental a northern flicker hard to say you wrap jubilant sounds and for once IV weft ends are left |
spider web mortar parts two and three acceptance accompanied flutter and change of speed based on co-existence stand a chance deep flanking of breezes V new gates news tries to please product failure more barn swallows teamed with direction .chicken |
“What a relief"
Or peculiar gaff
Suggesting human form
Without ends or sides
Almost whimsical
Hold it
The windward root
Hands on hips
Speechless succor
Concentric muses
Redolent
In little black dresses
And females of many species
nibbling
Under water the first day
if the bottomfed sphere
or evenly intended
erosions can pull measured ratios
pull illusive accords from flattened-out joints
or grousing bonded with leveled torpor
shells skin and comb
a shifted slope
gape within reach of no arpeggios
utterance wears tapers
on a gouged-out froth
forms softly bent plurals, lifts long-stepped figures, patient and sinuous
against the gelatinous charge
muscled produce names
nameless shuffling snails
and seaworthy plaints gauge the squeeze
mere union works
instant corrals
in the running gloss world grains below
far flung impediments
something-to-ride time segments
rooted fissures
list
then tack unheeded
confusion hollows leavens concedes
narrowly dissolved rampant boardwalks
rallying, spitted
undermine idle signals
seam work
and reinvest distance
mittens leave
illegible shade
sassafras mercies
from reversed sides
long in fond use
and freshly boiled
outline tints
black and white checks
neck muscles
surround city streets
the question is confession
this obviates shells
“So what have you done
with the flowers?”
or the spare mounted
on a film frame
cloth, blanket, heavy cylinders
historically centered
and viewed as remainders
Bio: Joy Lahey is a poet who lives in New Orleans, Louisiana and Magnolia, Mississippi. Her poems have appeared in the New Orleans Review and other journals. She has upcoming work in the Other South anthology published by the University of Alabama Press. Her book, Abandoned Premises, was published by Lavender Ink.