Once I began to fall in love with the poetry of Emily Dickinson, I stopped (or tried to stop as hard as I could) looking / hearing / feeling / touching /interpreting things in terms of irony, nostalgia, symbolism, anger, sadness, angst or joy … YOU / I “get alone with my thoughts” instead … and thank goodness? I can withstand living without said emotions and terms for roughly four minutes at a time. I want to be in this kind of world with YOU. I’m a naive sucker: pop/noise takes me to such a place TOO. Maybe what I’m talking about is a paratactical world : “I was better off as being dead / I didn’t know you yet.” Tense, place and werewithal go away, become non, take on a ton of different meanings. Alas! Sonic affect takes hold, and I don’t know how to deduce it to anything else, nor would I want to be able to. Relief of tension, tension expounded, redemption or none. Thanks Speedy Ortiz (Northampton, Mass.). You’re not even full grown. Me niether. I’m listening to you in my bedroom with the lights off.Oh, and it’s just a good fucking song. Don’t dissect it.
-Drew Scott Swenhaugen
Drew Scott Swenhaugen lives in Portland, OR, and is the co-creator of Poor Claudia and the reading series Bad Blood. He runs the poetry section at Powell’s Books on Hawthorne and is a freelance book designer.
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