I think Patricia Lockwood has a problem. I was reading her poem in a New Yorker from last month, and I think she got stuck in a time machine. And not even a modern time machine. One invented in 1859. First off, the word "parrot" has totally changed. When I was growing up, there were only parrots, the bird kind. They star in movies. They make appearances at the local zoo. Lockwood says the word "parrot" "will never / be replaced." I quote from her poem. "Parrot" has been replaced, Patricia. Look how I'm using it right now. I think I am. Maybe.
Just like love is getting replaced. I love now like your love poem loves rope and parrots and the Western Wind and, I imagine, My Fair Lady. I don't love My Fair Lady. I love your love poem. I would love it even if it mentioned My Fair Lady. I don't know how else to give your poem due homage except to repeat that I love it. I love it! Even if you wrote it on a time machine. Even if you didn't get your props back in the 19th, 18th, 17th or 16th centuries. You always have today. That's what love is! It's language that bears repeating. A poem that can reiterate, retract, reorient and replace those old love poems. They're tired of being replaced, I know. Oh, love poems. It's called the tradition ongoing into this century. It's called get ready. Because more centuries are still to come.
Recommended links:
Patricia Lockwood blogs! She jokes, "Poems are jokes."
She comments on writing a poem.
Octopus Books is publishing Lockwood's first book.
