hi 👋 fully and deeply entranced by “and this, your living kiss,” i’ve read it a few times at this point. i was curious about the dennis brutus poem that dean quotes in cas’ office. do you know where one can read the whole thing? my scouring of his work online has turned up nothing! it’s the untitled [the sand wet and cool] one
Actual footage of me reading this ask:
Like, you have asked me about Dennis Brutus! Thank you!! Feel free to ask more!
But to answer your question, I know several years ago I was able to finagle it on google books when I didn't have access to Poetry & Protest: A Dennis Brutus Reader. But why fuss with that when I can just copy it out here for you myself straight from that book? I highly, HIGHLY recommend reading it out loud, as the sonic qualities are top-notch! Forewarning of dark themes. Without further ado:
The sand wet and cool
darkening from yellow
to where it was damp,
from a lioness-yellow
to darkness, like ash
or the shadowy underside of a mushroom
and to lounge in such sand,
by the sea, uncaring
scuffing bare heels in the seasand
with the hard ridge of the heel,
half-calloused, half-feeling the cold cool
in warmgold folds, over silkchill skeins
and here to thrust out the legs
to feel the jar in thighflesh and flanks
and through this breakthrough of thighs
to find true fuller freedom of loins and thews
a great freedom of the groin—
an unfolding upflowering of the flesh—
hair uncaring of sand, of shellpowder
broken twigs and dirt;
and to feel the keening of the cold
the ghost of the spray, the spume, the salt—
a cold glitter as of crystals and knives
in the brightness and vagrant warmth of the day:
one assents to the brightness of the day,
its perfection and warmth
acquiescing in the cold in its essence
sharp as a shell-blade and menacing
while the shadows grow long and gray and cold,
one accepts the voluptuous splendor of that day
of an imaginary day
and of an untrue innocent idyll
that never happened
and a perfection of sensuality we never knew
but which they created by report
by alleging this was our act and our guilt:
and straightway
by the evocation of their charge
it was real and true;
and we entered into that sensual idyll
that sunlit sensuous voluptuousness
of luxurious indulgence in lush-ripe flesh:
we were guilty then
accepting the untrue as the real;
so our pursuers, our enemies
became our donors, generous friends:
one perfect sunlit day was ours:
the forbidden idyll became the real:
we had our beach, our sea, our sun,
the stolen sensuous carnal delight
and the spray-bright, spume-chill, bladed air.
[Dated January 19, 1970; published 1973.]
Though you didn't ask, I will copy out the other Dennis Brutus poem mentioned, in case people are curious about that one as well:
Milkblue—tender the moonlit midnight sky;
receive me now my sleeping love.
Lovelaughter—gentle, a luminous glow
arches from circling horizoning hills
to this plain your tremulous breast exposes:
So, gentle and tender I brood and bow
over your scent, your hid springs of mirth
and know
here in this dusk, secret and still
I can bend and kiss you now, my earth.
[1970]
I will stop there since this fulfills your brief, but seriously...if anyone wants to actually talk about this stuff, or have me go off on a related subject...my inbox is open. (people like and/or reblog the post with all the footnotes and sources and whatnot, but no one ever asks about anything in it...please...)
PS—Absolutely thrilled you enjoy my fic! To hear you've read it multiple times is just incredible. Thank you <3 I hope you enjoy the poetry!
27 notes
·
View notes
https://www.instagram.com/p/Bd_BIQpl23t/ Omg ✨ I love this look 💛 My golden girl 👑 #my #golden #queen #fashion #makeup #play #with #makeup #golden #eye #golden #lips #magicdust #warmgold #everywhere #my #magicdust @clare_blanc & @doktormakeup_academy #collections JANUARY 15, 2018
0 notes
dont fall
if you breathe slowly
and close your eyes
and hold your arms wide
and let the wind wash over you
as you’re standing
somewhere from which
falling would bring death,
something special happens.
you’ll hear it as you feel it,
softsound echoing
through spacetime,
filling your ears
with warmgold,
heating your whole body,
skin shaking
from an immense roar
in a dead language,
reduced now to
a near inaudible whisper
but making perfect sense.
it was so loud
when it left his mouth
that we can still hear it now.
the last god’s dying act
was underlining everything
with love,
shut up and listen.
4 notes
·
View notes