By Eric Gamalinda
Eric Gamalinda's Amigo war is a gorgeous meditation on identification and the methods we hook up with ourselves, with one another, and with the realm: Grief is a country of every person a rustic without borderlines. Gamalinda's voice soars and swoops via magnificent, heartbreaking language, delivering convenience amid the grief all of us percentage. In Gamalinda's poems, we're on their own, jointly.
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Extra info for Amigo Warfare: Poems
No one saw you, no one pulled you out of the sulfur, but the dying still walk miles to it, in their minds already healed. You’ve taken everything that’s failed, dream, memory, the soul displaced from its ecliptic, into a kind of heaven, a sovereign indifference. You entered it with your body all on fire. Dusk was nesting in winter’s trees. The hours burned away. Nothing was spared. 64 Ceremony, after Kiarostami Where she departs there will be no strawberries to carry home. No women who will scar their faces so she won’t miss this earth still new to suffering, this morning so early and green.
No one eats the roses. 63 Burning the Body, after Tarkovsky Our bodies are a sign that time once made its home in us, we are connected to time the way the earth wears the orbit of the moon, and light is how time communicates, feeling is memory distilled to its purest form: don’t you remember how the evening wouldn’t let go of all that blue, how your tongue woke salt from its sleep? In the space made sacred by bone and steel, does the cold still offend you, what is the velocity of silence, does your night correspond to our night, are we foreign now, do the things we touch turn to light, and is this how we feel the presence of time, not by remembering but by touching?
Because you intoxicate our rivers. Because you harpoon all our whales. Because you teach us how to torture one another with the simplest of elements, fire and water. Because you offer praise and weapons to our dictators. Because you build blockades around those who give us strength, brother, sister, lover, friend. Because you send your spies out to investigate our dreams. Because we dream the dangerous in which the world is fertile with remembering, subversive with desire. Because the old bury the young.
Amigo Warfare: Poems by Eric Gamalinda