#meg day

[sageandscorpiongrass]

hii could you possibly do a web weaving about long distance relationships?? im struggling so much right now :<

oh long distance lovers, we're really in it now.

Distance makes the heart grow weary

Song Out Here, Juan Felipe Herrera | quote via l.m. | somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond, E. E. Cummings | Sharpie Drawings, laineylamonto | syntax, Maureen N. McLane | The Beatrice Letters, Lemony Snicket | The Understudy, Hieu Minh Nguyen | Wind and Window Flower, Robert Frost | Pictures of Mountains, Cody Fry | PenOnFakePaper on etsy | Highway Heart, David Jones | 10 AM is When You Come to Me, Meg Day | @/messheartsuggestions | Everyone Adores You (at least I do), Matt Maltese | Galileo, Paul Tran

[image transcriptions and ID in alt text]

[oldwinesoul]

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒.

—Meg Day, “Last Psalm at Sea Level, Last Psalm at Sea Level”

[seekingstars]

Another Night at Sea Level - Meg Day

[queen0funova]

I was at a cute little poetry circle recently, and I read a poem of mine inspired by my favorite poem. "Batter My Heart, Transgender’d God" by Meg Day (I'll put that poem under the cut). Someone then turned to me and asked if my "Batter My Heart" was the inspiration for it. Apparently they're the one who introduced the poem to the person who introduced me to it

Batter My Heart, Transgender’d God by Meg Day:

Batter my heart, transgender’d god, for yours

is the only ear that hears: place fear in my heart

where faith has grown my senses dull & reassures

my blood that it will never spill. Show every part

to every stranger’s anger, surprise them with my drawers

full up of maps that lead to vacancies & chart

the distance from my pride, my core. Terror, do not depart

but nest in the hollows of my loins & keep me on all fours.

My knees, bring me to them; force my head to bow again.

Replay the murders of my kin until my mind’s made new;

let Adam’s bite obstruct my breath ’til I respire men

& press his rib against my throat until my lips turn blue.

You, O duo, O twin, whose likeness is kind: unwind my confidence

& noose it round your fist so I might know you in vivid impermanence.

[violettesiren]

There’s Snow in the West

& there’s snow in the east & there’s snow in our beds icing the cabbage. Since you left me alone, the wasp nest swallowing the bulb in the porch light has gone leaden & each night the asphalt is honeycombed in its half- lidded light                          while the laundry—frozen stiff on the line—sways from its hinges like the moon flag that waves without wind.                              I am not praying. I’m longing: Please. Let summer be a good shot, an untraceable track; let the beautiful animal of this working class winter loose its vise grip on your throat before the kill. The kettle is steaming the windows, lined with bubble-wrap, & the peaches are ripening in their cans.                                                  Come home. Come home.

There's Snow In The West by Meg Day

[mordere-diem]

"Can it be a comfort between us, the fact of my creation? I was made in the image of a thing without an image & silence, too, is your invention."

Meg Day, Portrait of My Gender as [Inaudible]

[nataliewaitegf]

meg day, portrait of my gender as [inaudible]

[sheshallfromtimetotime]

https://poets.org/poem/another-night-sea-level

[scatteredprayerbeads]

Portrait of My Gender as [Inaudible]

- Meg Day

I knew I was a god when you could not agree on my name & still, none you spoke could force me to listen closer. Is this the nothing the antelope felt when Adam, lit on his own entitling, dubbed family, genus, species? So many descendants became doctors, delivered babies, bestowed bodies names as if to say it is to make it so. Can it be a comfort between us, the fact of my creation? I was made in the image of a thing without an image & silence, too, is your invention. Who prays for a god except to appear with answers, but never a body? A voice? If I told you you wouldn’t believe me because I was the one to say it. On the first day there was no sound worth mentioning. If  I, too, am a conductor of air, the only praise I know is in stereo
 (one pair—an open hand & closed fist—will have to do). I made a photograph of my name: there was a shadow in a field & I put my shadow in it. You can’t hear me, but I’m there.

____

Meg Day is a Deaf, genderqueer poet and the author of Last Psalm at Sea Level (Barrow Street Press, 2014). Day is assistant professor of English and creative writing at Franklin & Marshall College.

[sapphireshorelines]

10 AM is When You Come to Me, poem by Meg Day, artwork by Louise Bourgeois

[annecriedpower]

So, back in 2021, I was looking far and wide for the works of this particular poet by the name of 'Olin Ivory' and no amount of googling yielded anything of relevance. Defeated, I sheepishly put forward the question to r/nostupidquestions on Reddit and two people kindly took a crack at it.

And I thought the trail had gone cold and no one was interested in poetry enough to get to the bottom of this person's identity and whereabouts... UNTIL TODAY. Matthew Nienow the author of Bad Year Anthem left an answer.

Kinda going giddy with excitement knowing the thought process behind a poet's work that led to a line so tender and sad that it has held me in a tight embrace since the first time I read it.

[poetrynstuff]

'If love comes fast, let her be a bullet & not a barking dog; let my heart say, as that trigger’s pulled, Are all wonders small? Otherwise, let love be a woman of gunpowder                                                    & lead; let her arrive a brass angel, a dark powdered comet'

An excerpt from Once All the Hounds Had Been Called Home by Meg Day

[asoftepiloguemylove]

"They say we're known only in comparison to that which surrounds us, so I'd guess they'll hear our signal soon. I was a woman once, but that's not the farthest thing from the sun another universe might've let me be: another universe might've let us be."

Meg Day, If You're Staying, I'll Stay Too

[dollopheadsandclotpoles]

Oh he jealous jealous

[violettesiren]

When the grapevine had thinned but not broken & the worst was yet to come of winter snow, I tracked my treed heart to the high boughs of a quaking aspen & shot it down. If love comes fast, let her be a bullet & not a barking dog; let my heart say, as that trigger’s pulled, Are all wonders small? Otherwise, let love be a woman of gunpowder & lead; let her arrive a brass angel, a dark powdered comet whose mercy is dense as the fishing sinker that pulleys the moon, even when it is heavy with milk. I shot my heart & turned myself in to wild kindness, left the road to my coffin that seemed also to include my carrying it & walked back along the trampled brush I remembered only as a blur of hot breath & a howling in my chest.

Once All the Hounds Had Been Called Home by Meg Day

[palms-upturned]

Tbh the fact that Kim likes your karaoke no matter whether you pass or fail the check is touching in a way but also it’s so fucking funny how offended he gets on your behalf if u fail and no one claps for u. “These people wouldn’t know a good performance if it bit them in the ass.” “He really sang his heart out.” He’s like you fucking NORMIES just don’t get it. You philistines.

Even funnier that it’s not even really about you, bc if he genuinely didn’t like it it he’d probably be about as tactful about it as he is about shaving the mutton chops. It’s the principle of the thing. And then u add yet another layer of humor when u know Kim’s personal music tastes. Kim’s not a particularly artsy guy and his conceptualization skills are (at least in Harry’s opinion) “rudimentary,” but he’s also super mega ultra repressed and his release valve seems to be music. Specifically the loudest and nastiest most vulgar music possible. He loves ur performance bc u basically go onstage and have a breakdown set to music for two or three minutes and he’s like so fucking true bestie. Now THAT’S what a good performance should be. An honest display of torment for me the audience to live vicariously through. Except I’m the only one doing that bc I’m da king of da karaoke bar and everyone else is a tasteless hack. <- was listening to “An Asshole is a Mouth for Shit (And I’m Puking)” in his Kineema ten minutes ago