Build Yourself A Boat
Camonghne Felix
Haymarket Books, 2019
~
I didn’t know art could do this. Do these. As in, I didn’t know a vision could project itself as singular and, with that projection, distract its own shape long enough to give periphery a stomach. Camonghne Felix is an asker and a teller. A thinker one rethinks so that one might get the chance to pose the same question a second time. How was fire born? Fire was born plural. Is nostalgia real? The aftermath of origin is real. Can you describe embodiment? Description is alone; description cannot swim.
Not my answers. Build Yourself A Boat is a book that marks its words and comes back for them.
~
reflection by Barton Smock
~
book is here:
https://www.haymarketbooks.org/books/1274-build-yourself-a-boat
hunger has no moon
yet
these noises
are made
the children
of chew toys
whole lives
the sound of god
choking
on a dot
I know now how one looks after losing a baby
says the maker
of frog. how to get
mouthwash
to an angel
no…
can we imagine
this, can we imagine
for the scarecrow at the chalkboard
(fossils (I ask
because we are naked
not nearly
enough
I ask because so often
it comes
before child
this word
beaten, to put
our shadows
to bed
I find my hands wrapped in yours in a field we call rifle. you’re vomiting in a dream and your son is asking
(is a shadow a boat that’s been killed
there is a book
dad says
(they say
is for children.
god
and the long
day-
find it
and we’ll stop eating
the creature you couldn’t describe
I don’t know how sick
to tell you
he is
–
it could
well be
that violins
put the humming
in the wrist
of god
–
sleep is where
one learns
to faint
I know it happened slowly-
his private
recognition
of every
face.
a leaf in the mouth
of his jesus-on-the-cross.
that aggressive dove.
I’m here, says the soul.
the body will need me
when you’re gone.

