After vespers, after the first snow has fallen to its squalls, after New Wave, after the anorexics have curled into their geometric forms, after the man with the apparition in his one bad eye has done red things behind the curtain of the lid & sleeps
Lucie Brock-Broido at The Academy of American Poets
From an interview by Carole Maso
Cats, pieces of land, strands of hair--so a title will often come long before a poem. Then, it could be an image that has nothing to do with anything, some little minor wound that is in the body, a rather unremarkable scratch to the outside world, but felt by the person who's carrying it, and then the irresistible impulse to touch that sore, you know, the tooth that hurts, the tongue--that's what begins this kind of poking, needling, a tampering, toward that incision, to peer inside. I've recently learned a wonderful religious term for this, "morose delectation."