Perhaps I’m turning into a vampire. This isn’t so bad, because I’ve been writing more and more often.

Today I bought myself a present — Proofs and Theories by Gluck. I borrowed it through the ILL about a year ago and decided I wanted a copy of my very own. I’m reading that and The House on Marshland at the moment.

The first few lines of this Gluck poem have been on my mind lately. I think it’s the lack of pronouns that keeps my attention during the first few lines — or at least that’s what makes them compelling to me.

Of the poem below, Geoff Brock writes: “The pronoun omission is an echo (surely intentional given the subject matter) of the “young man carbuncular” passage in THE WASTE LAND — that creepy, headless “endeavors” and “bestows.”

He tried to post a comment, but I’d turned off comments due to some spam I received.

LABOR DAY

Requiring something lovely on his arm
Took me to Stamford, Connecticut, a quasi-farm,
His family’s; later picking up the mammoth
Girlfriend of Charlie, meanwhile trying to pawn me off
On some third guy also up for the weekend.
But Saturday we still were paired; spent
It sprawled across that sprawling acreage
Until the grass grew limp
with damp. Like me. Johnston-baby, I can still see
The pelted clover, burrs’ prickle fur and gorged
Pastures spewing infinite tiny bells. You pimp.