New poems from one of Canada’s best-known poets
Where most poetry seeks contemplative quiet, as in Wordsworth’s “emotion recollected in tranquility,” Diversion asks: What happens to poetry if one stops trying to block the incoming cacophony and instead embraces the multiple streams of data that bombard the contemporary thought process? What poetry comes from the multitude of channels — ambient office radio, TVs at the gym, rampant social media alerts, eavesdropped conversations within crowds, 24-hour-news cycles, texts, telephone and voicemail, email pings — that constantly interrupt the brain from cogent thought? The result is alternately dark and hilarious, straddling the line between aphorism and poetry and creating an atmospheric narrative through connections that form between seemingly unassociated lines. For better or worse, what used to be stream-of-consciousness is now stream-of-collective-unconsciousness.
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George Murray is the author of five acclaimed books of poetry, one bestselling book of aphorisms, and two books for children. He lives in St. John’s, Newfoundland.
#CivilDisconvenience
What if Revelations had been called Revolutions?
Hang on a second while I google this.
Jesus laughed.
Fire breaks through the smoke the way sun breaks
through the fog.
Quiet as an option silently dies.
Unforgettable facts wedge themselves like stains between
our bedsheets.
Prayer's tinny voice squawks from an analog phone.
Most rioters eventually get distracted by mirrors.
I'd take the calm before the storm if it meant having any calm
whatsofuckingever.
There are levels of speechless we haven't yet discovered.
Wanking is the other white meat of art.
The forecast follows the fearcast.
Horror becomes the state one occupies when seeing oneself quoted
in the news.
Marginalia declared autonomy and formed a state.
People in the suburbs suffer from Stock Home Syndrome.
Who dares enjoy themselves anymore?
Remember to thank Christ you don't have to get off your
couch.
Saying things gets only saying done.
Flames paint outer walls red the way televisions paint inner walls
blue.
Down-the-way is where news happens.
Pluck the bricks flying by to rebuild your house.
Listen for the constant exposition of a man sure he's
nailing a date.
We have the right to demand boredom.
Lassie keeps barking about how much Timmy likes it down the
well.
Sadness retains its title as anger's most widespread
illusion.
It's become apparent your fantasies just aren't interesting
enough.
Civil unrest always evolves into parties.
Police hunch over coffee with their heads bowed and gun hands
twitching.
Rows of driveways straight as bars on windows.
A Streetcar Named Covet.
I just realized my dick and head both loll the same way
when tired.
Dollarama looted but the bookstore left untouched.
Staff the barricades!
We used to say don't go into the woods whereas now we say don't
read the comments.
Cave wall shadows only work if there's a fire.
It appears that decimate now means to reduce by a factor of holy
fuck.
Can any
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