radiantfracture (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
radiantfracture) wrote2024-01-31 07:50 pm
radiantfracture) wrote2024-01-31 07:50 pm
crack the clay envelope
[ETA: thank you, sabotabby! You'd think a so-called scholar would look at the receipts.]
A curious and wonderful artefact has appeared in the mail.
At first I thought it was my copy of The Play of Gilgamesh by Edwin Morgan, arrived under another name, perhaps in a new edition. By someone else. Hmm.
But no, upon examination, it is another book entirely, a dual collection of poems in Spanish and English, called Enkidu is dead and not dead/esta muerto y no lo esta by a Tucker Lieberman. Who seems to be a trans poet of whom I do not recall knowing until now.
There is a beautiful illustration of Gilgamesh and Enkidu embracing on the cover by artist Luis Carlos Barragan.
How about this, then (from the first poem, "How I Thought it Worked"):
or this (from "Enkidu is Gone"):
Or this:
Thank you. It is a beautiful gift.
{rf}
sabotabby! You'd think a so-called scholar would look at the receipts.]A curious and wonderful artefact has appeared in the mail.
At first I thought it was my copy of The Play of Gilgamesh by Edwin Morgan, arrived under another name, perhaps in a new edition. By someone else. Hmm.
But no, upon examination, it is another book entirely, a dual collection of poems in Spanish and English, called Enkidu is dead and not dead/esta muerto y no lo esta by a Tucker Lieberman. Who seems to be a trans poet of whom I do not recall knowing until now.
There is a beautiful illustration of Gilgamesh and Enkidu embracing on the cover by artist Luis Carlos Barragan.
How about this, then (from the first poem, "How I Thought it Worked"):
We live forever, Enkidu and I. This is how:
when we do not like the story,
he breaks the tablet,
speaks the ibis words: Send us back.
or this (from "Enkidu is Gone"):
Enkidu makes the feathers grow on the hawk
Or this:
If I am the rope, and you are the weaver--
If I lower you into a well, and you rip out the threads--
If a space in my heart lets the blood through--
If we cannot weave together, but you weave and I weave-
That is the first poem.
Thank you. It is a beautiful gift.
{rf}