I like Leanne Dunic’s wandering poetic tale To Love the Coming End. Is it poetry? Loosely grouped musings in literary clumps? I’m not sure the what matters so much. She writes in Japan and Canada, she obsesses over natural disasters, she laments, she procrastinates, she tries to deal with the loss of a loved one.
I like her little slivers of advice:
“I’ve taken to reading horoscopes for guidance. Sagittarius is suggested to ‘let go.’ I bet they say that to all the signs.
Maybe we should do what we’re told.”
“11-11-11. Remembrance Day, indeed. But what day, or month doesn’t have reminders?
Acceptance of a curse takes its power away.”
I like seeing news turned into something softer and more critical and stinging at the same time.
“Fukushima Daiichi. Steaming mountains, wounded and wounding. Radioactive mist. A nuclear exhalation. Masao Yoshida disobeys orders, cools reactors with seawater, prevents a greater disaster, saves lives. Later given a verbal reprimand for ignoring headquarters’ directives.”
I realize, as I go through volumes of poetry, I’m primarily enjoying the poetry tackling current events and the modern social climate. It’s fresh and illuminating. And not impossible to read.