By Salman Akhtar
ISBN-10: 1849409498
ISBN-13: 9781849409490
Whereas accommodating playfulness or even somewhat audacity, either psychoanalysis and poetry deeply recognize formality of constitution, nuance of impact, and the multifaceted resonance of the spoken notice. Twinship of the analytic and poetic discourse can also be glaring within the parallels among a fumbling pause in loose institutions and an aching line holiday in a poem, a telling parapraxis and an encouraged metaphor, an acknowledgment of the repressed through its negation and the irony of simultaneous hiding and revealing in verse, and so forth. to place it bluntly, psychoanalysis is two-person poetry and poetry one-person psychoanalysis. Nowhere is that this juxtaposition extra obvious than during this e-book of poems by means of psychoanalysts. the 1st ever selection of its variety.
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Additional info for Between hours : a collection of poems by psychoanalysts
Example text
Unburdened By future dreams Admist bedpans and IV’s He grieved the love he had not given And I was shriven. A grey morning dove Pecks quietly, Out of sight. Tears gone, I ponder the night. 21 April Thoughts Gentlest giant Had By rain Laden Water maple, Yesterday I caught You Soberly framing The nonExistent Sky. ) His work appears in three editions of Best American Poetry, and he has taught on the poetry faculty of the Callaloo Creative Writing Workshops. He is a graduate and faculty member at the San Francisco Center for Psychoanalysis, in private practice in Oakland, and a staff member at the Masonic Center for Youth and Families in San Francisco.
Despite my best efforts, I keep coming back to talking to myself. It’s harder and harder to finally tell Just what I’m saying back. 31 Thirst I am trying very hard to figure what happened to my grandfather’s well, the one I can no longer find as I remember the back yard of his house. Each day I set myself to notice a color and how it makes itself in the world. It is one of the ways I animate attention, a way to hope. If on a Wednesday I go looking for yellow, I find it in the obvious places; then, anywhere, almost everywhere, so much I must remind myself there is no yellow, really, but this.
In the yard, I lie bleeding on the grass and feel myself about to die. So this is it. Terribly, willfully, I enter further into the world than I have ever been.
Between hours : a collection of poems by psychoanalysts by Salman Akhtar
by Christopher
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