Download Drivers at the Short-Time Motel: National Poetry by Eugene Gloria PDF

By Eugene Gloria

Ephemeral lives, and souls misplaced within the tattered textile of conflict, displacement, and ruined love locate desire, redemption, and a typical voice in Eugene Gloria's crafty concoction of yank and Filipino vernaculars. whereas a few of these thirty poems care for the panorama and folkways of up to date Filipinos, others find themselves at the streets and byways of present-day the USA. Like many poets of twin historical past, Gloria's paintings is anxious with self-definition, with the try and reconcile a sense of exile and homelessness. often taking the shape of personality experiences and first-person narratives, Gloria's poems poignantly remove darkness from the typical man's look for connection to the self and to the world."Eugene Gloria's Drivers on the Short-Time lodge is propelled by means of an imagistic sincerity and paced lyricism. each one poem turns out to include the plain-spoken in addition to the elaborations that we go together with classical and smooth Asian poetry. notwithstanding some of the poems handle the lingering harm of cultural and monetary imperialism, worlds coexist within the comparable pores and skin via magical imagery. Gauged via a willing eye, heritage is scrutinized, yet via a playful exactness. those really good poems are trustworthy." —Yusef Komunyaaka

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Perhaps in the tilt of the head, shoulders exposed, the weirdly blushed hesitation worn before answering. Or that by looking in the mirror could answer for you. : : : It’s the shop that makes you feel good, being there in the middle of all the new, untouched merchandise. As if what comes and goes will forever be this way—needing broken in. 50 : : : After a while, the steps had to be done a particular way—hushed, kept in check. So even a phone call became a test, a removal from what the soul wished for.

Ah, mother, you aren’t the only godforsaken person here. It isn’t natural for such worries, for someone to keep looking for omens. Your face is cardinal red and your Polish nose is running. This time it is beyond our speaking, how someone gets caught—motherless, in a wake of cardinals. 43 in the land of sleeping people When the lilacs exploded in May, there wasn’t much else to do but take in the scent. Iowa: before the skies opened and poured enough rain to coat the grass with slick mushrooms, the pavement with worms.

Oh, body, you were once small 36 and resilient—you could shimmy through tight places. Mind, you were sparked; heart, uninjured. I am such a thing. Lazy day. Oh, wizened hickory, I too grow out of myself. 37 iii : : : hanging out the wash Because it covers you. Because you can’t disrobe the mind’s grudges. That wind-tousled sheet, the hemline breezing the dirt. Ankles, tendermarked thigh. Mica specks down the sun for closer inspection. Because no away comes without from, and the from is not without its own tangles.

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