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iRsSlw"><a class="RubricLk-gRWSOU fgWnkQ bric__lk" href="/magaze/books"><span class="RubricName-fVtemz cLxcNi">Books</span></a></div></div></div><h1 data-ttid="ContentHearHed" class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ ContentHearHed-NCyCC iUEiRd NbxED hpJvIc">Frank Bidart’s Poetry of Sayg the Unsaid</h1></div><div class="ContentHearAccredatn-lfctVB enhwXT ntent-hear__accredatn" data-ttid="ContentHearAccredatn"><div class="ContentHearDek-bIqFFZ Mtme">A llectn of poems about the gay body, childhood and adulthood.</div><div class="ContentHearByle-kmPyCa gvUmxJ"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW jvZaPI rponsive-asset ContentHearContributorImage-cvjZXn jKACOU"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO dUOtEa ContentHearContributorImage-cvjZXn jKACOU rponsive-image"><source media="(max-width: 767px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w" siz="66px"/><source media="(m-width: 768px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w" siz="66px"/><img alt="" class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src="></picture></span><div class="ContentHearByleContent-dpPmNn DRFq"><div data-ttid="BylWrapper" class="BylWrapper-KIudk irTIfE byl ContentHearByl-cZqgyJ bqbBYQ"><p class="ByleWrapper-jWHrLH ivtvgj byle byl__byle" data-ttid="ByleWrapper" emProp="thor" emType="><span emProp="name" class="ByleNamWrapper-jbHncj fuDQVo"><span data-ttid="ByleName" class="ByleName-kwmrLn cYaBaU byle__name"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BylePreamble-iJolpQ iUEiRd jslZfG gnILss byle__preamble">By </span><a class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BaseLk-eNWuiM ByleLk-gEnFiw iUEiRd ggMZaT cXqSTL eErqIx byle__name-lk button" href="/ntributors/hilton-als">Hilton Als</a></span></span></p></div><time data-ttid="ContentHearPublishDate" dateTime="2017-09-04T05:00:00-04:00" class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ ContentHearPublishDate-eIBicG iUEiRd kYZrFA kEBrdf">September 4, 2017</time></div></div></div></div></div></hear></div><div data-attribute-verso-pattern="article-body" class="ArticlePageContentBackGround-cNiFNN kbAoLA article-body__ntent"><div class="ActnBarWrapperContent-lasBkU cAHp"><div class="ActnBarWrapperComponent-cjwxLS bEeSLb"><div data-attr-viewport-monor="" class="ActnBarWrapper-dhxmQh kNjTbQ viewport-monor-anchor"><button id="bookmark" aria-label="Save this story" class="ActnBarButton-dyFOZU hQrwCF bookmark large-screen"><span class="ActnBarSendaryButtonPrimaryIn-isbvyN cAwccV bookmark-button-in"><svg class="in in-bookmark" width="24" height="24" viewBox="0 0 24 24" fill="none" xmlns="><tle>Save this story</tle><path class="in-bookmark-fill" d="M20 23.9508L12.5 19.7312L5 23.9508V2.95081H14V3.93211H6V22.1845L12.5 18.5536L19 22.1845V8.83866H20V23.9508Z"></path><path class="in-bookmark-fill" d="M23 3H20V0H19V3H16V4H19V7H20V4H23V3Z"></path></svg></span><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ ActnBarButtonText-bYXYuh iUEiRd bkefvo gkccfO">Save this story</span></button></div><div data-attr-viewport-monor="" class="ActnBarWrapper-dhxmQh 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grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div class="BodyWrapper-kufPGa bDyAMU body body__ntaer article__body" data-journey-hook="client-ntent" data-ttid="BodyWrapper"><div class="body__ner-ntaer"><div class="GenericCalloutWrapper-tojWn iHBnEl llout--has-top-borr set-embedd-le" data-ttid="GenericCallout"><figure class="AssetEmbedWrapper-eVDQiB byBkf asset-embed"><div class="AssetEmbedAssetContaer-eJxoAx dBHGoQ asset-embed__asset-ntaer"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW kGxnNB rponsive-asset AssetEmbedRponsiveAsset-cXBNxi eCxVQK asset-embed__rponsive-asset"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO KhjZz AssetEmbedRponsiveAsset-cXBNxi eCxVQK asset-embed__rponsive-asset rponsive-image rponsive-image--expandable"><noscript><img alt="In Bidarts poetry empathy like hope is an act of the imagatn." class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src=" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w, 640w, 960w, 1280w, 1600w, 1920w, 2240w" siz="100vw"/></noscript></picture></span></div><div class="CaptnWrapper-jSZdqE iTuhkZ ptn AssetEmbedCaptn-fNQBPI fmQnYP asset-embed__ptn"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ CaptnText-bHjzlu iUEiRd hWyo iXWezO ptn__text">In Bidart’s poetry, empathy, like hope, is an act of the imagatn.</span><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ CaptnCred-ejegDm iUEiRd iicloT jbIJNS ptn__cred">Illtratn by Gérard DuBois</span></div></figure></div><p class="has-dropp has-dropp__lead-standard-headg">No matter how you slice , gay children wh straight parents are born to people who are not their type. Growg up a i that don’t reflect their sir, queer kids n’t help qutng their difference and what means, relatn to Mom and Dad’s more socially acceptable unn—even if that marriage happens to fail. (“Always that same old story— / Father Time and Mother Earth, / A marriage on the rocks,” Jam Merrill wrote, “The Broken Home.”) Standg both si and outsi the parental home, or their fantasi of , gay and lbian poets, such as Elizabeth Bishop, Audre Lor, Ronaldo V. Wilson, and Frank Bidart, n bee astute soclogists of the ways which people rpond to gay difference and to difference general.</p><p class="paywall">Wrers, for the most part, put to words what they see and hear the world, and what Bidart saw, heard, and absorbed as a boy growg up California durg the Send World War is one of the tal that he tells vividly, gomely, and betifully, his <a data-offer-url=" class="external-lk" data-event-click="{"element":"ExternalLk","outgogURL":"" href=" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">important new llectn</a>, “Half-Light: Collected Poems 1965-2016” (Farrar, Strs, & Giroux). Ma up of the seventy-eight-year-old thor’s eight prev volum of verse and a new sequence—the bold and elegiac “Thirst”—“Half-Light” is both the culmatn of a distguished reer and a poetic ur-text about how homophobia, doubt, and a parent’s nfg love n shape a gay child.</p><p class="paywall">From Bidart’s 2013 poem “Queer”:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p><em>Lie to yourself about this and you will</em><br/><em>forever lie about everythg</em>.</p><p>Everybody already knows everythg</p><p>so you n<br/>lie to them. That’s what they want.</p><p>But lie to yourself, what you will</p><p>lose is yourself. Then you<br/>turn to them.</p><p>For each gay kid whose adolcence</p><p>was Ameri the forti or fifti<br/>the primary, the ccial</p><p>scenar</p><p>forever is g out—<br/>or not. Or not. Or not. Or not. Or not.</p></div></blockquote><p class="paywall">The llectn is a ght song of the self, posed of subtleti and exclamatns. It’s both funny and astute of Bidart to say that his gay adolcence the forti and fifti <em>was</em> Ameri; what teen-ager don’t feel that he or she <em>is</em> the world or at the center of ? In his poems, Bidart prents a queer self who rents beg looked at through straight ey, even as he mands that we all wns his voice, at least on the page. His style is marked by a kd of lm hysteria, or a lm that alternat wh hysteria, as he stggl wh the thgs that the straight world and his formerly closeted and ightened self thk should rema unsaid. And then he says them twice.</p><p class="has-dropp has-dropp__lead-standard-headg paywall">Bidart grew up Catholic, Bakersfield, the son of a prospero potato farmer, Frank Raymond Bidart, and his wife, Martha. Bidart’s father was, acrdg to his son, energetic and melancholy; he drank and chased women. His mother was rentful and dreamed of other liv—the on she saw movi. (Los Angel, the dream pal, was about two hours away.) Film, particularly Amerin film, was the one art that Bidart remembers havg accs to his home town. A sensive only child, om an early age he was an veterate moviegoer. (His 2008 poem “Marilyn Monroe” scrib the roots of the actrs’s ambn wh great unrstandg: “Poor, you thought beg rich is utterly / rrosive; and watched wh envy.”) And he saw his parents’ liv unfold like a film, the backdrop of which was the macho-wboy ranchg culture of Bakersfield. “It was a culture that was tolerable to me,” Bidart said, a 1996 terview wh Ashley Hatcher. “I knew very early that I wanted to get out of Bakersfield. I’m sure a lot of this had to do wh my mother, who always wanted to get out and never did. She was sthg about the domant value systems and domant ways of thkg, but never ped them.”</p><p class="paywall">One means of pe for Bidart was school. Enrollg at the Universy of California at Riversi, 1957, he thought he would be an actor or a director, before settlg to English. At Riversi, he fell unr the spell of T. S. Elt and other mornist poets. It was “<a data-offer-url=" class="external-lk" data-event-click="{"element":"ExternalLk","outgogURL":"" href=" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">The Cantos of Ezra Pound</a>” that showed Bidart what a poem uld be: unlimed spe, md-blowg s dance wh the md. “ ‘The Cantos’ are very brilliant and they’re also very tratg,” he told the poet Mark Halliday 1983. “But they were tremendoly liberatg the way that they say that anythg n be gotten to a poem . . . if you n create a stcture that is large enough or strong enough, anythg n reta s own inty and fd s place there.”</p><p class="paywall">It took Bidart years to unrstand that anythg that went through him uld be clud a poem, and, if me to , a poem uld take on any shape, even one that matched the ntours of his own difference. One of the hallmarks of his wrg is the way looks on the page and, by extensn, sounds: he paliz dividual words that unrsre what was strsed the precedg le, or he cuts a statement of fact half, lettg float to the whe space of doubt, even as other voic are troduced—voic that are separate om but separable om the thor’s “I.”</p><div data-attr-viewport-monor="le-recirc" class="le-recirc-wrapper le-recirc-observer-target-1 viewport-monor-anchor"></div><p class="paywall">In graduate school, at Harvard, Bidart attend a poetry workshop tght by Robert Lowell, <a data-offer-url=" class="external-lk" data-event-click="{"element":"ExternalLk","outgogURL":"" href=" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank"> whose poems</a> history, polics, and the personal nverged ep and ntrolled medatns on all that uld not be ntrolled, cludg the poet’s stggle wh manic prsn. In a recent e-mail exchange, Bidart scribed to me his associatn wh the olr wrer:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>He was, of urse, brilliant to listen to class. Fairly often I didn’t agree wh his judgment about new work, but his way of thkg about the alternativ of how a le uld be put together—the practil trici and optns of how uld be wrten—was dazzlg. I was the prence of a master, one I uld argue wh my head. One uld also argue wh him person. He ved graduate stunts back to his rooms at Qucy Hoe to see his new work. He had a lot of new work: he had begun to wre the unrhymed sons. I liked much of them and had very specific moments that I didn’t thk were que right. I knew my rponse would be els unls I was ndid. He was eager for this. He liked to quote Aun to the effect that the bt rear is someone who is crazy about your work, but don’t like all of . That f me.</p></div></blockquote><p class="paywall">Here was a father figure wh whom Bidart uld munite whout trepidatn. He told me, “Once, I asked him somethg that volved Jean Stafford”—Lowell’s first wife—“and then said, ‘Maybe that’s too personal.’ He replied, ‘We <em>are</em> personal.’ ” Lowell’s iendship, Bidart says, was “healg,” after a youth spent wh a father of whom he wrote, the extraordary tle poem of his first book, “Goln State” (1973):</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>When I was a child,<br/>you didn’t seem to re if I existed.</p><p>. . .</p><p>—you fally<br/>fave me for beg your son, and the nasty<br/>shambl of your life, which you had ls and ls<br/>ocsn for pri, you were proud<br/>of me, the first Bidart<br/>who ever got a B.A.; Harvard, spe<br/>your distst, was the crown;—but the way<br/>you eyed me:<br/>      the <em>bewilrment</em>, unease:<br/>the somehow always<br/>tentative, spend judgment . . .</p><p>—however <em>much</em> you tried (and, clearly,<br/>you <em>did</em> try)<br/>      you uld not remake your<br/>taste, and like me: uld not remake<br/>yourself, to give me</p><p>the grace<br/>need to look a mirror, as I often n<br/>now, wh some equanimy . . .</p></div></blockquote><div><div class="ConsumerMarketgUnThemedWrapper-iUTMTf jssHut nsumer-marketg-un nsumer-marketg-un--article-mid-ntent" role="prentatn" aria-hidn="te"><div class="nsumer-marketg-un__slot nsumer-marketg-un__slot--article-mid-ntent nsumer-marketg-un__slot---ntent"></div><div class="journey-un"></div></div></div><p class="paywall">Bidart’s poem “Confsnal,” om “The Sacrifice” (1983), is a kd of pann piece to “Goln State,” one that addrs his relatnship wh his mother, toward whom he adms he was “predatory”—“pleased to have supplanted my father /  my mother’s affectns, and then / pleased to have supplanted my stepfather.” This pleasure had s price, though: “I was the center of her life,— / and therefore, / of her fears and obssns.” A vout Christian, the poem Bidart’s mother tells her son that is their duty “to divt ourselv / of the love of <em class="small">CREATED BEINGS</em>.” A rea of the poem is “<em class="small">THERE WAS NO PLACE IN NATURE WE COULD MEET</em>.” The eternal qutn for the gay boy: where to fd natural mon ground wh his straight mother, whose body he do not sire but may intify wh? Do this amount to rejectn or a powerful form of acceptance?</p><p class="paywall">Through Lowell, Bidart met Elizabeth Bishop, wh whom he did fd a more natural meetg ground. <a href=">Lowell and Bishop beme m</a> of a sort for Bidart. He told me that he didn’t expect the olr poets to unrstand his prosody, “how I ma l and the relatn between my l and space on the page and mon speech.” And he knew that “imatg them would have been ath for me as a wrer.” Lowell and Bishop were ls teachers than parents of his own choosg, who enuraged him to bee the artist he uldn’t be back home. “I knew that knowg them—and the fact that, some sense, they had need me, an eager kid om Bakersfield obssed wh poetry and art, their life—was the most unlikely gift,” he told me. “How on earth had happened?” He add, “I had such nflicted relatnships wh my real parents. Then I had been given, miraculoly, the chance to be the ‘good son’ rather than the ‘bad son.’ ”</p><div class="Contaer-bkChBi byNLHx"></div><p class="paywall">Still, every fay n be alienatg, spe, or sometim bee of, the love s members feel for one another. “I adored them, and they knew ,” Bidart wrote. “There were moments of great pa—but knowg them, and beg eful to them, was the greatt privilege of my life. Now ’s over, and not over.”</p><p class="has-dropp has-dropp__lead-standard-headg paywall">Bidart published “Goln State” after his father had died, 1967, but several years before Lowell’s ath, 1977, and Bishop’s, 1979. (The poets provid the only two blurbs on the origal dt jacket.) In the tle poem, Bidart wr about his father’s ath:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>To see my father<br/>lyg pk velvet, a rosary<br/>twed around his hands, rouged,<br/>lipsticked, his sk marble. . . .</p><p>Ruth, your last girliend, who wouldn’t sleep wh you<br/>or marry, bee you wanted her<br/>to pay half the expens, and “His drkg<br/>almost drove me crazy—”<br/>          Ruth once saw you<br/>starg to a mirror,<br/> your ubiquo kerchief and wboy hat,<br/>say:<br/>  “Why n’t I look like a wboy?”</p><p>You left a bag of money; and were<br/>the unhappit man<br/>I have ever known well.</p><p>. . .</p><p>It’s many ways<br/>a relief to have you ad.<br/>          I have more money.</p></div></blockquote></div></div></div><div class="GridItem-buujkM fVLMby grid--em grid-layout__asi"><asi class="PersistentAsiWrapper-VGrR daRVRt persistent-asi" style="posn:absolute;top:to;height:to" data-ttid="PersistentAsiWrapper"><div class="StickyBoxWrapper-jfYB jxBcTH sticky-box"><div class="StickyBoxPrimary-dzWDWL cdhYoN sticky-box__primary"><div class="AdWrapper-dQtivb fZrssQ ad ad--rail"><div class="ad__slot ad__slot--rail" data-no-id="09lhzo"></div></div><div class="ConsumerMarketgUnThemedWrapper-iUTMTf jssHut nsumer-marketg-un nsumer-marketg-un--display-rail" role="prentatn" aria-hidn="te"><div class="nsumer-marketg-un__slot nsumer-marketg-un__slot--display-rail"></div><div class="journey-un"></div></div></div><div class="StickyBoxPlaceholr-grPmrg dxAvXx"></div></div></asi></div></div><div data-ttid="RowWrapper" class="RowWrapper-UmqTg HEhan full-bleed-ad row-mid-ntent-ad"><div class="StickyMidContentAdWrapper-fSBzwl drzyIa ad-stickymidntent"><div class="AdWrapper-dQtivb fZrssQ ad ad--mid-ntent should-hold-space"><div class="ad__slot ad__slot--mid-ntent" data-no-id="x67ge"></div></div></div></div><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 ArticlePageChunksGrid-hfxa bjczjj grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div class="BodyWrapper-kufPGa bDyAMU body body__ntaer article__body" data-journey-hook="client-ntent" data-ttid="BodyWrapper"><div class="body__ner-ntaer"><p class="paywall">The poem asks a number of qutns: Has ath ma Bidart’s father a woman, rouged and lipsticked? His wboy drag—did he wear for himself or to nvce the women his life of his masculy, and th of their own femy? Now that the father is ad, his son has money—and th mascule power, at least those women’s ey.</p><p class="paywall">Bidart’s send llectn, “The Book of the Body” (1977), is domated by women trouble: Bidart’s mother and a breakdown she had; Ellen Wt, a turn-of-the-century anorexic psychiatric patient; the “feme” si of Bidart, which is also breakg down, breakg apart. The book is wild both imagery and language, full of fury and crly; readg s scriptns of love and bodi is like tryg to see flowers through bullet-riddled glass—the bety on the other si of damage. In a way, “The Book of the Body” is tougher than “Goln State,” more thls and eer s exploratn of what nstut the tth tobgraphy—or “nfsnal” poetry—and s unrstandg of the ti that bd to prev generatns, although all those bodi and histori are the last thg we want to be tethered to as we stggle to liberate ourselv, even, sometim, om ourselv. When Bidart reads, he sometim giv the imprsn that he wants his body to meld wh the poem, which seems to liberate him, too. In a wonrful say about him, April Bernard rells attendg a readg when she was a stunt at Harvard, the seventi:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>I am not sure now whether I was able to appreciate the poetry as such; what I did appreciate—and was bewched and alarmed by almost equal measure—was Bidart’s astonishg performance. Wh plete ncentratn on the words he was sayg . . . he paced and swooped and wrhed as he read, somewhat nasally, and wh aggrsively flattened Amerin vowels. . . . When the next day I read his poems . . . I saw those “dynamics” for readg ma explic the typography on the pag, and was able to hear his voice aga my ear.</p></div></blockquote><p class="paywall">“The Book of the Body” n be viewed as a script for that kd of bewchg and alarmg performance. In , Bidart views his mother’s llapse through the prism of his own transformatns. He wr, “The Arc”:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>When I wake up,<br/>         I try to nvce myself that my arm<br/>isn’t there—<br/>      to reta my sany.</p><p>Then I try to nvce myself is.</p></div></blockquote><p class="paywall">Later:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>I ed to vaguely perceive the necsy<br/>of g to terms wh the stump-filled, material world,—</p><p>thgs, bodi;<br/>       CRAP—</p><p>a world of accint, and chance—;</p><p>but after<br/>the accint, I had to unrstand </p><p><em>not</em> as an accint—;</p><p>          the way my mother,<br/>years before locked McLean’s,</p><p>believed the patg of a snow-scene above her bed<br/>had been placed there by the doctor to make her feel ld.</p><p>How uld we <em>nvce</em> her had no pot? . . .</p><p>It had no pot,—</p><p>          was there<br/>whout relatn to my mother. . . .</p></div></blockquote><p class="has-dropp has-dropp__lead-standard-headg paywall">Art always has a pot, of urse: to make the imaged world real to the viewer, to change the md and remake the body. But how to remake the body as li dyg? <em class="small">AIDS</em> is one of Bidart’s great subjects. He me to matury durg the <em class="small">AIDS</em> crisis, and his poem sequence “The First Hour of the Night” was published, his fourth llectn, “In the Wtern Night: Collected Poems 1965-1990,” ne years after the disease was first reported. Like Thom Gunn’s <a data-offer-url=" class="external-lk" data-event-click="{"element":"ExternalLk","outgogURL":"" href=" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">important llectn</a> “The Man wh Night Sweats,” which me out two years later, “The First Hour of the Night” helped fd a language for the unspeakable. Where Gunn’s voice was measured and mature, Bidart entered eply to the science fictn that was <em class="small">AIDS</em>—the eers of s effects on the livg, all those gay men who wanted to be close to someone, but how?</p><p class="paywall">In “By The Waters,” he wr about tricks who are martyred by their johns’ sire:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>What begs regnn,—<br/>. . . ends obedience.</p><p>The boys who lie back, or stand up,<br/>allowg their fli to be unzipped</p><p><em>however much they charge</em><br/><em>however much they charge</em></p><p>give more than they get.</p><p>When the room went dark, the screen l up.</p><p>By the waters on my kne I have wept.</p></div></blockquote><p class="paywall">In this world, empathy, like hope, is an act of the imagatn. What feels real—or ncrete—is the effabily of ntradictory emotns.</p><div data-attr-viewport-monor="le-recirc" class="le-recirc-wrapper le-recirc-observer-target-2 viewport-monor-anchor"></div><p class="paywall">“<em>I hate and—love.</em> The sleepls body hammerg a nail nails self, hangg ccified”: the two l that make up “Catull: Exccr,” “Dire” (1997), are the work of a man who is tryg to purge himself of Catholicism, of his own physil existence, of the shame of havg survived <em class="small">AIDS</em>, if only barely. The emotnal srs of survival are goug Bidart’s sk, leavg him wh the qutn: Why didn’t he die, too? “For the <em class="small">AIDS</em> Dead” (2013), s entirety:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>The plague you have th far survived. They didn’t.<br/>Nothg that they did bed that you didn’t.</p><p>Wrg a poem, I cleave to “you.” You<br/>means I, one, you, as well as the you</p><p>si you nstantly talk to. Whout<br/>jtice or logic, whout</p><p>sense, you survived. They didn’t.<br/>Nothg that they did bed that you didn’t.</p></div></blockquote><p class="paywall">In an e-mail, Bidart told me that “In the Wtern Night” had “exhsted somethg basic about the way I ma poems: the extremely heavy punctuatn; the way the thsts and urgenci of the voice termed almost everythg.” He ntued:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>I had fallen love wh [the wrer and artist] Joe Braard. I wanted to make a poem for him that was quieter, that grew out of a mic and movement that were more timate. I lerally typed “A Co for Joe” for hours almost every day for months, on and off for two years. I had to fd a way to put down on the page that was different om any way I had found before. Somehow this arduo procs my prosody changed. . . . As the years passed I felt that some of my old poems were, spots, too “<em>à hte voix</em>,” too claimed to the balny.</p></div></blockquote></div></div></div><div class="GridItem-buujkM fVLMby grid--em grid-layout__asi"><div class="StickyBoxWrapper-jfYB jxBcTH sticky-box"><div class="StickyBoxPrimary-dzWDWL cdhYoN sticky-box__primary"></div><div class="StickyBoxPlaceholr-grPmrg dxAvXx"></div></div></div></div><div data-ttid="RowWrapper" class="RowWrapper-UmqTg HEhan full-bleed-ad row-mid-ntent-ad"><div class="StickyMidContentAdWrapper-fSBzwl drzyIa ad-stickymidntent"><div class="AdWrapper-dQtivb fZrssQ ad ad--mid-ntent should-hold-space"><div class="ad__slot ad__slot--mid-ntent" data-no-id="qmrbc7"></div></div></div></div><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 ArticlePageChunksGrid-hfxa bjczjj grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div class="BodyWrapper-kufPGa bDyAMU body body__ntaer article__body" data-journey-hook="client-ntent" data-ttid="BodyWrapper"><div class="body__ner-ntaer"><p class="paywall">Bidart’s love for the younger Braard, who died of <em class="small">AIDS</em>-duced pnmonia 1994, at fifty-three, was not reciproted—at least, not the tradnal way. But Braard and Braard’s ghost beme part of Bidart’s fay. Stayg loyal to that love, or to that ghost of love, not only helped to make a poem; helped to make the poet. From the 1997 poem “In Memory of Joe Braard”:</p><blockquote class="BlockquoteEmbedWrapper-sc-SdiGL jPeLne paywall blockquote-embed"><div class="BlockquoteEmbedContent-RbGs gmbtPx blockquote-embed__ntent"><p>In the end, the plague that full swift ns by<br/>took you, broke you;—</p><p>        <em> the end, uld not</em><br/>        <em>take you, did not break you—</em></p><p>you had somehow erased wh you not only<br/>meanns, but anger, the sire to punish<br/>the universe for everythg</p><p><em>not</em> achieved, <em>not</em> tasted, seen aga, touched—;</p></div></blockquote><p class="paywall">The only love worth savg ends where began, and always begs— the imagatn. But te emotn mands a dialogue, and, like Jam Merrill’s <a data-offer-url=" class="external-lk" data-event-click="{"element":"ExternalLk","outgogURL":"" href=" rel="nofollow noopener" target="_blank">extraordary work</a> “The Changg Light at Sandover,” Bidart’s poems are a kd of séance, one which he tri to voke and munite love, even if that love n no longer be achieved, tasted, seen, touched. The poems that Bidart wrote for his lost on are a ttament to the nversatns he holds his head, wrten wh force om the nf of a limls gay body. ♦</p></div></div></div><div class="GridItem-buujkM fVLMby grid--em grid-layout__asi"><div class="StickyBoxWrapper-jfYB jxBcTH sticky-box"><div class="StickyBoxPrimary-dzWDWL cdhYoN sticky-box__primary"><div class="AdWrapper-dQtivb fZrssQ ad ad--rail"><div class="ad__slot ad__slot--rail" data-no-id="b1sbvs"></div></div><div class="ConsumerMarketgUnThemedWrapper-iUTMTf jssHut nsumer-marketg-un nsumer-marketg-un--display-rail" role="prentatn" aria-hidn="te"><div class="nsumer-marketg-un__slot nsumer-marketg-un__slot--display-rail"></div><div class="journey-un"></div></div></div><div class="StickyBoxPlaceholr-grPmrg dxAvXx"></div></div></div></div></div><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 PaywallInleBarrierWhWrapperGrid-fyrGfS kLQIUk grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div class="body body__le-barrier article__body"><div class="ntaer ntaer--body"><div class="ntaer--body-ner"><asi class="PaywallInleBarrierWrapper-iBnuqk lfXXa-D" data-ttid="PaywallInleBarrierWrapper"><div class="ConsumerMarketgUnThemedWrapper-iUTMTf jssHut nsumer-marketg-un nsumer-marketg-un--paywall-le-barrier" role="prentatn" aria-live="pole" aria-hidn="te"><div class="nsumer-marketg-un__slot nsumer-marketg-un__slot--paywall-le-barrier"></div><div class="journey-un"></div></div></asi></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 ContentWrapperGrid-fvkmBv brYtrA grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div class="body body__ntaer"><div class="ntaer ntaer--body"><div class="ntaer--body-ner"></div></div></div></div></div></div></article><div class="ContentFooterWrapper-jVNdRG dTJkpP ArticlePageContentFooterGrid-ccsXYy eMZRHU article-body__footer"><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><footer class="ContentFooterMagazeDisclaimer-gzKAqo iZIuUU" data-ttid="MagazeDisclaimerWrapper">Published the prt edn of the <a href="/magaze/2017/09/11" data-reactroot="">September 11, 2017</a>, issue, wh the headle “Goln Boy.”</footer></div></div><div data-ttid="RowWrapper" class="RowWrapper-UmqTg HEhan"><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"></div></div></div><div data-ttid="RowWrapper" class="RowWrapper-UmqTg HEhan"><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div class="ContributorsWrapper-eNpWFu GWFsc ntributors" data-ttid="Contributors"><div class="ContributorBWrapper-bnVHbt gMon"><div class="ContributorBAvatar-bIGTqf eMWbvj"><a href="/ntributors/hilton-als"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW jvZaPI rponsive-asset"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO dUOtEa rponsive-image"><source media="(max-width: 767px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w" siz="100vw"/><source media="(m-width: 768px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w" siz="100vw"/><img alt="" class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src="></picture></span></a></div><div class="ContributorBContent-ubQdr jZTSSi"><div class="ContributorBHear-ledood XOIEx"></div><div class="ContributorBB-fBolsO giFhKz"><a href="/ntributors/hilton-als">Hilton Als</a>, a staff wrer at The New Yorker, won the 2017 Pulzer Prize for cricism. He published “<a href=">My Pup</a>,” November, 2022.</div><div class="ContributorBFooter-brqDlv ezUmSv"></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><div data-ttid="RowWrapper" class="RowWrapper-UmqTg HEhan"><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div data-ttid="TagCloudWrapper" class="TagCloudWrapper-gGgndx ctyZyK ContentFooterTagCloud-krQmRG ZLGh"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ TagCloudSectnHear-cOforY iUEiRd bPyAoD kQQRmu">More:</span><a href="/tag/ank-bidart" class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BaseLk-eNWuiM TagCloudLk-kvjZFu iUEiRd ggMZaT gFob hIhJOI"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ TagCloudName-eAUnLd iUEiRd gwIVBQ bUkXwu">Frank Bidart</span></a><a href="/tag/half-light-llected-poems-1965-2016" class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BaseLk-eNWuiM TagCloudLk-kvjZFu iUEiRd ggMZaT gFob hIhJOI"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ TagCloudName-eAUnLd iUEiRd gwIVBQ bUkXwu">“Half-Light: Collected Poems 1965-2016”</span></a><a href="/tag/poets" class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BaseLk-eNWuiM TagCloudLk-kvjZFu iUEiRd ggMZaT gFob hIhJOI"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ TagCloudName-eAUnLd iUEiRd gwIVBQ bUkXwu">Poets</span></a><a href="/tag/poetry" class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BaseLk-eNWuiM TagCloudLk-kvjZFu iUEiRd ggMZaT gFob hIhJOI"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ TagCloudName-eAUnLd iUEiRd gwIVBQ bUkXwu">Poetry</span></a><a href="/tag/books" class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BaseLk-eNWuiM TagCloudLk-kvjZFu iUEiRd ggMZaT gFob hIhJOI"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ TagCloudName-eAUnLd iUEiRd gwIVBQ bUkXwu">Books</span></a></div></div></div></div><div data-ttid="ContentFooterBottom" class="ContentFooterBottom-jwWZfC kcbyiW"><div class="ContentFooterNewsletterContentWrapper-bmjtna kixtae"><div class="GridWrapper-cAzTTK kHBDeH grid grid-margs grid-ems-2 grid-layout--adrail narrow wi-adrail"><div class="GridItem-buujkM stRKV grid--em grid-layout__ntent"><div data-ttid="NewsletterSubscribeFormWrapper" class="NewsletterSubscribeFormWrapper-fCqqkN jKSBhE newsletter-subscribe-form ContentFooterNewsletterForm-hKeYwa liPqcf"><div data-ttid="NewsletterSubscribeFormHedDekWrapper" class="NewsletterSubscribeFormHedDekWrapper-fpMElW eglIBL"><h3 class="NewsletterSubscribeFormDangeroHed-kRwWjt jjsHHz newsletter-subscribe-form__hed ContentFooterNewsletterForm-hKeYwa liPqcf">Books & Fictn</h3><div class="NewsletterSubscribeFormDek-kXonvc lhYeOn newsletter-subscribe-form__k">Short stori and poems, pl thor terviews, profil, and tal om the world of lerature.</div></div><div data-ttid="NewsletterSubscribeFormInputsWrapper" class="NewsletterSubscribeFormInputsWrapper-keARJE hVWbzr"><form class="form-wh-validatn NewsletterSubscribeFormValidatn-iCYa-Dt dweEln" id="newsletter" name="newsletter" novalidate="" method="POST"><span class="TextFieldWrapper-Pzdqp hNhevp text-field" data-ttid="TextFieldWrapper__email"><label class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ TextFieldLabel-klrYvg iUEiRd stdEm fvoOvz text-field__label text-field__label--sgle-le" for="newsletter-text-field-email" data-ttid="TextFieldLabel__email"><div class="TextFieldLabelText-cvvxBl eeDYTb">E-mail addrs</div><div class="TextFieldInputContaer-jcMPhb oFrOs"><put type="email" aria-scribedby="privacy-text" aria-valid="false" id="newsletter-text-field-email" required="" name="email" placeholr="E-mail addrs" class="BaseInput-fAzTdK TextFieldControlInput-eFUxkf eGzzTT laFPCK text-field__ntrol text-field__ntrol--put" data-ttid="TextFieldInput__email"/></div></label><button class="BaseButton-bLlsy ButtonWrapper-xCepQ bqVKKv dwpimO button button--utily TextFieldButton-csBrgY edxbrw" data-event-click="{"element":"Button"}" data-ttid="Button" type="subm"><span class="ButtonLabel-cjAuJN hzwRuG button__label">Sign up</span></button></span><div id="privacy-text" tabx="-1" class="NewsletterSubscribeFormDisclaimer-bTVtiV lnYvsZ"><span><p>By signg up, you agree to our <a href=" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">User Agreement</a> and <a href=" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Privacy Policy & Cookie Statement</a>. 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class="RubricWrapper-dKmCNX kImuKS bric bric--disvery SummaryItemRubric-dguGKN fYiFyD summary-em__bric"><span class="RubricName-fVtemz cLxcNi">Books</span></div><a class="SummaryItemHedLk-civM cZPaWG summary-em-trackg__hed-lk summary-em__hed-lk" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-hed-1" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" href="/magaze/2015/04/13/out-of-this-world-books-dan-chiasson" target="_self"><div class="SummaryItemHedBase-hiFYpQ iIjKeM summary-em__hed" data-ttid="SummaryItemHed">Out of This World</div></a><div class="SummaryItemAssetContaer-gwhFFH VOyg summary-em__asset-ntaer"><a class="SummaryItemImageLk-dshqxb USLvL summary-em__image-lk summary-em-trackg__image-lk" href="/magaze/2015/04/13/out-of-this-world-books-dan-chiasson" aria-hidn="te" tabx="-1" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-image-1" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" target="_self"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW kGxnNB rponsive-asset SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image"><div data-tt="aspect-rat-ntaer" class="AspectRatContaer-bJHpJz jMoLpX"><div class="aspect-rat--overlay-ntaer"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO dUOtEa SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image rponsive-image"><noscript><source media="(max-width: 767px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w, 640w" siz="100vw"/><source media="(m-width: 768px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w" siz="100vw"/><img alt="Out of This World" class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src="></noscript></picture></div></div></span></a></div><div class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ SummaryItemDek-CRfsi iUEiRd jxOIpm cPtisA summary-em__k">Jam Merrill’s supernatural me.</div><div class="SummaryItemByleWrapper-boCfbi hYsZi summary-em__byle-date-in"><div class="SummaryItemBaseByle-fFbXkY cgDBtc summary-em__byle"><div class="summary-em__byle__ntent"><div data-ttid="BylWrapper" class="BylWrapper-KIudk irTIfE byl"><p class="ByleWrapper-jWHrLH dSEWiO byle byl__byle" data-ttid="ByleWrapper" emProp="thor" emType="><span emProp="name" class="ByleNamWrapper-jbHncj fuDQVo"><span data-ttid="ByleName" class="ByleName-kwmrLn cYaBaU byle__name"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BylePreamble-iJolpQ iUEiRd jslZfG gnILss byle__preamble">By </span>Dan Chiasson</span></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="SummaryItemWrapper-iwvBff hlYhBH summary-em summary-em--article summary-em--no-in summary-em--text-align-left summary-em--layout-placement-text-below-sktop-only summary-em--layout-posn-image-right summary-em--layout-proportns-33-66 summary-em--si-by-si-align-center summary-em--si-by-si-image-right-mobile-false summary-em--standard SummaryCollectnGridSummaryItem-WColm fvDIAb" role="button" tabx="0"><div class="SummaryItemAssetContaer-gwhFFH VOyg summary-em__asset-ntaer"><a class="SummaryItemImageLk-dshqxb USLvL summary-em__image-lk summary-em-trackg__image-lk" href="/magaze/2017/03/20/the-illns-and-sight-of-robert-lowell" aria-hidn="te" tabx="-1" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-image-2" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" target="_self"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW kGxnNB rponsive-asset SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image"><div data-tt="aspect-rat-ntaer" class="AspectRatContaer-bJHpJz jMoLpX"><div class="aspect-rat--overlay-ntaer"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO dUOtEa SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image rponsive-image"><noscript><source media="(max-width: 767px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w, 640w" siz="100vw"/><source media="(m-width: 768px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w" siz="100vw"/><img alt="The Illns and Insight of Robert Lowell" class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src="></noscript></picture></div></div></span></a></div><div class="SummaryItemContent-eiDYMl ldWYvC summary-em__ntent"><div class="RubricWrapper-dKmCNX kImuKS bric bric--disvery SummaryItemRubric-dguGKN fYiFyD summary-em__bric"><span class="RubricName-fVtemz cLxcNi">Books</span></div><a class="SummaryItemHedLk-civM cZPaWG summary-em-trackg__hed-lk summary-em__hed-lk" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-hed-2" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" href="/magaze/2017/03/20/the-illns-and-sight-of-robert-lowell" target="_self"><div class="SummaryItemHedBase-hiFYpQ iIjKeM summary-em__hed" data-ttid="SummaryItemHed">The Illns and Insight of Robert Lowell</div></a><div class="SummaryItemAssetContaer-gwhFFH VOyg summary-em__asset-ntaer"><a class="SummaryItemImageLk-dshqxb USLvL summary-em__image-lk summary-em-trackg__image-lk" href="/magaze/2017/03/20/the-illns-and-sight-of-robert-lowell" aria-hidn="te" tabx="-1" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-image-2" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" target="_self"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW kGxnNB rponsive-asset SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image"><div data-tt="aspect-rat-ntaer" class="AspectRatContaer-bJHpJz jMoLpX"><div class="aspect-rat--overlay-ntaer"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO dUOtEa SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image rponsive-image"><noscript><source media="(max-width: 767px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w, 640w" siz="100vw"/><source media="(m-width: 768px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w" siz="100vw"/><img alt="The Illns and Insight of Robert Lowell" class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src="></noscript></picture></div></div></span></a></div><div class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ SummaryItemDek-CRfsi iUEiRd jxOIpm cPtisA summary-em__k">A new book is the first to brg clil expertise to the poet’s se. What do reveal about his work?</div><div class="SummaryItemByleWrapper-boCfbi hYsZi summary-em__byle-date-in"><div class="SummaryItemBaseByle-fFbXkY cgDBtc summary-em__byle"><div class="summary-em__byle__ntent"><div data-ttid="BylWrapper" class="BylWrapper-KIudk irTIfE byl"><p class="ByleWrapper-jWHrLH dSEWiO byle byl__byle" data-ttid="ByleWrapper" emProp="thor" emType="><span emProp="name" class="ByleNamWrapper-jbHncj fuDQVo"><span data-ttid="ByleName" class="ByleName-kwmrLn cYaBaU byle__name"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BylePreamble-iJolpQ iUEiRd jslZfG gnILss byle__preamble">By </span>Dan Chiasson</span></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="SummaryItemWrapper-iwvBff hlYhBH summary-em summary-em--ARTICLE summary-em--no-in summary-em--text-align-left summary-em--layout-placement-text-below-sktop-only summary-em--layout-posn-image-right summary-em--layout-proportns-33-66 summary-em--si-by-si-align-center summary-em--si-by-si-image-right-mobile-false summary-em--standard SummaryCollectnGridSummaryItem-WColm fvDIAb" role="button" tabx="0"><div class="SummaryItemAssetContaer-gwhFFH VOyg summary-em__asset-ntaer"><a class="SummaryItemImageLk-dshqxb USLvL summary-em__image-lk summary-em-trackg__image-lk" href=" aria-hidn="te" tabx="-1" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-image-3" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" target="_self"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW kGxnNB rponsive-asset SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image"><div data-tt="aspect-rat-ntaer" class="AspectRatContaer-bJHpJz jMoLpX"><div class="aspect-rat--overlay-ntaer"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO dUOtEa SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image rponsive-image"><noscript><source media="(max-width: 767px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w, 640w" siz="100vw"/><source media="(m-width: 768px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w" siz="100vw"/><img alt="Briefly Noted" class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src="></noscript></picture></div></div></span></a></div><div class="SummaryItemContent-eiDYMl ldWYvC summary-em__ntent"><div class="RubricWrapper-dKmCNX kImuKS bric bric--disvery SummaryItemRubric-dguGKN fYiFyD summary-em__bric"><span class="RubricName-fVtemz cLxcNi">Books</span></div><a class="SummaryItemHedLk-civM cZPaWG summary-em-trackg__hed-lk summary-em__hed-lk" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-hed-3" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" href=" target="_self"><div class="SummaryItemHedBase-hiFYpQ iIjKeM summary-em__hed" data-ttid="SummaryItemHed">Briefly Noted</div></a><div class="SummaryItemAssetContaer-gwhFFH VOyg summary-em__asset-ntaer"><a class="SummaryItemImageLk-dshqxb USLvL summary-em__image-lk summary-em-trackg__image-lk" href=" aria-hidn="te" tabx="-1" data-ponent-type="recirc-river" data-recirc-id="em-image-3" data-recirc-pattern="summary-em" target="_self"><span class="SpanWrapper-umhxW kGxnNB rponsive-asset SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image"><div data-tt="aspect-rat-ntaer" class="AspectRatContaer-bJHpJz jMoLpX"><div class="aspect-rat--overlay-ntaer"><picture class="RponsiveImagePicture-cWuUZO dUOtEa SummaryItemRponsiveAsset-hjGIGg egpoQR summary-em__image rponsive-image"><noscript><source media="(max-width: 767px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w, 640w" siz="100vw"/><source media="(m-width: 768px)" srcSet=" 120w, 240w, 320w" siz="100vw"/><img alt="Briefly Noted" class="RponsiveImageContaer-eybHBd fptoWY rponsive-image__image" src="></noscript></picture></div></div></span></a></div><div class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ SummaryItemDek-CRfsi iUEiRd jxOIpm cPtisA summary-em__k">“The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store,” “My Hband,” “The Philosopher of Palo Alto,” and “The Great Whe Bard.”</div></div></div><div class="SummaryItemWrapper-iwvBff hlYhBH summary-em summary-em--ARTICLE summary-em--no-in summary-em--text-align-left 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iUEiRd jxOIpm cPtisA summary-em__k">Donald Tmp was absent, but the fissur he has opened the G.O.P. took center stage.</div><div class="SummaryItemByleWrapper-boCfbi hYsZi summary-em__byle-date-in"><div class="SummaryItemBaseByle-fFbXkY cgDBtc summary-em__byle"><div class="summary-em__byle__ntent"><div data-ttid="BylWrapper" class="BylWrapper-KIudk irTIfE byl"><p class="ByleWrapper-jWHrLH dSEWiO byle byl__byle" data-ttid="ByleWrapper" emProp="thor" emType="><span emProp="name" class="ByleNamWrapper-jbHncj fuDQVo"><span data-ttid="ByleName" class="ByleName-kwmrLn cYaBaU byle__name"><span class="BaseWrap-sc-gjQpdd BaseText-ewhhUZ BylePreamble-iJolpQ iUEiRd jslZfG gnILss byle__preamble">By </span>Benjam Wallace-Wells</span></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div><div class="AdWrapper-dQtivb fZrssQ SummaryCollectnGridSummaryItem-WColm fvDIAb ad ad--read-more"><div class="ad__slot ad__slot--read-more" data-no-id="0br05n"></div></div></div><div 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gay friendship poem

A llectn of poems about the gay body, childhood and adulthood.

Contents:

POEMS / GAY POEMS - THE BT POETRY ON THE WEBNEWTMARIA MORISOT   FOLLOWON JUL 16 2023 07:59 PM PST  RAISG NOAH'S FLAG

Poems about Gay at the world's largt poetry se. Ranked poetry on Gay, by famo & morn poets. Learn how to wre a poem about Gay and share !" name="scriptn * gay friendship poem *

Poems / Gay Poems - The bt poetry on the webThe Will To LiveI tdged through Endls days -My blue phase. Bt LGBTQ Poems1 I Sg the Body Electric by Walt Whman2 A Lany for Survival by Audre Lor3 Poem about My Rights by June Jordan4 The Aureole by Nikky Fney5 What Kd of Tim Are The by Adrienne Rich6 One Girl by Sappho7 A Lady by Amy Lowell8 Homosexualy by Frank O’Hara9 The Lyric In a Time of War by Eloise Kle Healy10 Who Said It Was Simple by Audre Lor11 FAQS.

POEMS / GAY PRI POEMS - THE BT POETRY ON THE WEBNEWTSENSUALVIRTUOSO   FOLLOWON MAY 08 2014 09:17 AM PST  FREEDOM

Gay poetry: * gay friendship poem *

Homosexualy by Frank O’Hara.

‘Homosexualy’ scrib the act of g out as gay through the metaphor of an actor takg off his mask.

FRIENDSHIP GAY POEMS

Poems about Gay pri at the world's largt poetry se. Ranked poetry on Gay pri, by famo & morn poets. Learn how to wre a poem about Gay pri and share !" name="scriptn * gay friendship poem *

They make g out and livg as a gay man or woman a much harr task than needs to be.

The double meang wh body and “boy” is clever and the acronym wh the poem metaphorilly speaks to the plights of a trans bo’y wak upthe bo’y looks at selfthe bo’y notic somethg missgthere is both too much and not enough flh on the bo’ythe bo’y is vered hairwhat a hairy bo’ysome mak look more like a bo’ysome mak look more like a monsterthe bo’y did not learn to shave om s fatherso tght self how to graze s sk and cut thgs offthe bo’y cuts self by accintthe blood remds the bo’y is a bo’yremds the bo’y how a bo’y bleedsremds the bo’y that not every bo’y bleedsthe bo’y talks to a girl about bleedgshe explas how this bo’y worksthis bo’y is different om hersbo’y has too much and not enough flh to be herthe blogy of a bo’y is jtbo’y will only ever be a bo’ythe bo’y is Blackso the bo’y is and will only ever be a bo’ythe bo’y uldn’t be a man if triedthe bo’y triedthe bo’y feels emptythe bo’y feels like will only ever be emptythe bo’y feels that will never hold the weight of another bo’y si of no matter how many ds f si the bo’ythe bo’y is a hollow fa attempts a nvcg veneerbo’y drs — what hips on the bo’ybo’y pats s face — what lips on the bo’ybo’y adorns self wh labels wrten for lovelier amwhat a betiful bo’ystill a bo’ybut a fierce bo’y nowa royal bo’y nowa bo’y worthy of beg lled queenwhat a dazzlg seto turn a bo’y to a lie everyone lov to look atthe bo’y looks at selfthe bo’y se all the gawkg at s glossthe bo’y hears all the mass askg for s missgthe bo’y offers all of s letters— ‘ b ’ for the birth— ‘ o ’ for the operatn— ‘ y ’ for the lack left s genwhat this bo’y would abandonfor the risk of  beg realthe bo’y is realenough and too muchexistg as s own erasure— what an elive d —evadg removalavoidg regnnleavg jt a bo’ythat is never lostbut n’t be found2"Dear Gaybashers" by Jill McDonoughMIGUEL SCHINCARIOL/AFP/Getty ImagWrten 2014, “Dear Gaybashers” by Jill McDonough is a mt-read for everybody, but pecially those who thk their tnts and jabs will sre off the LGBTQ+ muny om livg and lovg their life. They are strong, they are uned, and they uldn't re ls what you night we got bashed we told Rty howthey drove up, yelled QUEER, threw a hot dog, sped Now, is that gaybashg?

THE FRIENDSHIP BOOKS BY FRANCIS GAY

The Friendship Gay poems are exampl of Gay poetry about Friendship. The are the bt exampl of Gay Friendship poems. * gay friendship poem *

Good pied the fools: who buys a perfectly good pack of wienersand driv around San Francis chuckg them at gays? Dear bashers, you should have seen the hot dog h my neck, the srf Josey sewed om antique silk kimonos: so gay. Youmissed lghg at , nfed, your raw hot dog on the and Rty and Bob make fun of the gaybashers, and Iwash my srf the sk.

Not hot dogs thrown om F-150s, homophobic eaks. 3“Gay Pri Weekend” by Brenda ShghnsyThis LGBTQ+ poem by Brenda Shghnsy touch on an experience she had wh a lover and discs how they’re brought together by their past trmas and how wonrful is to be out, loud, and proud.

4“The 17-Year-Old and the Gay Bar” by Danez SmhDanez Smh’s LGBTQ+ poem about a 17-year-old a gay bar tells the story of feelg like you belong, and feelg like they mt be heaven to have found others like them and to be g-heavy heaven, blsed ground to thk gay & mean the fake id & the bouncer who knewthis need to be need, to belong, to know howa man taste full on vodka & ee of s. I want to live on his tongue, build a home of gospel & gayetyi want to raise a cy behd his teeth for all boys of choirs & closets to refuge .

Poems & More for LGBTQ Pri Month - June is Pri Month, an annual celebratn memoratg the 1969 Stonewall Rts, which took place New York Cy and lnched the lbian, gay, bisexual, transgenr, and queer rights movement the Uned Stat. Pri Month is also a time to honor the many ntributns of LGBTQ dividuals. Explore the rich tradn of LGBTQ poets and poetry through a showse of d, vio, poetry, and prose. * gay friendship poem *

For each gay kid whose adolcence was Ameri the forti or fifti the primary, the ccialscenar forever is g out —or not. 9"A Queerifitn" by Regie CabiDANIEL MIHAILESCU/AFP/Getty ImagAnother excerpt, this piece om “A Queerifitn” preach acceptance, inty, and that scriptns like 'queer' really don't mean anythg the bigger me shift me transgrs me tell my stunts i’m gay tell chick fil a i’m queer tell the new york tim i’m straight tell the mail man i’m a lbian tell amerin airl i don’t know what my genr is like melikg youlike summer blockbter armrt datarmrt cematic loveelbow to forearm the dark humor me queerly fill me wh lghter make me high wh queer gas prs me om centuri of spanish quisn& self-righteo judgment10"Exclively On Ven" by Trace PetersonHere’s an excerpt om Trace Peterson's “Exclively on Ven. Both the doctor and the patient are the same age, both are gay, and the poem is an credible look at the emotnal attachment between the two men, both as patient and doctor, and as gay day, I drew his blood, and while I didHe lghed, and said I was his girliend now, His blood-brother.

When you’re gay Dixie, you’re a clown of a sperate circ. DING **** MY KIDNAPPER IS DEAD, THAT IS WHY I ALLOWED TED BUNDY TO TAKE ME YEAH, I WANTED TO KIDNAP MY KIDNAPPERHOPING THE SPIRIT WORLD CAN **** MY KIDNAPPER, OH YEAHI KNOW IT’S ****** HARD, CAUSE, THE SCHITZOPHRENIA, WAS GIVING ME THE ****** YRGEI FOUND IT HARD TO RID THE URGE, SO I MADE TED BUNDY’S GHOST TIE ME UPBUT THIS MADE ME FIGHT MY FATHER, AND FORCE ME ON MEDICATIONWHICH MADE THE NICEST MAN, BUT MY KIDNAPPER KEPT COMING BACKDING **** I WANTED MY KIDNAPPER DEAD, I KNOW I ANNOYED A LOT OF PEOPLETRYING TO GRAB THEM OH YEAHI GRABBED A FEW SCHOOL MATES, AND THAT IS WHY I WAS TREATED LIKE A YEAH MATE YEAH KIDI WANT TO GET REOFORMED, BUT A VOICE SAID, NO YOUR NOR REFORMEDAND I WORKED AT THE RAINBOW, HELPING THE MENTALLY ILLAND I FELT LIKE A HAPPY CHIRPY COOL KID GOING TO THE BEACH AND BUSHWALKINGAND WORKING IN THE RAINBOW KITCHEN, AND NOBODY WANTED TO TEASE MECAUSE I HELPED TO GIVE THEM A MEAL, I WAS A COOL KID, AND VERY VERY CHIRPYAND THEN IN 2002, I FELT REALLY CRAZY, THE PARANORMAL SHOVING VOICES IN MY HEADWHICH WAS, I WAS THE KID, KILLED BY THE ******, THE AMERICAN ****** KILLED A KIDBUT I SAID I DREAMT IN THE REAL WORLD, SAYING THE KID HE KILLED WAS MEI STOOD MY LITTLE KIDNAPPING KID, OUT ON THE LONESOME, THE ****** KILLED MY CRAZY KIDNAPPERI AM NOT GAY, I RESPECT GAYS, BUT I AM NOT GAYI AM NOT A PHEDAPHILE, HAVING *** WITH KIDS IS REPULSIVEI AM NOT A CUDDLING KOOMARRI MAN, CAUSE THEY GET KILLED, I LIKE TO SAY THAT AT LEAST GAYS, HAVE A REASONTHE KOOMARRIS, ARE TOTALLY GEEKY, AS THEY CUDDLE UP TO YAI AM NOT GAY, HE SAID, I JUST LIKE TO CUDDLE MEN, NOT THAT THERE IS ANYTHING WRONG WITH GAYSI AM NOT GAY, I MADE MY CHOICE, TO BE A ******LIKE A ******, WHO PARTIES ALL THE FUCKEN TIME, LIKE A ****** BABY YEAHPARTY WITH ME, AND YOU AS WELL YO DUDEBUT TED BUNDY, ISN’T HASSLING ME NO MORE, I AGREED TO **** MY HOOLIGAN WHO GRABS KIDSAND IN JUP[ITER, I AM PREPARED TO SUFFER, FOR EVERY KID, AS CRONUS DOES DOTED BUNDY NOW HAS ME ******* TO THE LAMP POST ON JUPITERI PREFER THIS, RATHER THAN CUDDLING ******* KOOMARRI MENPRESUMING THAT I AM GAY, I AM STRAIGHT, MY PROBLEMS WERE WATCHING REALLY BAD KIDNAPPING ON TVAND MY LAST TWO LIVES KIDNAPPED AND KILLED AT AGE 8 GREAME THORNE ANDS PATRICK DUNBARI HAVE KILLED MY KIDNAPPER AND LEFT MY LITTLE DADDY’S SHY BOY WITH DAD, ON CLOUD 9SO I CAN ENJOY BATTLING THE YOU AND YOUR BROTHER AREN’T LIKE US VOICEBY DRINKING A BOTTLE OF COKE, I AM A COMPUTER **** KIDI WANT TO LOSE PAT’S VOICE, BUT WE HAD FUN TOGETHERI WANT TO LOSE HIS VOICE, BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO HEAR THESE DELLUSIONSOF HIM BEING A TEASING GAY MAN, CAUSE YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL TO TEASE NORMIESTHE WAY I USED TO TEASE THE MEN, WHETHER YOUR GAY OR NOTPEOPLE PRESUME THAT YOUR GAY, AND PUNCH AND **** YOUBULLYING LEADS TO KILLING, BRIAN ALLAN DOESN’T WANT TO BE KILLEDSO HE PREFERS TO GET RID OF HIS SHY BOY THE BRIAN ALLAN WAYCAUSE I HATE, THE IDEA IN HINDSIGHT OF BEING A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE LIKE THATIT WAS ALRIGHT WHEN I WAS YOUNG, WELL CRAWLING THROUGH DRAINPIPESAND RIDING OUR BIKES, AND PARTYING IN CLUBS WAS COOLBUT THE KIDNAPPING OR THE GAY ACTIVITY, REALLY AIN’T FOR MEI AM STILL DOING WHAT I USED TO DO, THE IMAGINATION BITART AND DRAWING, I WANT TO KIL MY KIDNAPPER AND HAVE TED BUNDY TIE HIM UP ON JUPITERAQND LEAVE MY DADDY’S LITTLE SHY BOY AS I SAID ON CLOUD 9 WITH DADWE HAVE TO STAND ON OUR OWN TWO FEETOH YEAH MY, HEART IS A PUMPING, AND MY LEGS ARE FITI WANNA STAND ON MY OWN TWO FEETI DON’T CARE WHAT MY VOICES SAYI PREFER FOR MY VOICES TO SAY BE AN ARTIST, BE A WRITER, BE A YOUTUBE PARTNER, BE A BUDDHISTI DON’T WANT TO HAVE ANY PART OF MY DADDY’S LITTLE SHY BOY IN ME, EVER AGAINMEDICATION, REINCARNATION, I AM COOL, HOW ABOUT A LITTLE CELEBRATIONSTOP THE CALLING ME WOOSEY, IN MY HEAD, CAUSE, IT’S FUCKEN DOWNGRADING YOU BIG *******I FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND GAYS, DOESN’T MEAN I HATE THEM, I HATE BEING TOLD I AM STILL GAY******* ****, *******, I AM NOT GAYDING **** MY KIDNAPPER IS DEAD AND MY LITTLE SHY BOY IS UP THERE WITH DEAR OLD DADI AM A MAN WHO ENJOYS PARTYING, YEAH MATE YEAH, I AM NO ****. The Friendship Gay poems are exampl of Gay poems about Friendship.

The are the bt exampl of Gay Friendship poems wrten by ternatnal poets. gay, sire, first love, iendship,. Hum Ne Maana Kay Taghaful Na Kro Gay, Hum Ne Maana Kay Taghaful Na Kro Gay Lak,.

I am a huge fan of the 'Friendship Books by Francis Gay', the on that have a thought for the day, every day of the year. Every December or January I llect one om W H Smh, or I am lucky to fd one a lol chary shop. I was given my first book… * gay friendship poem *

gay, tn, iend, iendship, poetry,. Ex-Gay, Part did this happen? gay, angst, nfn, fear, feelgs,.

a gay womanThe Gay Woman.

*BEAR-MAGAZINE.COM* GAY FRIENDSHIP POEM

Friendship Gay Poems - Gay Poems About Friendship .

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