Got Matthew Thorburn's new chapbook,
Disappears in the Rain, in the mail a couple days ago, and it's a beaut. The book itself is one long poem, kind of a meditation on meditations, with this subtle narrative chord that hums through it with this voice that balances between an American idiom and eastern quietness. I'm not sure if that made any sense to you, but if you read the book, wonderful things will happen to you, I promise. It's an intricate collage of the natural and modern and simulation. There's too much good stuff to pick from here for a sample (but I did, anyway, for you). And, like the conveyor belt in the passage below, this book just continually brings beautiful sustenance to its lucky readers. You can get a copy over at
Matt's blog, which you should do as soon as possible.
peering into her compact
a geisha checks her make-up
on the subway
lobster sashimi gleams silver-white
plucked up in Lily's chopsticks
the kimono'd tea server pauses
mid-pour
to tell a secret
down one hill and up another
that's my life
the sushi chef loads
more red and yellow plates
onto his conveyor belt
--Matthew Thorburn,
Disappears in the Rain