David Marriott - Late

In rereading Riverflesh by David Marriott, I am as perplexed as aI was the first time, and the second, with no context its hard to decipher. But in being in this class and reflecting now on how I do not need to understand what the author is describing or even why they wrote this piece, but focus on the emotions I felt in reading it again. Three parts, all with different effects. The first bringing dense, perplexing, pain in the most beautiful experience. I am not accustomed to this language, my first thought. But as I near the second part I feel loneliness, or empty, maybe confused.

In the second part, there was so much to process. These short, neat couplettes, hold so much more than the first part. Each space leaving in suspense, holding onto my chair. ‘On a filthy mass of rags” life is not magical when coming to this world, it is dirty. Leading me to the last part, dense, is the word I will use to describe how I felt about it, instead of two large blocks or couplettes, it follows what I was raised to think is a traditional way of formatting a poem, stanzas made of a few lines. This familiar view did not bring me comfort as I continued to read, since as the reader I felt shoved into a future I was not meant for. I can’t help but wonder what it is that is going on, I can’t put my finger on it, is he a father who abandoned his son? The tone felt heavy, almost impossible to get through. A sunrise, being a beginning, but there being no way to start anew, since “my scared surface never heals.”

I’m glad we started with David Marriott, all other authors seemed more comfortable and welcoming in their journey. Marriott is a place I feel I never want to be, probably because I don’t context to understand this writing or even a vocabulary to comfortably follow along.