AFTER DAVID SHAPIRO


French poetry spoke to American poetry.
“Je suis le veuf, l’inconsolé, le tenebreux.”

The missed translation spoke to the accurate translation.
“You think you’re better than me!"

The violin case spoke to the hi-hat stand.
“I am best emptied; you must be stacked.”

The karaoke machine spoke to the novel by Raymond Roussel.
“I live in smoky bar; you live in dusky shelves.”

The dream-in-the-poem spoke to the dream-in-real-life.
“In me the father is still alive.”

I write poetry to understand the work of poets I am reading. In these lines I tried to capture that particular mixture of New York school insousiance and humor and emotional depth in David Shapiro's poetry. How'm I doing?