Say it's a form of heat that doesn't rise
But passes from one body to the next.
Say it flows through you and then out
And back in again like a ghostly thread
Weaving a basic pattern inside of you
That will slowly begin to take the shape
Of what you'll think you can describe.
(Yale Review 2002)
It's hard to write a good, let alone shattering "love poem." It may be one of the hardest thing's to do with words. But Aaron Fagan does it here. He does it...
I have to say something about Aaron and his work as he has just published his first book of poetry "Garage" through Salt, a literary publisher based out of Cambridge, England.
I've had the priviledge of knowing Aaron since 1996, and I think, in some way or another I've collected just about every poem he's ever published or tried to publish. Let's just say I'm a devout "Faganista." Aaron's brilliant, dark, funny, pessimistic, open, and most importantly, human. Human. Human.
What a quality. What a rarity.
Aaron's humanity is in every observation, every line, ever word; to me the best of him and his words are like a hearty laugh from the heart that suddenly turns into a quiet cry without knowing how or why it happened; perhaps it's some memory barely glimpsed that runs through your mind with no warning, but you lose yourself in the moment of that memory despite of where you are, who you are with - you surrender to it, and then, just as suddenly, the moment loses you, and you return, looking around like a child just woken, surprised and breathing...
And, of course, there are Aaron's screams, and his screams will fuck you up too.
Here's a link to Aaron's web site and book:
And a link to his blog, which, (ahem) he does not update enough:
Read him. Support him. Buy him.