Morning After You is an exquisite work of love poetry by renowned Canadian Poet Carmelo Militano. He began his literary career as a journalist and radio host at the CBC in Winnipeg and has gone on to write some excellent Poetry and Prose, a truly great read.
He has written two Poetry Chapbooks, “Ariadne’s Thread” his first book of poetry won the F.G. Bressani Award in 2004, “Feast Days” and a book of prose “The Fate of Olives”, as well as having poetry, reviews, literary interviews, and essays published in Canadian journals as well as internationally.
This love poetry is full, meanders like a river, slow and full, travels in and out of landscape, in and out of sunlight inside the Zen of the Oracle, love poetry born inside the Mediterranean sun. The extraordinary in the details of the ordinary bloom. A story of loss and love, it is as if the Poet writes while his lover is in the next room, the enigma in perfect stillness, waiting.
Books stand like sentries
refusing to smile or move
rain thin like fine thread
After an hour
a car drives into a puddle on the front street
and explodes the silence.
Orange tiger lily drips like an hourglass in the garden
green grass leans perfect as light against grey sky
a bright Haiku stillness.”
Poet Militano was born in Calabria and with his family immigrated to Canada when a child. The poetry is rich with landscape images and childhood memories of the Mediterranean that infuse the Canadian landscape with fire.
Your hair is like a short wide peacock’s feather
above round plump hills
looking like full heavy clouds just before it rains
or the way a ripe purple fig is round and full
before it cracks under a Mediterranean sun.
When you move your leg bend a knee
position your other leg like a careless cubist painter
the moment is like a lazy summer yawn on the porch
in the middle of a still hot afternoon lemon glasses beaded.
It is just enough to make you smile and say:
“red sky in the morning, sailor takes warning.”
Your weather reports are intuitions about my future moods.
Sometimes the poetry expresses a subtle humor as if the Poet plays with a mirror. Sometimes the poetry alludes to the hidden violence of the cultural diaspora in the West.
“There is a war on
There is always a war when poets are writing.
I have been writing for twenty-five years
I am sitting in a coffee shop right now
hear the hiss of an expresso machine
there is a war on
and ordinary things still happen.
Portguese men pour cement for a new street curb
a man with an orange tie and green jacket buys wine
from the liquor mart at the corner of River and Osborne
the mail is delivered garbage collected
an elderly woman takes a cab.
It starts to rain
across the street someone smokes a cigarette at the bus stop
cars drive fast past Holy Rosary Church
the girl across from me writes in her chemistry notebook
a poet writes in his diary
there is a war on
soldiers die terrorists plot
the ordinary unplanned arc of this day
my lack of clarity
to be direction and belief
fill the hole in my existence with the virtue of submission.
There is a grey white desert littered with black rocks
cold dark mountains in the distance
far from this café on River Avenue
on a cloudy day at the end of September
and there is a war on.”
Upon reading, and rereading, it is the love poetry that spreads itself over bare legs, like the fine velvet cloth of a ladies skirt. His style and imagery is reminiscent of the great Poet Pablo Neruda, a South American diplomat and winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature (1971).
Your breasts are small round chapels
where my prayers rise and fall
on a hot celebrated cathedral afternoon
just before the bells on a camel caravan ring
to cross the flat desert of your belly
pause to smell salt
near your original connection to the sea
register a promise
to your solitary prisoner on the embankment
who now waves and stiffens
above your dew filled valley
urge the moon, stars, and sun to return
send light back out into universe
and in a single fitful blast
redraw all the maps born under your skin.”
This poetry laces the heart in the stillness of a Summer afternoon, a quiet song drifts, Morning After You by Carmelo Militano.
Available @ Amazon.ca.
Gina Nemo reads love poetry awake in this magical spoken word offering from her
first book of poetry Strings. Gina Nemo is an American actress, poet,
writer, singer, songwriter, musician, entertainment/marketing executive who has
graced stage and screen since a child and is best known for her role in “21 Jump
Street”. This Writer has reviewed the music CD’s Cicada (2014) and
Plastic Wonderland (1999) as well as the books of poetry Scarlet
(2014) and Strings (2013) by Gina Nemo.
The audiobook Strings is a magical voice recording of 17 poems from the poet’s first book of poetry by the same name. This offering is enchanting, presenting elements of the Gothic Revival and the New Age word. With a beautiful and clear intonation that portrays the emotion of the work, the poet and her words come alive, a gentle seduction, moonlight on a quiet winter night. The spoken word is immediate, brings the written words off the page into a magic place beyond the presentation of the book into an entire new dimension of dance. This audiorecording is so magic it makes me wonder if the true presentation of poetry is spoken word rather than book format. As in the pagan custom from the Old Agricultural Society, during the fire festivals, people reciting poetry and stories of the tribe and ancestors, oral history alive that really was performance art.
. . . a one way conversation
Did you read it?
The Secret letter,
Inside my head?
It said “Dear the one,
I have got to go.”
Before I disappear.
I hate goodbyes,
My suitcase inside,
That I need,
For a long journey,
A boat, a plane,
A hovercraft perhaps?
You can see the map,
In my eyes,
My windows are shut.
The tank is full,
I am so ready!
What did you say?
You don’t want me to go?
I guess I will have to play,
Just for awhile,
A little time can’t hurt,
I’m talking to myself,
A few more days perhaps?
Maybe a bit longer?
Do you really want me to
Are you sure?
O.K., I will stay,
My suitcase is still packed,
Inside my head.”
As if the poet is the wise child, presenting the entanglements of love life N.A., telling a love story, unrequited love or love that escapes, while at the same time weaving the ideal of never ending love within reach. As if she is telling an adult bedtime story, sweet and true despite the quiet and dark. The style is narrative/broken thought forms with regular rhymes at the end of lines, heralding in an evolution from the Beat Poet tradition with post-modern Hip Hop/Rap influences, painting pictures of romance, light and dark and as if through the magic of incantations a better day.
“Lost on a Train
Thinking of all those years
When the distance took its toll
I could never let you go
Fate had taken control
Both stuck on our own planet
Nothing we could do
Many nights in hotels
Escaping real life with you
You were like a cool wine
I could sip you forever
We were like a volcano
That drowned out a feather
Memories are sweet
Better than regret
Making out in a graveyard
Was just a silly bet
Life throws surprises
And then takes them away
Treasures come with age
Love in this life is not a play”
Mysterious, with elements of horror/goth perhaps influenced by the works of Edgar Allen Poe amongst others, the poetry presents as a new twist on New Age Americana.
My heart weeps,
Paint the guitar with it.
Pull my strings apart,
With your gentle whispers
And your electric shivers.
As you take me down,
To silk and springs.
Like you tune your soul,
In that special place,
That we know so well.
Our story that was never finished,
A tale too powerful to tell.
But still we played it well.
You were my savior,
The King of eternity.
I was your queen,
For a lifetime.
But here we are again,
Hearts still aching,
For the strings to sing.
Living parallel lives,
Waiting for the perfect ending.
Falling into yet another dream,
On that dusty country road,
Paved with hope.
You my love are home,
Stay this time.
For you have lived,
Too many lives.
Your heart is mine.
Bury the treasure map,
For true love.”
This Spoken Word poetry exists in the place of modern day mythology, of dark chocolate and wine, incantations to the god of love, by the goddess, Strings, the audiobook by Gina Nemo.
Available @ CD Baby.