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About this poet

Sean Singer is the author of Discography (Yale University Press, 2002), which won the Yale Series of Younger Poets Competition and the Norma Farber First Book Award. He is also the recipient of a grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council and a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship. He lives in New York City.

The World Doesn't Want Me Anymore, and It Doesn't Know It

I am the corner and the cab’s glow-up roof.
A tuba and air synth march down Stanton St.

Do a rhumba for an espresso foam by the green lights.
Notice how this dude in the yellow pants is embarrassing himself.

Trying their best to dougie to "My Favorite Things"
And a sexy woman poured-into jeans twirl-a-whirls.

When we see what we were in New York
And what we leave behind

Only stay human is great
Leave your weakness in a jar.


 

About this poem:
"This poem is set in New York's Lower East Side. The title is taken from a drawing by Pier Paolo Pasolini, the poet and filmmaker. The subject of the poem is a YouTube video (http://youtu.be/RV86-W01h5w) of Jonathan Batists’s Stay Human Band marching through the Lower East Side, gathering a crowd, as they play their instruments—a melodica, a trombone, a tuba, and a tambourine. The form is five mostly end-stopped couplets."

Sean Singer

Copyright © 2013 by Sean Singer . Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on March 18, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Copyright © 2013 by Sean Singer . Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on March 18, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Sean Singer

Sean Singer is the author of Discography (Yale University Press, 2002), which won the Yale Series of Younger Poets Competition and the Norma Farber First Book Award. He is also the recipient of a grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council and a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship. He lives in New York City.

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"There’s no such thing as bop music, but there’s such a thing as progress."—Coleman Hawkins

Although jazz’s sepia, acetates, and lacquers have dipped the black into silver nitrate, and are faded little faders, they inflate like lungs. The pink lung, with its tortoiseshell shellac