Tag Archives: poem

August

17 Aug

This night is
a fuzzy, fleshy peach
which I aim to take a bite of
just knowing that
it won’t be long
before I am covered
in sticky, sweet juice
dripping from my fingers
running down my arms.

This night is
a sultry dream
a far-away jazz tune
brought by a wayward breeze
laid at my feet
an offering, a promise
I intend to keep.
This night
is ripe.

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Ode to Guayaquil

16 Aug

I am overjoyed to share that my poem in Spanish, “Ode to Guayaquil,” appears in the August 2018 edition of The Acentos Review! There is a great line up of poets in this issue that I am grateful to be counted among – including Alexandra Gulden, Monica Garcia, and ire’ne lara silva!

You can read the entire issue here: The Acentos Review

And I have a new bio pic!

lupita eyde tucker bio photo

Rules of Engagement

11 Feb

Thanks to the Baltimore Review for publishing my poem, Rules of Engagement in their Winter 2018 online issue! It will also appear in print in their annual magazine. I hope you take a minute to visit their site and read it! I am overjoyed that it has found a home.

In October 2016 I heard Claudia Rankine read from her book Citizen at the Dodge Poetry Festival in Newark, NJ. This poem is the offspring of that experience—her work put me in touch with the feeling of helpless rage that I had long ago buried. I had to bring these experiences out of the silence of forget, and give myself the voice I was never allowed to have.

Reading Rules of Engagement at the Asbury Hotel

That’s me reading my fresh poem in my blue motorcycle jacket at the Hear Me Roar Open Mic at the Asbury Hotel, Asbury Park, NJ. October 23, 2016.

The night I wrote the poem, the last night of the 2016 Dodge Poetry Festival, I went to the Asbury Hotel in Asbury Park to write. There just *happened* to be an open mike night there that night. I was writing furiously in my notebook my thoughts from the weekend, and the poem literally wrote itself into my notebook as a journal entry.

When I realized that people were getting up and reading poems – I looked at what I wrote and thought maybe I could put it into verses and do a sort of spoken word poem— i’d never done that before, but it had an undeniable rythym to it…

It took a lot of guts to ask the emcee for permission to read it, and then actually get up in a room full of strangers and read it. The beautiful Susan Rosenberg came over while I was there, and witnessed this whole thing happen. And she took a photo of me reading the very, very rough first draft of this poem. It was a huge turning point for me. I’d never written or even talked about this stuff ever before, let alone write a poem on the spot and read it to a room full of strangers.

 

Año Viejo

1 Dec

My poem, Año Viejo, was published in the Fall 2017 issue of the Naugatuck River Review.

 

Año Viejo

Año Viejo was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

Across (a cento)

15 Jun

ACROSS

Leaping-
free fall, airborne

suspended
reckless, open innovation

that mysterious thing
opening and closing.

Scenes, lying there
waiting, not explaining.

An insatiable fascination
with language,

selfless reverence
to make it come alive,

my palm
against her palm.

A post shared by Lupi (@thenewjerseygirl) on Jun 4, 2017 at 6:30am PDT

Sunday morning, June 4, 2017 was the first official day of the Bread Loaf Translators Conference in Ripton, VT. Our very first craft lecture was by Idra Novey, and this poem is a cento from her lecture. Idra is a poet, novelist, and translator from the Spanish and Portuguese. Her lecture was a perfect beginning to the conference, because she encapsulated exactly what it feels like to be a translator, with humor, insight, and heart. Thank you, Idra! On a side note, she is also super cool and fun to hang out with, and I wish I got to hang out with her more 🙂

The Wind Shifts

21 Oct

Come, thief
whispering to fool the wind
invitation to a secret feast
power & possibility.

The unfolding center,
divine nothingness,
domain of perfect affection

If one of us should fall
faster than light
don’t let me be lonely.

I spent a lot of time browsing the pop-up poetry bookstore at the Dodge Poetry Festival, both yesterday and today. One of my favorite things is to read and collect the titles of poetry books, and then try to assemble them into a poem. I walked around with my notebook and jotted down the titles that sounded interesting to me. This poem is the product of that exercise.

My sincere thank you and apology to those poets whose book titles I skimmed with my little net.

She Said

9 Sep

She said:
Hello, compadre
You have taught and changed me,
or should I say,
you have made me see something else
in myself.

Thank you. I appreciate your efforts.
Although, you can make a person sad,
you know?
You? Oh yes.
I know that you are sad, too.
But you see
we do not speak the same language.
You’re a man
and I’m a woman.
You understand that; preservation of the ego.
It really is important, though.
It protects us from knowing.
Well, Goodbye.
I have a feeling that you,
even though you have already experienced a lot,
have learned something, also.
You have learned
what you want me to learn.
Well, goodbye again.
I’ve suddenly realized that I’ve done all the talking.
It’s difficult to untangle words and acts.

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This poem was written 45 years ago by my father, Al Eyde. It was found on a type-written page among my mother’s old photos and papers. He wrote poems to her while they were apart for a few months, one cold winter in 1970.

My parents met in Guayaquil, Ecuador where my mother was a senior at the Catholic University. My father was a professor of English at the university, and my mother was his student. They knew each other for a about a year before they began dating, and were married in 1970. My dad flew back to the US and a few months later my mother joined him.

My father passed away 8 years ago, on Sept. 12th. Every year I try to remember him in different ways. I had never read any of his poetry or even knew that he had written any, so this year’s memorial is seeing him in a new light.

Epilogue

28 Jul

Truly, this: My thoughts
of you won’t leave the worn paths
carved within my heart

Our eyes, our mouths, locked
invisible caresses
skin to skin, linger

I meant everything
my silent lips have said
and more. Yes, there is more.

 

Bar Harbor, Maine

Bar Harbor, Maine

Sometimes there is no clear path. There are many things I want to express, but at the same time I have to question myself: to what end?

Mincing words almost always leads me to haiku. This is a series of three haikus. Together they are but a scratch along the surface of everything I keep inside.

The last haiku is 5-7-5, but for aesthetic purposes I dropped the 7th syllable of the second line down to the last line. So, instead of a haiku, its a my-ku 😉

Ode to This Moment

16 Jun

I cut my teeth
on the excuses made
for lack of performance

I cut my tongue
on the words
I never took the chance to say

crystallized thoughts
fiberglass shards of words
difficult, even though

all I want to tell you is
always, forever, and again
your pain is my pain

your joy is my joy
my abounding enthusiasm
quivers in your hands

your hands
your hands
your hands

Morning Pages

26 Apr

Writing morning pages
is cream skimmed off the top of
my thoughts, or pond scum.

Writing morning pages
is the pool boy, whose long net
catches leaves and dead bugs.

Writing morning pages
is your hands cupping my face
your eyes deep in mine.

Writing morning pages
is the clack clack of these thoughts
Ding! then hard return.

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A flock of haiku for the home stretch of National Poetry Month.

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