I am a big fan of chapbooks because they are heartfelt and often come straight from the author. Bonny Finberg’s Déja Vu is that kind of hands-on book with words and collages by the poet herself, a work of art.
In the Vimeo below, Bonny Finberg reads poems from Déjà Vu and some unpublished poems as well—the one called “Slaughter” can be found at the end of this post. She also reads from a novel in progress, Inanimate Objects. Enjoy.
Here are some of the digital collages in Déjà Vu. With a few of the poems interspersed among them.
FALLING
Smoking star,
listen to me.
Call the stain
to your hand.
Go, I’m ready
to burn.
Has caffeine
a tiger’s kiss?
Be wild,
shove the
sequestered
kiss with force
and school me
in your pause.
Is this
blood
clean as
the sea?
Make me wait.
Respect the
sea and
say amen.
DÉJÀ VU
A clean reflection
sitting in a field,
red poppies at the foot of Mont Serrat,
my mother
among the poppies,
And there I am again,
at two,
squinting into the sun,
someone points a camera,
something that s me
in a moment that won t stand still.
FLOOD
I’m sitting at a window, watching the street,
unable to awaken to the logic in a sentence,
the nightmare of your magnificence.
the beginning,
the middle,
the question at the end,
dangling, waiting for an explanation,
what advantage in the waiting?
Okay. So, I’m in the poem, who cares?
If I disappeared, you wouldn t.
Across the distant galaxies
Starlight would still burn.
wheels would still spin on a giant screen,
sparked lightening from a frantic sun.
Noah had a warning so he built him an ark.
And what about the others, you might ask?
Well, they were sleeping, maybe not so soundly,
when the big wave came and swept them all away.
Nothing could be done.
(Though Noah sometimes wonders.)
But we all end up the same,
Noah, the impotent dead,
the thing itself — whatever it is —
a window to the street.
COHABITATION
I stole your thoughts
the same way you rearranged
my poetry magnets
on the refrigerator,
following a calculated impulse,
nimble,
pocketing memory.
Forever.
Déja Vu is published by corrupt press. You can check them out here:
You can find Bonny Finberg’s novel Kali’s Day on Amazon. It’s a lot fun. Check it out.
SLAUGHTER
She worked in a fur factory,
skinning mink and lynx,
fox and sable,
raccoon and bear.
The bear was special order. All cash.
Her lover had two laughs,
one, when he was with her,
one, among his friends.
Which was true?
He found her secret in a folder in her bag,
a love poem meant for someone else.
“I fucked him,” she said.
“But he was disappointing.”
“You’re probably too much for him,” he said, pained.
“Maybe,” she said,
hoping it was true.
Bonny Finberg