By Roz DeKett
“You seem to know a lot about humans,”
she whistled, splashing with her hind flippers.
“Perhaps you will write it all down for me.”
These lines, from Marc Zegans’ poem The Underwater Typewriter (in his new collection of the same name, published by Pelekinesis), make me smile, even on several re-readings.
It’s the charm, the surprise, the kaleidoscopic shift of words that brings the seal into focus for the first time; the way it resets what you’re reading and by extension how you might see life.
Why, I asked Marc, did he pick this poem (from among so many evocative poems and titles—inflection, perchance, Unclasped, even the tiny three-line poem Inversion, which creates a tree-sized image, so much bigger than it is on the page) to share its title with his book?
Part of the answer…
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