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An Animated Ode to Certainly one of Life’s Nice Felicities – The Marginalian

“Like a bee that settles on the aromatic pistils of a flower, and sips within the nectar for honey, so must you sip within the nectar from between the lips of your love,” endorsed an illustrated subject information to kissing the 12 months my grandmother was born. Why we kiss continues to puzzle scientists. That we do is considered one of life’s nice felicities.

That’s what Tim Seibles celebrates in his luscious poem “First Kiss.” Printed in his 2004 e book Buffalo Head Solos (public library) — a largehearted lyric effort to assist folks “enlarge their grasp of what being alive means” — it comes alive afresh in a wondrous animated brief movie by Hannah Jacobs (who has additionally animated Emily Dickinson’s ode to resilience and a very powerful eclipse within the historical past of science).

by Tim Seibles

for Lips
Her mouth
fell into my mouth
like a summer time snow, like a
fifth season, like a contemporary Eden,
like Eden when Eve made God
whimper with the liquid
tilt of her hips —
her kiss harm like that —
I imply, it was as if she’d combined
the sweat of an angel
with the style of a tangerine,
I swear. My mouth
had been a helmet ceaselessly
greased with secrets and techniques, my mouth
a dead-end avenue a bit of bit
lit by tooth — my coronary heart, a clam
slammed shut on the backside of a darkish,
however her mouth pulled up
like a baby-blue Cadillac
full of canaries pushed
by a toucan — I swear
these lips mentioned vibrant
wings once we kissed, wild
and exact — as if she had been
educating a seahorse to talk —
her mouth so cautious, chumming
the primary vowel from my throat
till my mind was a piano
banged loud, hammered like that —
it was like, I swear her tongue
was Saturn’s seventh moon —
scorching like that, scorching
and chilly and circling,
circling, turning me
right into a glad planet —
solar on one facet, night time pouring
her sluggish hand over the opposite: one hearth
flying the kite of one other.
Her kiss, I swear — if the Nice
Mom rushed open the moon
like a present and also you had been there
to really feel your shadow lastly
unhooked out of your wrist.
That’d be it, however even sweeter —
like a riot of peg-legged clergymen
on pogo-sticks, up and up,
this manner and this, not
falling however on and on
like that, badly behaved
however holy — I swear! That
kiss: each lips completely dedicated
to the world like a Peace Corps,
like a free retailer, ceaselessly and all the time
a brand new metropolis — no locks, no partitions, simply
doorways — like that, I swear,
like that.

Complement this ode to kissing with three animated odes to different dazzlements of being alive: Emily Dickinson’s ode to flowers, Tracy Okay. Smith’s ode to stars, and Edna St. Vincent Millay’s ode to mortality.



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