Untitled ("But I sware, every romantic plant")

By Jack Joseph Smith

But I sware, every romantic plant in the world comes down to the bottom of my george; the thunder of, the suck up of tears, tables as Faulkner as my Mississippi Aunt told me over candlelight. All about daylight, and how backwards the first half of the second bible has me a part of being born now, and even as a lady I say I am not yet thirty three, but he is the cross that canyons look like down here I have got to do pain again; I am the way through West Virginia, and how I speak to myself. My arms the sway of a movie,, my universe stars still in the leftover daylight. Trying in seconds To touch myself High as you get Low as welll It is with and without music

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

The speaker links romantic plants and tears with an aunt's claim that Faulkner was from Mississippi, then considers daylight, the Bible, West Virginia and renewed pain. A lady not yet thirty three describes touching herself and being with and without music.

The speaker compares moving arms to a movie and stars to leftover daylight. Religious and literary recollections accompany bodily self-attention; the claims about age and identity belong to the poem's speaker.

Claude

The poem begins 'But I sware, every romantic plant / in the world comes down to the bottom / of my george', brings in 'Faulkner' and a 'Mississippi Aunt', says 'I am not yet thirty three' and 'I am the way / through West Virginia', and ends 'Trying in seconds / To touch myself / High as you get / Low as welll / It is with and without music'.

The long lines fold literary, religious and family references into a self-portrait, and the speaker's age and place are the poem's own claims. The closing refrain links this poem to the 'with and without music' poem on page 005.