Jody Azzouni

Jody Azzouni Poems

Originally appeared in Voices International
Volume 29, Number 4
My children strip the skin from their gifts,
pull the gaudy insides into the light,
...

Hungry for control,
the dangfool god
gouges his own eye out
and drops it in the seedy well.
...

When I sat watching that T.V. special the other night
after Mom told me I'd never been breastfed
I remembered again the baby you made me throw away
...

I expected bats, fangs,
the usual openmouthed coffin.
Instead he woos me with poetry of a sort:
...

Jody Azzouni Biography

Jody Azzouni (born Jawad Azzouni; born 1954) is an American philosopher, short fiction writer, and poet. He currently is Professor of Philosophy at Tufts University. He received his bachelor's degree and master's degree from New York University and his PhD from the City University of New York Azzouni is currently working on the philosophy of mathematics (he holds a degree in mathematics), science, logic, language and in areas of metaphysics, epistemology, and aesthetics. He acknowledges, as do many of his peers, a debt to the renowned philosopher, Willard Van Orman Quine. Azzouni is of the nominalist bent and has centered much of his philosophical efforts around defending nominalism. One of his most distinctive positions is the as yet controversial claim that mathematical objects don't exist.)

The Best Poem Of Jody Azzouni

Christmas Morning

Originally appeared in Voices International
Volume 29, Number 4
My children strip the skin from their gifts,
pull the gaudy insides into the light,
and play with them.
I sit sullen, swallow a pill or two,
and watch the pine tree,
covered with wire and glass,
die slowly.
'There is a history to all of this,'
I tell the dying tree,
the flayed gifts.
'All around us are the bones
of one god
or another.'
My children ignore me;
my husband says, 'Cass.'

So I tell them we need new holidays
for the hot weather coming soon.
We can pray for the rebirth of the snowflake,
we can pretend they hang in the nightsky
waiting, always waiting, and occasionally crying.
We can sit in our loincloths
around the cool florescent lampfire
and listen to the elders tell stories
about ice cubes.
We can pray to the fridge.

My husband has had enough.
He approaches, takes my hand,
leads me away. I wish my dead friend
who is everywhere
a happy birthday.

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