You are in another country

 

January 19, 1979  (I was 34)  

 

You are in another country

Had I asked you to be here

you probably would have stayed

I told you to go

You are in Mexico

I don’t voluntarily go places

though I have been lured to a few

I have not gone to Mexico

I think of second marriage

You are in Mexico now

living for awhile in Mulegè

and it is January

Maybe you think of having babies

and maybe I’ll resign myself

to a life of fatherhood for your love

and hope that the price in years

is not your love

And in Mexico I imagine you toughening

like a native in the sun while I’m soft

and white as the underbelly of the U.S.

That man talking over his shoulder

 

from this week of December, 1979  (I was 35)

 

     That man talking over his shoulder

Do you feel the edge of the world?

Ever feel like you’ve crawled to the brink

fingers acute on the precipice

like you didn’t really choose to be there

moved along by the whack on your ass

the big broom and the sweep of time?

 

There you were crawling across the floor

moving from one bit of this to another

when you and the neighborhood

together were swept to the edge

Somewhere inside them

everybody knew about the big broom

 

Even your muscles knew

knew sooner or later hoping later

Then you were there

not expecting so many friends with you

and others calling back from over the edge

and you now with this new moment

 

Gonna let the next one catch you in the ass?

idealistic advice

 

December 3, 1979  (I was 35)   

 

         idealistic advice

In civil protest sit in silence

weep at the outrage of your indignity

weep at the violence done to your person

do not resist force

disperse when displaced

or proceed to prison calmly

If you are assured of a hearing voice

speak your cause clearly

If you are not heard

save your own life

get out of prison

and live where you can

as long as you can

This Junior High School

 

from this week in September, 1979  (I was 34)

 

         This Junior High School

Mrs. Affluence swings around the parking lot

and rocks the Lincoln to a halt in the circular drive

Her brow is wrinkled in the sun

Her head is balanced in one hand

whose arm angles at the elbow

to rest upon the window edge

She opens a door across the car lane

Books and kids spill over plush upholstery

They slam the door and she beeps impatience

at a pedestrian mom and her children

Morality of Homeland

 

April 27, 1979  (I was 34)

 

         Morality of Homeland

Does anyone remember

we do not come from here,

we are not of this place?

The thing that binds us

is what makes us all aliens

come no matter how long ago.

 

It is not necessary to believe

we are of this place

nor to believe we are

of the same place

nor to believe we will return there

when we leave here.

 

It is unnecessary to give a shit

we’re so many generations removed.

We were put here;

we did not make a choice,

so it’s okay if we fuck up the air

and the water and the ground.

It’s okay to pollute the fire

if that’s what we choose to do.

 

Tienda Tordillo is Marlena’s store

 

April 10, 1979  (I was 34)

 

Tienda Tordillo is Marlena’s store

south of Mulegé across from the Posada

God she is beautiful

The only girl I’ll ever love

said a United pilot who danced with her at Serenidad

vacationing in his own plane       

while his ground crews struck

He gave us a note to give to her

before he flew on down to Cabo

In the note he said she sparkled

and he left his number in Sausilito

He told us if he never saw her again it was okay

because he could still love her always

I thought he was great not so much for the thought

but that he did not care that his pilot friends

gave him shit about it  His love was in his smile

but her true love had gone back to the U.S.

deserting when he discovered her pregnant

All that pilot knew was that she danced well

and she did but I wondered what she thought

in the store where the gringos permanente

played with her son calling him Jerry

instead of his christened Geraldo

Posada Concepcion Baja

 

April 8, 1979  (I was 34)

 

    Posada Concepcion Baja

¿Quién es número uno en la palapa?

Is this my drink or is it yours?

The Mexicans here are still unmanageable

They sell camarones for the most they can get

even if you row to their boats on the point

and even to the gringos permanente

who live here five months of the year

Those gringos hate the turistas who pay top dollar

Tecate tastes foreign they say

but Carta Blanca’s almost as good as Oly

The buzzards eat gutted fish at the end of the playa

They don’t share vey well

Who’s number one under the palapa?

Those my shrimp or yours we’re pickin’ clean?

I’m only here for awhile, and I’m eatin’ while I can

I pay what they ask then ride the bus

So call me copilote or zopilote I don’t care 

                           (copilote=copilot; zopilote=buzzard)

 

Address

 

March 24, 1979  (I was 34)

 

         Address

My country has not been able

to lead economically and righteously

We are not the conscious rich

We have not sought to make everyone wealthy

We have not loved the truth and freedom we cherish

We have killed Allende

We have set up shahs and shot down townsmen

Our personal generosities have not been official

We have sold armaments in the name of peace

I know this without reading anything radical

Our discussion of who we are is more dramatic than actual

It is easy to lead a life of parochial responsibility

It is hard to act internationally when you never leave the country

It is harder to know if governments are acting wisely

and impossible to trust them to do so

Revolutions can be trusted to supply us with corpses

and leaders who in the end are only men

 

Life at 33 1/3 rpm

 

February 5 1979  (I was 34)

 

         Life at 33 1/3 rpm

More than three generations now

lives have moved around together

toward the center groove

 

Those three guitars

and those drums have been

augmented supplemented and orchestrated

 

And every five years

different punks set up in garages

to try to scare the neighbors

 

Every ten years

another Eisenhower generation

believes dancing is the answer

I’m going to pound my feet on the hill

 

from this week in March, 1979  (I was 34)

 

I’m going to pound my feet on the hill.

I laugh when I hear Dylan sing,

“I’ve paid the price of solitude,

but at least I’m out of debt.”

I’m going to hit the deer trails,

look for a blue deer.

The trees laugh when I think of tomorrow.

(They lived all those years

so they could live today.)

I understand their laughter

I’m going to trot myself under their jocular leaves,

find myself running alongside a blue deer

who finds itself running alongside of me.

You are in another country

 

January 19, 1979  (I was 34)  

 

You are in another country

Had I asked you to be here

you probably would have stayed

I told you to go

You are in Mexico

I don’t voluntarily go places

though I have been lured to a few

I have not gone to Mexico

I think of second marriage

You are in Mexico now

living for awhile in Mulegè

and it is January

Maybe you think of having babies

and maybe I’ll resign myself

to a life of fatherhood for your love

and hope that the price in years

is not your love

And in Mexico I imagine you toughening

like a native in the sun while I’m soft

and white as the underbelly of the U.S.

That man talking over his shoulder

 

from this week of December, 1979  (I was 35)

 

     That man talking over his shoulder

Do you feel the edge of the world?

Ever feel like you’ve crawled to the brink

fingers acute on the precipice

like you didn’t really choose to be there

moved along by the whack on your ass

the big broom and the sweep of time?

 

There you were crawling across the floor

moving from one bit of this to another

when you and the neighborhood

together were swept to the edge

Somewhere inside them

everybody knew about the big broom

 

Even your muscles knew

knew sooner or later hoping later

Then you were there

not expecting so many friends with you

and others calling back from over the edge

and you now with this new moment

 

Gonna let the next one catch you in the ass?

idealistic advice & The roots of the tree

 

December 3, 1979  (I was 35)    +that below 40 yrs. later

 

         idealistic advice

In civil protest sit in silence

weep at the outrage of your indignity

weep at the violence done to your person

do not resist force

disperse when displaced

or proceed to prison calmly

If you are assured of a hearing voice

speak your cause clearly

If you are not heard

save your own life

get out of prison

and live where you can

as long as you can

 

December 3, 2019  (I was 75)

 

The roots of the tree spread deep

in the moldy soil of long ago

What can they know of this year’s leaves

flaunting a different color each month

murmuring or singing in this year’s wind

Twig holds leaf branch hold twig

limb holds branch trunk holds limb

Trunk carries whisper and song underground

vibrating rumors of light and sound

to million tendril tongues lapping

the nourishment of dirt to seed

which ripens with leaf to fall

a decomposition to anchor the roots

and feed new seeds around them

This Junior High School

 

from this week in September, 1979  (I was 34)

 

         This Junior High School

Affluence swings around the parking lot

and rocks to a halt in the circular drive

Her brow is wrinkled in the sun

Her head is balanced in one hand

whose arm angles at the elbow

to rest upon the window edge

She opens a door across the car lane

Books and kids spill over plush upholstery

They slam the door and she beeps impatience

at the pedestrians and their children

Morality of Homeland

April 27, 1979  (I was 34)

         Morality of Homeland

Does anyone remember

we do not come from here,

we are not of this place?

The thing that binds us

is what makes us all aliens

come no matter how long ago.

It is not necessary to believe

we are of this place

nor to believe we are

of the same place

nor to believe we will return there

when we leave here.

It is unnecessary to give a shit

we’re so many generations removed.

We were put here;

we did not make a choice,

so it’s okay if we fuck up the air

and the water and the ground.

It’s okay to pollute the fire

if that’s what we choose to do.

Tienda Tordillo is Marlena’s store

April 10, 1979  (I was 34)

Tienda Tordillo is Marlena’s store

south of Mulegé across from the Posada

God she is beautiful

The only girl I’ll ever love

said a United pilot who danced with her at Serenidad

vacationing in his own plane

while his ground crews struck

He gave us a note to give to her

before he flew on down to Cabo

In the note he said she sparkled

and he left his number in Sausilito

He told us if he never saw her again it was okay

because he could still love her always

I thought he was great not so much for the thought

but that he did not care that his pilot friends

gave him shit about it  His love was in his smile

but her true love had gone back to the U.S.

deserting when he discovered her pregnant

All that pilot knew was that she danced well

and she did but I wondered what she thought

in the store where the gringos permanente

played with her son calling him Jerry

instead of his christened Geraldo

Posada Concepcion Baja

April 8, 1979  (I was 34)

    Posada Concepcion Baja

¿Quién es número uno en la palapa?

Is this my drink or is it yours?

The Mexicans here are still unmanageable

They sell camarones for the most they can get

even if you row to their boats on the point

and even to the gringos permanente

who live here five months of the year

Those gringos hate the turistas who pay top dollar

Tecate tastes foreign they say

but Carta Blanca’s almost as good as Oly

The buzzards eat gutted fish at the end of the playa

They don’t share vey well

Who’s number one under the palapa?

Those my shrimp or yours we’re pickin’ clean?

I’m only here for awhile, and I’m eatin’ while I can

I pay what they ask then ride the bus

So call me copilote or zopilote I don’t care 

                           (copilote=copilot; zopilote=buzzard)

Address

March 24, 1979  (I was 34)

         Address

My country has not been able

to lead economically and righteously

We are not the conscious rich

We have not sought to make everyone wealthy

We have not loved the truth and freedom we cherish

We have killed Allende

We have set up shahs and shot down townsmen

Our personal generosities have not been official

We have sold armaments in the name of peace

I know this without reading anything radical

Our discussion of who we are is more dramatic than actual

It is easy to lead a life of parochial responsibility

It is hard to act internationally when you never leave the country

It is harder to know if governments are acting wisely

and impossible to trust them to do so

Revolutions can be trusted to supply us with corpses

and leaders who in the end are only men

Life at 33 1/3 rpm

February 5 1979  (I was 34)

         Life at 33 1/3 rpm

More than three generations now

lives have moved around together

toward the center groove

Those three guitars

and those drums have been

augmented supplemented and orchestrated

And every five years

different punks set up in garages

to try to scare the neighbors

Every ten years

another Eisenhower generation

believes dancing is the answer