from this week in January, 1976 (I was 31)
There are worse virtues than courtesy
even for the revolutionary.
In fact, identifying the proper enemy
before opening fire
becomes an essential weapon
to insure sympathy for the cause.
How often failure to exercise this mere gesture
is read in the biographies of dead soldiers
from this week of December, 2013 (I was 69)
The man on PBS did a documentary
to record the habits of happy people
and he determined through numerous interviews
the happiest people surround themselves
with family and friends a community of others
but he does not take account of those
who may have been very happy not
taking part in his little movie
from this week in 2010 (I was 66)
I know people are afraid to speak
about the unspeakable and unmentionable
knowing it will put them on a list
that will impede or even restrict travel
To question makes them sympathizers
to associate makes them guilty
vulnerable to detachment
and government claims that they are one of them
or at least complicit dupes
Even to research or inquire rouses suspicion
It’s McCarthyism without a name
Categories of lists intersect electronically
I know people who won’t vote
afraid to mention suspected impropriety
places them on another list waiting to be counted
The government is only Little Brother
Secret Agencies Corporate Entities
International Banking Privatized Armies
Mythical Job Markets employing from lists
buy educated employees with pennies and threats
A class kept in poverty as a buffer
from the starving class they will be required to eradicate
While those whose job it is to deflect taxes
Wiki-leak their open admiration
for the Smartest Men In The Enron Room
whose only mistake was getting on a list
from this week in 2010 (I was 66)
I know people are afraid to speak
about the unspeakable and unmentionable
knowing it will put them on a list
that will impede or even restrict travel
To question makes them sympathizers
to associate makes them guilty
vulnerable to detachment
and government claims that they are one of them
or at least complicit dupes
Even to research or inquire rouses suspicion
It’s McCarthyism without a name
Categories of lists intersect electronically
I know people who won’t vote
afraid to mention suspected impropriety
places them on another list waiting to be counted
The government is only Little Brother
Secret Agencies Corporate Entities
International Banking Privatized Armies
Mythical Job Markets employing from lists
buy educated employees with pennies and threats
A class kept in poverty as a buffer
from the starving class they will be required to eradicate
While those whose job it is to deflect taxes
Wiki-leak their open admiration
for the Smartest Men In The Enron Room
whose only mistake was getting on a list
August 4, 2001 (I was 56)
Never Again
Upon hearing that Senator Tom Daschle’s father
lost a lifetime of his paintings in a fire.
Never again.
The force that loaded hues from the palette
then carried the brush across the vision to the canvas
was gone.
The rightness of the stroke
applied in unconscious confidence
to make the unseen visible,
lost in a moment’s speculative hesitation.
The fire consumed the house.
The first thought after the panic,
“Everyone’s alive,”
was not quite true.
A hundred creations that counted the years
of gifts of self to the self
were reduced to funereal ash.
“Only things,” the brave perspective
offered to others measuring their losses.
But hesitation grew from speculation
of impermanence to indifference
for gifts to the self of the self.
The fire consumed the house.
Never again color brushed against vision;
everyone alive, only things.
June 2, 1970 (I was 25)
It won’t be news
when we tell the Jews
that we will go
over to Cairo
as soon as we bomb
the rest of Viet Nam.
It’ll be a part of the Grand Tour
we provide for our poor
who are judged dumb
but want out of the slum.
They’ll show the world
democracy unfurled.
For now let’s shout a hurrah
to our efficient youth in Asia.
May 25, 1973 (I was 28)
Radio Free China
The radio is on to a Chinese station
I am listening to cadences separated from sense
It would not be possible with most European languages
but I can’t even say hello in Chinese
The music sounds like a wall hanging
serene Asian women with sticks in their hair
Between the instruments an announcer sells me
something important something sincere something helpful
More music and a drama is introduced
then interrupted by Robert Goulet singing in Chinese
Finally the announcer is back
and so is that delicate music
and the importance of tea and contemplation
of an ignorance from twenty years of silence
May 24, 1975 (I was 30)
Underground Basketball
As the videotape of Abbie Hoffman’s putty nose
was readied at NET, the wild prairie fire
golden state warriors
taught new lessons in cadre effectiveness
in the nation’s capital. Abbie would say they are
communists whether or not they admit it.
Violent revolution was probably necessary
(Washington’s bullets felled Celtic institutions)
but the warriors’ meditative defense left blank
stares in front of the humming tube;
Abbie dribbled off the courts without a shot.
April 18, 1976 (I was 31)
notes for The Poetry Class, day 39
The period was given over to a tangential topic. I explained
why I hadn’t read the four notebooks I had taken home last night.
I said a friend asked me to accompany him to the Alameda County
Courthouse Lock-up to visit one of the prisoners who was due to be
sent to Death Row, San Quentin. I described the courthouse building,
the disinfectant odor of its polished hallways and the apprehensive
atmosphere of the visiting process. I talked about the elevator ride
to the twelfth floor, the officially courteous guards, steel walls, viewing
slits, cell-like cells, echoes, the tinny sound of the visitor phones. I
told them of the crime of the prisoner I visited –pushing a guy off the
San Mateo Bridge after a drug deal gone bad. I described some of
the other visitors there. I mentioned the victims and the sense of
depression and tragedy. When I asked Rick if he met any prisoners
whose cases he had read about, he pointed out Eldridge Cleaver three
feet away at the next phone. Cleaver leaned over for a look through
our view slit. On his white overalls he had inscribed HELP in marking
pen across his right breast. Rick said many prisoners wrote prison
poetry and he was a captive audience.
April 17, 1972 (I was 27)
Senate Hearing (a Generalization)
Senator: Mr. Secretary, is it our intention
(Foreign with the bombing
Relations one of intimidating the enemy
Committee) into a situation where they must
release our prisoners
or fear the wrath of our continued
and prolonged assaults?
Secretary: No Senator, I think rather
(Defense) it is our position that bombing
reinforces our commitment to continuing
tactical support for a friendly nation.
Isn’t that right General?
General: Actually, the purpose of the bombing
(Chief, Mil. is to kill the enemy
Operations) and to destroy his habitat.
April 15, 2007 (I was 62)
Where Our Taxes Take Us
Somewhere April is the bitch of months
new snow whines to ice underfoot
sloppy spring stays coyly undercover
I have lived there and chose to leave
Now tax day
the sidewalks of Pleasanton fill with flowers
lavender blown from fragrant trees
I am royalty strolling the royal path
in the vernal warmth of prosperity
In the green zone of Baghdad
a roadside bomb blossoms
calyx of concussive smoke
odor of purple flesh scattered
over the stones in deranged disorder
across a path none would choose to walk
where one could bless a land frozen pure
and never comprehend a path of petals
February 4, 2005 (I was 60)
Lt. Gen. James Mattis
(I saw the news today, Oh boy)
We hire a mentality of insensibility
so a group of us feels it should laugh
when he says, “I like killing some people.”
And further, “I admit it; I just like to fight.”
He does not pretend it is for a cause,
we use him for our purpose,
he signs on for his.
He comes cheap but thinks he’s well paid.
We are agents of change.
We don’t even wash our hands.
It’s a cautious laugh
but some applaud when he adds,
“You know guys like that,”
(referring to Muslims)
“aint got no manhood left anyway.
So it’s a hell of a lot of fun to shoot them.”
“That’s why we call him Mad Dog,”
we shake our heads and say.
February 3, 1968 (I was 23)
I saw a guy shot on TV last night
It wasn’t Gunsmoke
Or I Spy
just the news
nothing really dramatic
I was half asleep
when a news-filmed Viet Cong kid
was led down the street
by two ARVN soldiers
to an officer
who immediately raised a pistol to the kid’s head
and fired
The kid dropped right on his ass
to the road
and the screen faded to Imperial Margarine
November 3, 1975 (I was 30)
We want hard-edged prose
even in our poems
The splashy colors of weekly tabloids
SLA WATERGATE ASSASSINATION
Hemingway illustrated by Peter Max
How realistically Nixon cringes
in all those books Dan Rather
could do commercials for razor blades
The Revolution is brought to you by
Flames Burning through three networks
Serious Gunshots blaze in crazy L.A.
from this week in October 2014 (I was 69)
Used to be us against them
now it’s us against us
What the f happened
One of us shot five of us
in McDonald’s and it wasn’t
even over money
One of our kids shot five of our kids
in the school yard
They weren’t friends except on the phone
and that wasn’t enough
It wasn’t over money when one killed
the best teacher they ever had
and five of our kids took pictures
selfies as she fell to her knees
Her last breath posted on Facebook
from this week in October 2014 (I was 69)
We rely on hypocrisy to save the world
Were all who declare devotion actually practitioners
we’d have a chaos of justified warfare
to establish one theocracy or another
It is uncivilized to sanction brutality
except in the name of business
We leave the butchery to the ignorant and the poor
who best interpret canonical law in pictures
or metaphor lurid enough to be thought literal
Wealthy nations have their armies
They sell their enemies outmoded weapons
so instead the foes make missiles of themselves
and believe the fables of celestial bliss
that promise forbidden fruits of the un-ripened mind
from this week of September, 2014 (I was 69)
The wind and rain littered the road
twigs and branches limbs and trunks
made impassible a long stretch
pleasurable yesterday through the shade
Need increased each isolated moment
Hard pressed the Department of Hawaii Highways
found something more important to address
Then ten or more men with chainsaws
on either side of the stand sawed
all day while others lugged logs
and twisted timbers into ditches
raked and swept debris and ate the lunches
drank the coffee brought in pick-up trucks
by those with no other means to help
In a disaster we find ourselves proud to be socialists
August 30, 1973 (I was 28)
more Gemstones
4
It is a sad fact,
the government does matter.
We are men who have made our own master,
one we thought was benevolent,
above our petty apprehensions.
But now his fears are our own.
Gordon Strachan is alone in the vacuum between planets.
He says, Do not come with me.
Senator Montoya is satisfied to have asked a question.
We each occupy our own vacuum.
5
Lowell Weicker leads a cheer.
The poor guy has grown hoarse;
someone get him a beer.
He’s a damn good man and he works hard.
He’s not a loner; he’s just dedicated.
He’s going to get to the bottom of all this,
and by God, this won’t happen again.
He is obviously outraged.
He has historical presence.
And ambition must recognize opportunity.
6
In the heat of August
the snake sneaks off to the woods;
his cold body likes the shade.
His split tongue practices speech,
My notorious reputation is undeserved.
Let us not let the past stand before the future;
Let us rather slide together into the winter sun.
-Gemstone was the name of Gordon Liddy’s “dirty tricks” proposals to upset operations of the ’72 Democratic Convention and to counteract protestors at the Republican Convention.
August 28, 1973 (I was 28)
Gemstones: the Watergate hearings
1
Old Sam Ervin
keeps rollin along
All pools and reflections
on the surface
but the undercurrent cuts strong
From a course set young
Old Sam Ervin keeps rolling along
His gavel is a gift from the Indians
who know when a treaty is broken
A Washington tomahawk
just west of the Watergate
2
Mr. Erlichman’s hair sweats.
The House audience does not like him.
On TV his eyes look like arrow holes.
He is not a good liar;
fear and guilt tinge his motions.
I find this admirable,
mildly redeeming to be unaccustomed to such pressure.
But for this my wife finds him despicable,
not full of character like indignant John Mitchell
who can lie
(and know that his lies are known)
without flinching; steadfastly,
nonchalantly playing the game.
3
Howard Baker tires;
after eight weeks his versatility’s gone
and his conservative indolence shows.
His initial analytical interrogation
has gotten fat-
superfluous and verbose.
Perhaps he begins to wonder
why the truth has not told itself,
pulled itself from its secret file
and run its verbal images
across our magnetic ears.
-Gemstone was the name of Gordon Liddy’s “dirty tricks” proposals to upset operations of the ’72 Democratic Convention and to counteract protestors at the Republican Convention.
