The poetry of urgency

 

from this week in 1973 (I was 28)

 

The poetry of urgency

lives in an instant

flashes one life

in a single metaphor

at a singular moment;

a quick breath

at high altitude

in a land of no second choice.

contour writing

 

from this week in July, 2012  (I was 67)

 

   contour writing

The controls give the pilot

something to fiddle with as the

computer flies the plane  They

are connected directly to the

pilot’s assumptions  Pull back on the stick

the plane seems to ascend

Push right and you can bank on it

The computer reads your mind

and convinces you you’ve done

exactly the right thing when

you do nothing at all  Multi

tasking you call it

Blue sky and distinct shade made it clear

 

From this week in May, 2017 (I was 72)

 

Blue sky and distinct shade made it clear

the expected shadow monkeys did appear

How small they are this time of year

 

Look for their postures and poses

stretching between adjacent branches

They are given away by their motions

 

How amused we are to be so clever

recognizing their actions in silhouette

a stretch for fruit a scratch between limbs

 

seated for meditation

inquisitive head turns tail

from which to dangle and bounce

from The Litanies of Mistrust

 

February 24, 2008  (I was 63)

 

         from The Litanies of Mistrust

Never Trust:

a teacher who doesn’t read

a teacher who got straight A’s in high school

a teacher who needs a plus or minus to distinguish a grade

a teacher who knows the date by the text page he’s on

a teacher who can’t return assignments within two days

a teacher hired in September

Never Trust:

a teacher who doesn’t love his subject

a teacher who loves his religion more than his subject

a teacher who’s subject is his religion

a teacher who nominates himself for an award

a teacher who’d rather fund raise than teach

a teacher who measures success only in test scores

Never Trust:

a teacher who can’t tell a joke

a teacher who can’t talk with his hands

a teacher who can’t climb a tree

a teacher who can’t tap dance

a teacher who never pisses off the principal

a teacher who wants to be superintendent

Never Trust:

a teacher with shiny shoes

a teacher who orders all the condiments on the side

a teacher to split the check without itemizing

a teacher who denies his family and concedes to a bad contract

a teacher who thinks he doesn’t need a union

I’m gonna write a love poem

 

February 18, 1970  (I was 25)

 

I’m gonna write a love poem

be so sweet it’ll rot your teeth

I’m gonna write a love poem

and send it to ya on a Super Chief

It’ll be about flowers and bees

and it’ll make all sorts of pleas

for your:

1)    attention

2)    love

3)    etc.

Won’t you read my poem?

Please be no scoffer at my offers

Accept my lines into your home

and I’ll open up my coffers

of even golder love

to lavish upon you

like a spring rain of feathers from a dove

Why I Don’t Have

 

From this week in 2017  (I was 72)

 

         Why I Don’t Have

I do not like the smell of wet dog

I have no interest in discussing breeds nor feeds

I can imagine picking up warm shit to bag it

I won’t imagine picking up wet shit in the rain

I can’t do dog talk like owners do in the park

I dislike the incessant barking of my absent neighbor’s dog

I have places to put money other than vet bills

I find the concept of leashes disheartening and necessary

I do not want a dog in the house garage or yard

I don’t want to wash food and water bowls nor it

I don’t want it at my feet in my bed or on my chair

I don’t want to watch it drool nor smell its breath

I don’t like dog names

I do not think it funny when they chase squirrels

I do not want to watch it pee on a tree

I don’t want to spay it nor attend it birthing

I am annoyed at the preponderance of doggie toys

I do not want it to pull my sled or bite a leg

I do not like dogs paraded at every civic event in town

I do not want to sit next to a dog on an airplane

I do not want a dog in a grocery or restaurant

I do not want to say Don’t worry he’s friendly

I think more people have died trying to rescue dogs

than have been rescued by dogs

nude poems

 

from this week, 1971 (I was 26)

 

(for Sandra, while modeling)

 

nude poem #1

Line and form

from surface and substance

Drawing a nude is a process of elimination

and another of translation,

Look and what is it?

get it out

or get it down

 

nude poem #2

Body bulk demonstrated

mass of flesh and gravity

underscored

 

nude poem #3

When does the student become artist?

When does he legitimize the model’s nudity?

When does a zen koan have answer?

 

nude poem #4

All my poems are nudes

and some of them have names

separate from their parts

or gestaltic sum of them

 

I have defined for you

feet shoulders and forearm

but you see only thighs

and utter praise of my substance

 

I have posed forms

athletic graceful and constant

but you see only a reflection

of your own transient sensuality

 

nude poem #5

How you sit there

feigning unaware

just as I ignore

all I knew of you before

to turn your body into words

Out the window

night birds cut your curves in air

Soft fallen weather

 

January 4, 1974  (I was 29) 

 

Soft fallen weather

we stroll now upon the air

feet lost in feathers

I keep trying to play it tight

 

from this week in 1972 (I was 27)

 

I keep trying to play it tight

trying to hang the notes just right

and you stand there with all your might

reminding me about last night

 

“Outasite Outasite

“Obaby you’re just my height”

 

I pet the dog but I don’t bite

I see the string hung on the kite

The meat’s in the trap but I’m not quite

Baby you ain’t no Afrodite

 

“Ah c’mon honey let’s not fight

“you gotta say I’m dark white”

 

Do you know my brother Dwight?

Someone called him a parasite

What do you mean when you say unite?

Look at me babe, you seein’ the light?

 

“Yeah man, de light delight

“I see de-light”

random exchanges of Ollie and Stanley

 

November 27, 2010  (I was 66)

 

random exchanges of Ollie and Stanley

 

Ollie says either/or

Stanley says both/and

 

Ollie contemplates the empty shell

Stanley hears the ocean within

 

Ollie agitates Not now, I’m busy

Stanley utters Not busy, I’m now

 

In the cathedral Ollie pontificates

Do you comprehend the magnificence

Stanley whispers I can even see the echoes

 

-I did a series of pieces using Laurel and Hardy as

representations of right brain and left brain perception.

Not an original idea, I got it from Colin Wilson’s study,

Frankenstein’s Castle.  More appear in other posts. 

Ollie and Stanley in the Garden

 

November 23, 2010  (I was 66)

 

             Ollie and Stanley in the Garden

Ollie:      Stanley, what do you do when you have no

             money for food?

Stanley:  I admire someone’s garden

Ollie:      And what will that do?

Stanley:  I don’t know.  I just know hunger makes it

             easy to admire a garden.

Ollie:      Would you steal some vegetables if no one

             was looking?

Stanley:  Well, that would depend, wouldn’t it?

Ollie:      Depend on the kind of vegetables, how many

             there were, who owned them, how much they

             would be missed?

Stanley:  Yes, those things and maybe more.

Ollie:      And what would you know if you had all that

              information?

Stanley:  I’d know how hungry I really was.

 

-I did a series of pieces using Laurel and Hardy as

representations of right brain and left brain perception.

Not an original idea, I got it from Colin Wilson’s study,

Frankenstein’s Castle.  More appear in other posts. 

Stan and Ollie meet Guy deMaupassant

 

October 25, 2010  (I was 65)

 

   Stan and Ollie meet Guy deMaupassant

Stanley knows Ollie’s most prized possession

is his fine silver pocket watch

an object admirable in function and design

 

After a moving van runs over Stanley’s Victrola

Ollie sees him wistfully put a disc to his ear

and finger each sleeve of his precious collection

 

Christmas morning Ollie unwraps a watch chain

fine silver with engraved fob attached

“But I sold my watch to buy your gift”

 

Stanley opens the box and laughs to see

the finest modern Victrola made

“And I sold my records to purchase the chain”

 

-I began a series of pieces using Laurel and Hardy as

representations of right brain and left brain perception.

Not an original idea, I got it from Colin Wilson’s study,

Frankenstein’s Castle.  More appear in other posts.

Stanley likes to skate

 

September 29, 2010  (I was 65)

 

Stanley likes to skate

Ollie buys the tickets

Stanley watches the performer practicing

and imitates his confident stride

Ollie knows he is out of shape

and the cost of medical bills

sees another tumble and skates along the rail

Stanley rounds the curve to hook Ollie’s arm

Stanley slows Ollie gets up to speed

Stanley glides in humble pride

Ollie in arrogant fear

a competent partnering

 

-I began a series of pieces using Laurel and Hardy as

representations of right brain and left brain perception.

Not an original idea, I got it from Colin Wilson’s study,

Frankenstein’s Castle.  More appear in other posts.

Ollie and Stanley at the Studio

 

September 22, 2010  (I was 65)

 

                  Ollie and Stanley at the Studio

 

Ollie:  in disgust, Look at us; Stanley does so.  I can not get us a contract with the studio. 

Stanley:  I think you can, emphasizing the I.

Ollie: I could not even get in the door; Stanley stares blankly at Ollie’s girth.           I was speaking figuratively, emphasizing the figuratively.  I could not      get an appointment.

Stanley:  I think you could, emphasizing the you.

Ollie: I could not.  They see only agents.  We have no money for an         agent.

Stanley:  You could be our agent.

Ollie:  I am not an agent.  I do not have the experience.

Stanley: What are you?

Ollie:  pauses, I am an actor, emphasizing the actor.

Stanley:  Act like an agent.

Ollie:  How does an agent act?

Stanley:  Exactly the question an actor should ask. 

            Ollie smiles intrigued, drumming his finger tips on his chest.

 

Cut to a cleaned and polished Ollie as he is ushered into the office of a studio executive.  Stanley follows exhibiting quiet curiosity.  

 

Executive: reads Ollie’s business card, Oliver Olivier, Talent Agent. 

         Never heard of you, who do you represent?

Ollie:  Abroad, I represent a guild of noted thespians; to Hollywood, I     bring the team of Laurel and Hardy.

Executive:  Never heard of them; he indicates Stanley, And who is this?

Ollie:  The pair perform in all genres.  This is Stanley Laurel of said duo, also my partner.  I am Hardy. 

Executive:  I can see that.

Ollie:  I mean, I am Oliver Hardy.

Executive:  I thought your name was Oliver Olivier.

Ollie:  That’s my agensorial name, so to speak.

Executive:  What sort of act do you do?

Ollie:  Though we’ve played every endeavor of the theatre arts, I am      often typecast as a sophisticated gentleman of means, with     Stanley as my gentleman’s gentleman.  Stanley brushes off the        shoulders of Ollie’s jacket.  Mr. Laurel has played Watson to my      Holmes –though that seemed to create some audience        confusion.  In Chatacqua revue we did Socratic dialogues, highly     esoteric and highly regarded.

         Throughout, Stanley performs subtle expressions, bits of mime, all conveying support for Ollie.

 

Executive:  Why should I contract you.  Your story is the same as every   potential waiter in town.

Ollie:  We work cheap.

Stanley:  He works cheap; I work for nothing.  Ollie smacks Stanley with his          hat. 

Ollie:  I thought we agreed that you’d shut up and leave the agenting to          me.  Stanley is forlorn.

Stanley:  But Ollie, you are not telling Mr. Executive the most important thing.  to the Executive:  Ollie is seriously funny.  In any role he    plays, emphasizing the any.  Ollie turns crimson.  He is irate and    attempts to shove Stanley behind him.

Ollie:  I have never played a clown, never the buffoon, naught the joker.          I do not say funny things.

Stanley:  calmly, No, you say things funny.

Ollie:  Stanley, you irritate me in places I cannot discuss.

Executive:  I get the idea.  You’re hired.  I want twelve of those bits,       fifteen minutes each, in the next three months.  Standard        contract will be in the mail.  Miss Pool will show you out.  Next      please.

Outside the studio gate:

Stanley:  And you said you didn’t know how to be an agent. 

Ollie:  I don’t know how to be an agent.  That, was acting.

 

-I began a series of pieces using Laurel and Hardy as

representations of right brain and left brain perception.

Not an original idea, I got it from Colin Wilson’s study,

Frankenstein’s Castle.  More appear in other posts.