We wake up to rain
pounding the window
while across town
you get ready.
Right now your mom
is telling you rain is lucky
on your wedding day.
But really, what else
is she going to say?
I can tell you
it rained on ours.
And I won't say
it's been easy
but here we are
these years later
opening the window
in our hotel room
fingers lightly touching
wet from the rain.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
over and out
hey there May Dayer's, thanks for all the good comments and even better, thanks for all the great work. I'm going to miss you guys. and I'm going to miss the little deadlines.
f.y.i. I go next summer it looks like. just heard from Ottawa the other day. I'm going to set up a website. if anyone wants to keep in touch, drop Ariel a note and she can forward my email to you. I'd love to hear from you and hear what you're up to.
this has been such an interesting month... I had no idea what I would write, just as I had no idea of what I would post every day (and sorry I missed a few days but I was in edmonton checking out the garrison and wainwright).
the challenging thing for me is not to be melodramatic. and yet this is war. life, death, love, all the big things. and ultimately, I think I'm writing for the soldiers (though maybe not just... who knows?) any advice greatly accepted.
finally, wouldn't it be fun to have a May Day summit somewhere?
all the best, keep writing, and thanks again,
S
THE LAST OF THE FAMOUS INTERNATIONAL PLAYBOYS
here is my last post for may day hooray.
the #'s represent martial's poetry, the source
etc., book # and poem #. study and witness my
hostile changes NGM
1.73
when you complaisantly allowed
any woman, without rubber gloves
to lay their hands on your houseplant,
some trickle into your husband’s study
dressed as open-mouthed gardeners
forming an enormous randy crowd
raising their roofs, corporeal loitering;
lips moved like gummy butterfly wings
Smallpox, you’re a card, as you leave
your home for work crying,
“Once I watered
him alone!”
1.107
Dear Quill, you often sigh,
‘Write something great— you lazy head
case!’ Give me leisure, all the time Council
this transient fever, I will quench with
my own torched eyes,
save me from ashes, shredder
or worse still, another box
returned in between rich soils,
seven days of this:
parts unknown, the longest slide
cant get no satisfaction in a razor’s
flint, tears will ignite a swell leak
and my words don’t miss it.
Quill will write, ‘falls short, channell
ing, not marquee enough for we.’
Love those powerful pills.
2.9
I wrote he never replied
That goes on the debit slide
And yet I’m sure he feels it:
Someone else’s pin number,
Filling him with credit
2.20
He buys up plums for recital
We watch the author read
Why not? The purchase proves the distance
His words become his feed
2.26
Because the old men gasps for breath
And sprays saliva on flat-screen eyes
And sings as if he’d caught his death,
Do you suppose you’re home and high?
Taylor! Viagrus is trying
To flirt, birth control, not lying
Get you pregnant from here?
Long distance charges?
You drop out,
Of course we’re crying!
the #'s represent martial's poetry, the source
etc., book # and poem #. study and witness my
hostile changes NGM
1.73
when you complaisantly allowed
any woman, without rubber gloves
to lay their hands on your houseplant,
some trickle into your husband’s study
dressed as open-mouthed gardeners
forming an enormous randy crowd
raising their roofs, corporeal loitering;
lips moved like gummy butterfly wings
Smallpox, you’re a card, as you leave
your home for work crying,
“Once I watered
him alone!”
1.107
Dear Quill, you often sigh,
‘Write something great— you lazy head
case!’ Give me leisure, all the time Council
this transient fever, I will quench with
my own torched eyes,
save me from ashes, shredder
or worse still, another box
returned in between rich soils,
seven days of this:
parts unknown, the longest slide
cant get no satisfaction in a razor’s
flint, tears will ignite a swell leak
and my words don’t miss it.
Quill will write, ‘falls short, channell
ing, not marquee enough for we.’
Love those powerful pills.
2.9
I wrote he never replied
That goes on the debit slide
And yet I’m sure he feels it:
Someone else’s pin number,
Filling him with credit
2.20
He buys up plums for recital
We watch the author read
Why not? The purchase proves the distance
His words become his feed
2.26
Because the old men gasps for breath
And sprays saliva on flat-screen eyes
And sings as if he’d caught his death,
Do you suppose you’re home and high?
Taylor! Viagrus is trying
To flirt, birth control, not lying
Get you pregnant from here?
Long distance charges?
You drop out,
Of course we’re crying!
To Ezra on my 45th Birthday
He orders the usual:
Cranberry muffin, tea - orange pekoe.
I feel the poet's eyes on me as
I leave him to his morning scribbles.
Feeling worn from a dream-filled
Sleep, my feet do not move so eagerly -
His gaze in my direction then was
Not my beauty captured, was it?
He has noticed the crow's feet recently
Discovered framing the eyes that were once
Ocean blue and now nearly grey, my hair
Yet blonde with some help from Domingo.
I am fighting time, a battle never won
And when dawn cast its first light on me
There was no anticipating this day, for
Today I turn forty-five...
Will I no longer be worthy of your ink,
Dear Ezra? Will the muffins I bring you
Taste a little less sweet, the berries
Within not quite ripe, the tea weak?
.
Cranberry muffin, tea - orange pekoe.
I feel the poet's eyes on me as
I leave him to his morning scribbles.
Feeling worn from a dream-filled
Sleep, my feet do not move so eagerly -
His gaze in my direction then was
Not my beauty captured, was it?
He has noticed the crow's feet recently
Discovered framing the eyes that were once
Ocean blue and now nearly grey, my hair
Yet blonde with some help from Domingo.
I am fighting time, a battle never won
And when dawn cast its first light on me
There was no anticipating this day, for
Today I turn forty-five...
Will I no longer be worthy of your ink,
Dear Ezra? Will the muffins I bring you
Taste a little less sweet, the berries
Within not quite ripe, the tea weak?
.
the end.
31
set your books on fire,
smash the phone
on the sidewalk,
shove your husband
into a corner
clear space for 31
small stacks of words
set your books on fire,
smash the phone
on the sidewalk,
shove your husband
into a corner
clear space for 31
small stacks of words
another (short) history of l.
nearness is the vertebrae attached,
the smell of your sum.
across a bruise of long grass,
you call me sweet prairie boy
to the swells of your coast.
one recovers success
& then failure, like a seed
from the fingernail. pinched one
& then one.
from a footprint of hats,
settled down along Whyte.
the first pleasant encounter
every time it occurs.
starting over, again
& as fresh.
the smell of your sum.
across a bruise of long grass,
you call me sweet prairie boy
to the swells of your coast.
one recovers success
& then failure, like a seed
from the fingernail. pinched one
& then one.
from a footprint of hats,
settled down along Whyte.
the first pleasant encounter
every time it occurs.
starting over, again
& as fresh.
Rawa Tander
days passed. no email. no call. since last. your words. your voice. anything. and now I know why. Rawa Tander. rolling thunder.
pg A18 (they can’t even put it on the front page any more. not even when you die. the fuckers). today it's somewhere between maxime bernier’s biker chick and margaret boring wente.
Pashmul. AK-47s. rocket-propelled grenade. launchers. suicide bomber (s). Hellfire missiles. (did the americans bomb the right guys this time M.?)
and you were there weren’t you? C Company. doing your job. you’ve trained for. all these years. loving. every. minute.
fighting season. just like the NHL playoffs. your teams. fresh-pressed rookies. old men. and you. sharp point of spear. infantryman.
while we’re left here. drinking beer. trying not to think about it. we pack camping gear. burn steaks on bbqs. try not to look out the window. to see who’s coming to the door.
J. told me about you getting DAGged. inoculations. social workers. filling out your lastwill and testament.
J. says it’s pretty weird seeing 18 year olds list their worldly possessions. as if anyone could give a shit about their PS2s. when they’re no longer here.
J. says your wife asked for J. to be the one. to come with the padre. and your CO. he told me the preschool’s got it down. to a fine art. what to do with the kids.
I asked J. not to be the one. to come. to phone. email. txt. tell me you are dead. I don’t want to shake. every time he calls. calls emails txts. knocks on my door. and anyway, I said to him.
(o M., love, love. my love. you must know this. by now.) I don’t need anyone. to tell me.
I’ll already.
know.
S
Friday, May 30, 2008
sleeping in portugal
we rest our eyes
from the squint –
constant sun
on whitewashed walls –
calves from perpetual uphill,
minds slack after days
grasping after language
red wine locks our bodies
to the bed, only dreams move –
flying back and forth
with strands of home
deep into night we wake together,
laughing at the bray
of the nearest donkey,
then sleep until roosters
begin to rev the day
we rest our eyes
from the squint –
constant sun
on whitewashed walls –
calves from perpetual uphill,
minds slack after days
grasping after language
red wine locks our bodies
to the bed, only dreams move –
flying back and forth
with strands of home
deep into night we wake together,
laughing at the bray
of the nearest donkey,
then sleep until roosters
begin to rev the day
hover
The translucent tip of a condom
through the rain
of elm seed: sex in cars / sex for money
just another cultivar. A dozen hollow-cheeked
mattresses make a house of cards.
Wrapped against the goodwill of open boxes
left next to the dumpster & inscribed:
bed bugs. Shoes twirl & two-step from wires. The overhead
toss, the answering gesture of shoes
filling with rain. The Portuguese man daydreaming
of strips of soft rag & vines as thick
as swollen fingers. He – we, they – bear the newsprint
shadow of the man beaten
to death
with a post from our fences-make-good-neighbours
philosophy one street over. When a woman
in a fuchsia hijab hovers by I want to say
that above the chemical wash / the clever
mimicry her cheek is plump
& tender but she looks
skeptical.
through the rain
of elm seed: sex in cars / sex for money
just another cultivar. A dozen hollow-cheeked
mattresses make a house of cards.
Wrapped against the goodwill of open boxes
left next to the dumpster & inscribed:
bed bugs. Shoes twirl & two-step from wires. The overhead
toss, the answering gesture of shoes
filling with rain. The Portuguese man daydreaming
of strips of soft rag & vines as thick
as swollen fingers. He – we, they – bear the newsprint
shadow of the man beaten
to death
with a post from our fences-make-good-neighbours
philosophy one street over. When a woman
in a fuchsia hijab hovers by I want to say
that above the chemical wash / the clever
mimicry her cheek is plump
& tender but she looks
skeptical.
drugs
o M.,
your voice the other night. soft. warm as this May night. tell me, why. soldiers speak so. soft. do they teach you that?
J. says you are my heroin. says I should get out. find some methadone. wean off my delicious drug. so I did. tonight. a party. poets. live band. sushi (your favourite). wine. beer. dancing. and four men. came to me. one almost made the cut. said he liked my laugh. told me he’s a good kisser. scrawled his hotmail acct. on the back leaf of my moleskine.
too close to where I stash your pictures. you marching. Bosnia. Golan Heights. Afghanistan. new tan uniform. sharp. needles. straight into my blood.
J. says opium fields reek of fetid rhubarb. cannibis grows ten feet tall in Afghanistan. I asked J. if you guys grab handfuls. smoke it. he says no. they make us take the pee test. random. besides, he says, nobody wants to patrol. with other guys all fucked up.
o M., it’s May again. I left the party drove to the river. wide and green. walked the banks. still light that late. picked long stalks of grass. held them to my face. txted you. again.
S
the calgary zoo
what bits in the legend that arent
on the map, a divergence of lines
& the wrong camera angle. 'You are Here'
beside greenhouse jungle, clinging mass
& crowds, a lovers hand, in the staunch heat
of the butterfly cages. watches as she steps
thru plastic, & i follow, & thin wings
flit quiet thru sudden anticipation,
landing, & perching on flowers that only
compliment colour. as one piece fits
so easily in the next, the humid air
fogs her glasses, but clear in the snap
of still october air. its a dry chill,
& walks the length of the bridge to see
tigers, bears, & postcard the gift shop.
baby warthogs. the rope tiger built
for lone male for reasons the children
are too young to know, & grandparents
fake. the blue water. its a long day
made longer. holds a pose & cleaves
to the skin wall, a membrane. sly eyes
over frayed sculpture, & bored tiger
decorating shore. watches loose birds
& giraffes behind bars, the refuge
of snakes. some things are impossible
to answer. seeks out her hands,
& seeks, hands, at the calgary zoo.
touching once to her back, thru
her sweater, wishing her sweater
not there, or the crowds. the question
eludes us, white sediment tears
on the glass. we are here, but no
further. we have always been here.
the map makes a mess of us.
on the map, a divergence of lines
& the wrong camera angle. 'You are Here'
beside greenhouse jungle, clinging mass
& crowds, a lovers hand, in the staunch heat
of the butterfly cages. watches as she steps
thru plastic, & i follow, & thin wings
flit quiet thru sudden anticipation,
landing, & perching on flowers that only
compliment colour. as one piece fits
so easily in the next, the humid air
fogs her glasses, but clear in the snap
of still october air. its a dry chill,
& walks the length of the bridge to see
tigers, bears, & postcard the gift shop.
baby warthogs. the rope tiger built
for lone male for reasons the children
are too young to know, & grandparents
fake. the blue water. its a long day
made longer. holds a pose & cleaves
to the skin wall, a membrane. sly eyes
over frayed sculpture, & bored tiger
decorating shore. watches loose birds
& giraffes behind bars, the refuge
of snakes. some things are impossible
to answer. seeks out her hands,
& seeks, hands, at the calgary zoo.
touching once to her back, thru
her sweater, wishing her sweater
not there, or the crowds. the question
eludes us, white sediment tears
on the glass. we are here, but no
further. we have always been here.
the map makes a mess of us.
Poemo de la koro
(a love poem in Esperanto)
Mi doni li mia koro post
longa varmega sordida tago
Li puri gxi kun lia lango
poluri gxi kun lia propra
kaj redoni gxi al mi nova
Mi doni li mia koro post
longa varmega sordida tago
Li puri gxi kun lia lango
poluri gxi kun lia propra
kaj redoni gxi al mi nova
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Him
.
he claims surprise when i speak to him still
though to my silence he replies a clear #*!
there’s no pleasing a stalker, she says,
with an air of familiarity on the subject.
she’s speaking about the little man who
pilfers my air and pinches my words.
i know, i say in reply (lame). still, i feel sorry
for the little man who will never know love.
i feel sad for me too though, all of that time
spending words, crying tears for him, squandered.
.
he claims surprise when i speak to him still
though to my silence he replies a clear #*!
there’s no pleasing a stalker, she says,
with an air of familiarity on the subject.
she’s speaking about the little man who
pilfers my air and pinches my words.
i know, i say in reply (lame). still, i feel sorry
for the little man who will never know love.
i feel sad for me too though, all of that time
spending words, crying tears for him, squandered.
.
another (short) history of l.
my hands beneath your clothes
don’t find answers, only questions
but repeated. this is me
feigning difficulty. your body sets loose
a pastoral. according to Nietzsche,
small ears are attentive,
& therefore small hands. so much
of perception is struggle, so much
of identity, pointing language
a lens out of sight. in our silence,
we work to keep talking, a sense
& a record, still.
get hold of yourself. no,
let me do that for you.
let me hold that open so you
can pass your way through.
don’t find answers, only questions
but repeated. this is me
feigning difficulty. your body sets loose
a pastoral. according to Nietzsche,
small ears are attentive,
& therefore small hands. so much
of perception is struggle, so much
of identity, pointing language
a lens out of sight. in our silence,
we work to keep talking, a sense
& a record, still.
get hold of yourself. no,
let me do that for you.
let me hold that open so you
can pass your way through.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Last to Fall
You're
the last to fall
into what we call
the trap
the ball
and chain
I know
you'll try to be
the last
to call
it quits
go ahead
and bawl
let her crawl
back to you
as often
as needed
don't build
the wall
that so often
climbs between
be the first
to say sorry
my fault
move on
when it's hers
this is all
I have to
offer
I'm sorry
it's small
the last to fall
into what we call
the trap
the ball
and chain
I know
you'll try to be
the last
to call
it quits
go ahead
and bawl
let her crawl
back to you
as often
as needed
don't build
the wall
that so often
climbs between
be the first
to say sorry
my fault
move on
when it's hers
this is all
I have to
offer
I'm sorry
it's small
Dying Transmissions
[thought i would post some more Clockfire --- 2 pieces below --- and also this prose poem which is NOT part of CF, just a stand-alone piece... shake things up a bit]
[static] so far the war has been responsible for over one hundred thousand casualties, not counting civilian loss, which cannot be determined at this time [laughter, static] the furor excited by the fossils found in the Martian meteorite has died down. Although the fossils appear to be genuine, there is no evidence supporting the theory that intelligent life exists on Mars, or anywhere in the universe for that matter [static] . . . - - - . . . [static] the concept of a heliocentric universe was strongly opposed by the church, which was in favor of the geocentric model popular at the time, since it depicts the earth and mankind as the center of the universe. Of course, we know today that this viewpoint is incorrect [static] . . . . . - . . . . . - [static] I miss my baby oh / I miss my baby so [static] there is no evidence supporting the theory that intelligent life exists on Mars, [laughter] or anywhere in the universe for that matter [static] . . . . . - . . . . . - [static] any visual signaling code system using movable arms, flags, or other devices can be called a semaphore system. Originally invented [static] people were recounting stories and making poems long before they began to write them down [static] the mysteries of the pyramids. Can man ever truly understand these wonders, which his own hands have [static] . - . . . - . . - . . . . - - . . - . . - . - - [static] we must turn the other cheek! [laughter] God is good! God is al-mighty! A wrath of fire a-waits [static] walk with me, baby / talk with me, baby / sing with me, baby / let us sing a sweet song [static] there is no evidence supporting the theory that intelligent life exists [laughter] on Mars, or anywhere in the universe for that matter or anywhere in the universe for that matter or anywhere in the universe anywhere in the universe no evidence for that matter no anywhere in the evidence for the universe [static, emergency broadcast signal] Listening to this will have increased the amount of ordered information in your brain. However, during the same time, the heat released by your body will have a much greater effect, increasing the disorder in the rest of the universe.
[static] so far the war has been responsible for over one hundred thousand casualties, not counting civilian loss, which cannot be determined at this time [laughter, static] the furor excited by the fossils found in the Martian meteorite has died down. Although the fossils appear to be genuine, there is no evidence supporting the theory that intelligent life exists on Mars, or anywhere in the universe for that matter [static] . . . - - - . . . [static] the concept of a heliocentric universe was strongly opposed by the church, which was in favor of the geocentric model popular at the time, since it depicts the earth and mankind as the center of the universe. Of course, we know today that this viewpoint is incorrect [static] . . . . . - . . . . . - [static] I miss my baby oh / I miss my baby so [static] there is no evidence supporting the theory that intelligent life exists on Mars, [laughter] or anywhere in the universe for that matter [static] . . . . . - . . . . . - [static] any visual signaling code system using movable arms, flags, or other devices can be called a semaphore system. Originally invented [static] people were recounting stories and making poems long before they began to write them down [static] the mysteries of the pyramids. Can man ever truly understand these wonders, which his own hands have [static] . - . . . - . . - . . . . - - . . - . . - . - - [static] we must turn the other cheek! [laughter] God is good! God is al-mighty! A wrath of fire a-waits [static] walk with me, baby / talk with me, baby / sing with me, baby / let us sing a sweet song [static] there is no evidence supporting the theory that intelligent life exists [laughter] on Mars, or anywhere in the universe for that matter or anywhere in the universe for that matter or anywhere in the universe anywhere in the universe no evidence for that matter no anywhere in the evidence for the universe [static, emergency broadcast signal] Listening to this will have increased the amount of ordered information in your brain. However, during the same time, the heat released by your body will have a much greater effect, increasing the disorder in the rest of the universe.
Cell
The curtain is down. An announcer steps forth from behind this curtain, to occupy centre stage.
ANNOUNCER
Ladies and gentlemen, the show is about to begin. At this point I must ask you to please turn off your cell phones.
After a proper pause, the curtain rises. A woman is onstage. The lights are low and she is shadowed.
WOMAN
It was my birthday, and I wanted to do something for myself. I left Tom with the babysitter and then Dennis and I went to the theatre.
The woman takes a cell phone out of her pocket.
WOMAN
The announcer before the show asked everyone in the audience to
turn off their cell phones. Of course, I turned mine off too. How was
I to know?
She looks down at the phone. It doesn’t ring, but she holds it up to her ear anyway. Then lowers it again.
WOMAN
She said she called me over and over again. She didn’t know
what play we were going to or what theatre — she only knew
the number of my cell. When Tom stopped breathing she
panicked. She called me three times before she thought to call
the hospital. The messages just piled up in my pocket, filling the
phone. Then the ambulance came — and took his body away.
We were having a wonderful time. Dennis was wonderful, so sweet.
I remember thinking, This is the best night since we had the baby.
The woman raises and lowers the phone once more. While she has been speaking, other actors have been dialing the phone numbers of everyone in the audience, acquired somehow before the play began.
These actors leave frantic desperate messages, begging for someone to answer, improvising disasters. The woman stares into the dead phone. When every answering machine is full, the curtain falls.
ANNOUNCER
Ladies and gentlemen, the show is about to begin. At this point I must ask you to please turn off your cell phones.
After a proper pause, the curtain rises. A woman is onstage. The lights are low and she is shadowed.
WOMAN
It was my birthday, and I wanted to do something for myself. I left Tom with the babysitter and then Dennis and I went to the theatre.
The woman takes a cell phone out of her pocket.
WOMAN
The announcer before the show asked everyone in the audience to
turn off their cell phones. Of course, I turned mine off too. How was
I to know?
She looks down at the phone. It doesn’t ring, but she holds it up to her ear anyway. Then lowers it again.
WOMAN
She said she called me over and over again. She didn’t know
what play we were going to or what theatre — she only knew
the number of my cell. When Tom stopped breathing she
panicked. She called me three times before she thought to call
the hospital. The messages just piled up in my pocket, filling the
phone. Then the ambulance came — and took his body away.
We were having a wonderful time. Dennis was wonderful, so sweet.
I remember thinking, This is the best night since we had the baby.
The woman raises and lowers the phone once more. While she has been speaking, other actors have been dialing the phone numbers of everyone in the audience, acquired somehow before the play began.
These actors leave frantic desperate messages, begging for someone to answer, improvising disasters. The woman stares into the dead phone. When every answering machine is full, the curtain falls.
The Burning Bush
The curtain rises.
A bush is revealed, in the perfect centre of the stage. Before a startled audience this bush bursts into flames.
The flames burn, but do not consume the bush, nor do they blacken the stage. They throw off light, but not heat. Then, a voice issues from out the burning bush.
And what now. And what now. And what now.
A bush is revealed, in the perfect centre of the stage. Before a startled audience this bush bursts into flames.
The flames burn, but do not consume the bush, nor do they blacken the stage. They throw off light, but not heat. Then, a voice issues from out the burning bush.
And what now. And what now. And what now.
goslings
i kept forgetting to tell you
about the goslings
along the river trail --
jumble of shy fuzz
and yellow curiosity
wadded between rocks
how they bloomed,
doubled in size one day
to the next
how the parents
trained long necks
on the threat of me
as i ground gravel
under bike tires,
levered beaks
knowing i wanted to grab
one of the soft bundles
and hold it to my face
just today,
goslings greying,
half-grown and lanky,
i remembered
i kept forgetting to tell you
about the goslings
along the river trail --
jumble of shy fuzz
and yellow curiosity
wadded between rocks
how they bloomed,
doubled in size one day
to the next
how the parents
trained long necks
on the threat of me
as i ground gravel
under bike tires,
levered beaks
knowing i wanted to grab
one of the soft bundles
and hold it to my face
just today,
goslings greying,
half-grown and lanky,
i remembered
science fair
there are scientists that track shared historical events
that end up changing us.
every time you pick up a newspaper, he says,
history is happening. it is Shane’s birthday
& it is Warren’s birthday too. what
does that make them?
at the Chinese buffet, ordering take-out
& you promised to come back for the crab,
but not today. we had somewhere to be.
somewhere to not-be.
in some parts of the world there are wars happening.
in some parts of the world
there an earthquake. in some parts
of the world there are children with machine-guns.
& in some parts of the world there a man
smashing another in the head with a rock.
but not here, here in this room. the mystery
of chemical compounds & a darkness of trees,
& what water can’t separate.
weeks later you still carry both fortunes in your wallet,
waiting for them to happen.
that end up changing us.
every time you pick up a newspaper, he says,
history is happening. it is Shane’s birthday
& it is Warren’s birthday too. what
does that make them?
at the Chinese buffet, ordering take-out
& you promised to come back for the crab,
but not today. we had somewhere to be.
somewhere to not-be.
in some parts of the world there are wars happening.
in some parts of the world
there an earthquake. in some parts
of the world there are children with machine-guns.
& in some parts of the world there a man
smashing another in the head with a rock.
but not here, here in this room. the mystery
of chemical compounds & a darkness of trees,
& what water can’t separate.
weeks later you still carry both fortunes in your wallet,
waiting for them to happen.
The Dream
Eyes swell at hearing you relate
the novel you must absolutely
write. You describe the dream
.again.
The one about that man
relieving himself
on
.. . . . . . ...[you]
that little girl.
She
. . . . . . . ..[you]
wears a pretty white dress
and a crimson red ribbon in
. . . . . . ... [your]
her hair.
I want to say i'm sorry
but you will say what for.
You ask instead about my tears
i smile and whisper lies, trivial.
. . .Since you began your story
your drapes are drawn
your door is locked.
I see your silhouette
writing
by the light of one lamp
and wonder if you have
seen. Yet.
Or is your past still a secret
to you, my friend?
I hope you'll call, when..
I hope you'll call.
I hope
. . . . . . . . .[you]
I
.
the novel you must absolutely
write. You describe the dream
.again.
The one about that man
relieving himself
on
.. . . . . . ...[you]
that little girl.
She
. . . . . . . ..[you]
wears a pretty white dress
and a crimson red ribbon in
. . . . . . ... [your]
her hair.
I want to say i'm sorry
but you will say what for.
You ask instead about my tears
i smile and whisper lies, trivial.
. . .Since you began your story
your drapes are drawn
your door is locked.
I see your silhouette
writing
by the light of one lamp
and wonder if you have
seen. Yet.
Or is your past still a secret
to you, my friend?
I hope you'll call, when..
I hope you'll call.
I hope
. . . . . . . . .[you]
I
.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Black Widow
It’s the possibility of harm
that has me rolling every suspect
into a ball of legs.
To think something so small
could kill. Car accidents, grizzly bears,
yes, but they’re out there.
Not hanging upside down
in a corner, a ticking bomb.
I’ve taken to stepping on my slippers
before putting them on.
A dozen cases of mistaken identity so far.
Sighting that swollen abdomen
on the windowsill, its timex
running fast, a positive match—
I did what every Charlotte Web-lover
would have—I shot it full of poison.
There’s my latest widow on the wall,
an example for future guests.
---
I'm struggling with the ending, and with the transition from the fourth to fifth stanzas in this poem. Any ideas about this or anything else would be welcome.
I think this might be my last post. Thanks for all your comments, and for sharing your poems. Look forward to seeing some of these May Day poems in journals across the country in the coming year.
that has me rolling every suspect
into a ball of legs.
To think something so small
could kill. Car accidents, grizzly bears,
yes, but they’re out there.
Not hanging upside down
in a corner, a ticking bomb.
I’ve taken to stepping on my slippers
before putting them on.
A dozen cases of mistaken identity so far.
Sighting that swollen abdomen
on the windowsill, its timex
running fast, a positive match—
I did what every Charlotte Web-lover
would have—I shot it full of poison.
There’s my latest widow on the wall,
an example for future guests.
---
I'm struggling with the ending, and with the transition from the fourth to fifth stanzas in this poem. Any ideas about this or anything else would be welcome.
I think this might be my last post. Thanks for all your comments, and for sharing your poems. Look forward to seeing some of these May Day poems in journals across the country in the coming year.
blindness
if you were to write a poem on blindness,
how would it look.
I am scaling the clock tower. one if by land,
two if by sea & three
if by dirigible. can you imagine.
in the third game of the Stanley Cup Finals,
all play was suspended
for a family of ducks. afterwards, they acted
like it had never happened
& was never brought up again. I am listening
to The Tragically Hip, just like everyone else
from my old high school.
a reunion this summer. I don’t think I’ll go.
I light my small lantern.
you are on the twenty-seventh floor.
I know I can see you.
how would it look.
I am scaling the clock tower. one if by land,
two if by sea & three
if by dirigible. can you imagine.
in the third game of the Stanley Cup Finals,
all play was suspended
for a family of ducks. afterwards, they acted
like it had never happened
& was never brought up again. I am listening
to The Tragically Hip, just like everyone else
from my old high school.
a reunion this summer. I don’t think I’ll go.
I light my small lantern.
you are on the twenty-seventh floor.
I know I can see you.
orthogonal
she is horizontal
he, vertical
she's FM
he's AM
she wears polka dots
he, the queen's crown
she is 1's
and he is 0's
but when they meet
The Water is Wide (variation)
A friend sent an interesting request this morning. She wanted to adapt this song into a love song instead of a song of betrayal (tho they are inter-related, non?). Since the music will be kept, maintaining the syllabic structure is key.
The original:
The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I
A ship there is and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I'm in
I know not if I sink or swim
I leaned my back against an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
But first it bent and then it broke
So did my love prove false to me
I reached my finger into some soft bush
Thinking the fairest flower to find
I pricked my finger to the bone
And left the fairest flower behind
Oh love be handsome and love be kind
Gay as a jewel when first it is new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew
Must I go bound while you go free
Must I love a man who doesn't love me
Must I be born with so little art
As to love a man who'll break my heart
When cockle shells turn silver bells
Then will my love come back to me
When roses bloom in winter's gloom
Then will my love return to me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My "happy ending for lesbians" variation (attempting to keep as much of the original imagery as possible):
The Water Is Wide
The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I
A ship there is and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love we're in
We never will sink while one can swim
I climbed high up into an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
Ach, first it bent and then it broke
But my love was right there to catch me
I reached my fingers into the meadow
To pluck a bouquet for my sweet miss
Those fingers I pricked for my troubles
My fairest flower healed with a kiss
Oh love be tender and love be bold
Gay as a jewel when we share it new
And love stay with us as we grow old
Fresh every day like morning dew
Though we are bound let us feel free
I'll wait for you if you'll wait for me
For there will be times when we're apart
Though of two mouths, let's speak with one heart
Oh cockle shells turn silver bells
When my love roams along with me
Oh roses bloom in winter's room
When my love roams along with me
The original:
The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I
A ship there is and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I'm in
I know not if I sink or swim
I leaned my back against an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
But first it bent and then it broke
So did my love prove false to me
I reached my finger into some soft bush
Thinking the fairest flower to find
I pricked my finger to the bone
And left the fairest flower behind
Oh love be handsome and love be kind
Gay as a jewel when first it is new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew
Must I go bound while you go free
Must I love a man who doesn't love me
Must I be born with so little art
As to love a man who'll break my heart
When cockle shells turn silver bells
Then will my love come back to me
When roses bloom in winter's gloom
Then will my love return to me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My "happy ending for lesbians" variation (attempting to keep as much of the original imagery as possible):
The Water Is Wide
The water is wide, I cannot get o'er
Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I
A ship there is and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love we're in
We never will sink while one can swim
I climbed high up into an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
Ach, first it bent and then it broke
But my love was right there to catch me
I reached my fingers into the meadow
To pluck a bouquet for my sweet miss
Those fingers I pricked for my troubles
My fairest flower healed with a kiss
Oh love be tender and love be bold
Gay as a jewel when we share it new
And love stay with us as we grow old
Fresh every day like morning dew
Though we are bound let us feel free
I'll wait for you if you'll wait for me
For there will be times when we're apart
Though of two mouths, let's speak with one heart
Oh cockle shells turn silver bells
When my love roams along with me
Oh roses bloom in winter's room
When my love roams along with me
Monday, May 26, 2008
facing such necessity, beauty
what does it mean
Mickey Rooney a sex addict
except when on film
just think of the money
he could have made
in like Errol Flynn,
or like Flint, the film
how can you tell
Madonna steals kisses
& takes all the credit
where are you
where are you now
I am lost in these images
cut away like old horsehair
plaster falling from stairs
Mickey Rooney a sex addict
except when on film
just think of the money
he could have made
in like Errol Flynn,
or like Flint, the film
how can you tell
Madonna steals kisses
& takes all the credit
where are you
where are you now
I am lost in these images
cut away like old horsehair
plaster falling from stairs
Sunday, May 25, 2008
inventory of conversations: a found poem
and i just don’t get it
she could have gotten anything
do they need anything
we got a letter after words
there could have been a lot, a week later
nobody would care, you never know
what’s going to happen
a friend who travels quite a bit there
couldn’t be there overnight
thrifty there
i don’t remember all the details, business
American’s not supposed to be there
some guy took them, never cleared customs
oh no there’s a guy
days go by
they go back to the airport
they have no idea what’s going to happen next
got on the plane running out to the tarmac
door shut
it's like
yeah he didn’t really know
realize what it meant
insults engineering
Maria, all these little stories
lot of Calgary people
inventory of stories
expeditions, drilling rigs
shipped our fridge washer dryer
Canadian families homeless in the desert
with the rigs
weren’t right on the desert, but in the town
the whole 9 yards, he was a professor
math, something, got into trouble, had to get out fast
in jail, dig through the bills
she got out
before the kids
we had ours
they start putting in prison a math professor
she had enough
getting a push to get them out
in a room together
we had this argument
it’s cultural operations
they go after
right
my husband said i should stay with the children
he could get out on his own
you might have opportunities
a stroller of kids
those things are out if you’re leaving behind
the children and family
you and i
just go
get out
don’t come looking for me, that jeopardizes me
oh wow it’s so civilized here
are there any women around here
(help me somebody)
women had brought some sense out
i start opening my blouse
freckled
glands
noise
wasn’t quite sure what to do
no pressure he says
showing me walking up underneath
so blown away
smoking
well there’s no water
it’s intense, that’s for sure
do you know Cathy?
i know her because her mother takes people on tours, to Egypt, etc
it happens
i’m not a writer
(apologetic)
just trying to get a story
a woman wrote to me
the conversations begin
left cheek right cheek
that way this way, the concept of it
yeah, yeah, the right cheek
(demonstration)
slimy, you are slimy
are you going to the barbeque
its very good
she was in iman
wonderful land, not as far as iman
oh my god, you can’t refer to iman
directing the troops
stampede party still going 12 years later
flying a deejay in
we have so few actors in Calgary
people from iman came for their breaks
oh, the cold
so cold outside
kokanee
pale ale
grasshopper
off the coast of that place
archaeologists don’t live on compounds
get my umbrella, i already paid
i asked Hannah
wild eh?
no, still there
she had a baby right after i left
and then another one
right after i left
before we went to breakfast
give us a nice hour or so
you don’t know
is she in Ottawa now
je ne ce pas
a part of its the archaeology department
nothing much doing
and they shut it down
and it hums like
hand shakes
that’s the rumour
we do know Americans
travelled
(Hannah arrives)
kiss left, right
i did start with left to right
left cheek
so organic you don’t really think about it
at least its more civilized
so how’s your job
that’s why
i come to Banff
do you think i could rent a car
and meet them
so you’re liking it
every one, yeah the positions
find
fine
find
i’m really liking it
i think Calgary is a great city
just like me
just like so
it’s like i’m there
making it
take the time to do it
we’re meeting all these guys wherever we go
i do, i do its wonderful
during the first world war i read bird songs
i don’t know where i was in high school social studies
we had to take history
i don’t even know
more and more
learning because you want to learn
it might’ve been history
revolution, that’s all
the more we care, the more
i need my notebook
wonderful to travel
keep working
keep laugh working
there are worse things
what’s your passion, your hobby
there are lots of bum cooks
(can that be right?)
in our generation
picking
up
what
i’ll look at it on the web
i might even read the book
look at that screen
look around that would drive me crazy
why bother i can’t take it to bed
when you fall asleep it wonks you on the head
its all about the experience
some archaic liquor laws
and then i ran out of cash, we can pay for this
glass of red
hybrid suv
runs on oil
leftover stuff
filtering system
expose this trying to find somewhere that’s likeable
buy our own land
its a great thing
publication of time
science
and everything else
butcher it
google translator
web site
that's quite the book
she could have gotten anything
do they need anything
we got a letter after words
there could have been a lot, a week later
nobody would care, you never know
what’s going to happen
a friend who travels quite a bit there
couldn’t be there overnight
thrifty there
i don’t remember all the details, business
American’s not supposed to be there
some guy took them, never cleared customs
oh no there’s a guy
days go by
they go back to the airport
they have no idea what’s going to happen next
got on the plane running out to the tarmac
door shut
it's like
yeah he didn’t really know
realize what it meant
insults engineering
Maria, all these little stories
lot of Calgary people
inventory of stories
expeditions, drilling rigs
shipped our fridge washer dryer
Canadian families homeless in the desert
with the rigs
weren’t right on the desert, but in the town
the whole 9 yards, he was a professor
math, something, got into trouble, had to get out fast
in jail, dig through the bills
she got out
before the kids
we had ours
they start putting in prison a math professor
she had enough
getting a push to get them out
in a room together
we had this argument
it’s cultural operations
they go after
right
my husband said i should stay with the children
he could get out on his own
you might have opportunities
a stroller of kids
those things are out if you’re leaving behind
the children and family
you and i
just go
get out
don’t come looking for me, that jeopardizes me
oh wow it’s so civilized here
are there any women around here
(help me somebody)
women had brought some sense out
i start opening my blouse
freckled
glands
noise
wasn’t quite sure what to do
no pressure he says
showing me walking up underneath
so blown away
smoking
well there’s no water
it’s intense, that’s for sure
do you know Cathy?
i know her because her mother takes people on tours, to Egypt, etc
it happens
i’m not a writer
(apologetic)
just trying to get a story
a woman wrote to me
the conversations begin
left cheek right cheek
that way this way, the concept of it
yeah, yeah, the right cheek
(demonstration)
slimy, you are slimy
are you going to the barbeque
its very good
she was in iman
wonderful land, not as far as iman
oh my god, you can’t refer to iman
directing the troops
stampede party still going 12 years later
flying a deejay in
we have so few actors in Calgary
people from iman came for their breaks
oh, the cold
so cold outside
kokanee
pale ale
grasshopper
off the coast of that place
archaeologists don’t live on compounds
get my umbrella, i already paid
i asked Hannah
wild eh?
no, still there
she had a baby right after i left
and then another one
right after i left
before we went to breakfast
give us a nice hour or so
you don’t know
is she in Ottawa now
je ne ce pas
a part of its the archaeology department
nothing much doing
and they shut it down
and it hums like
hand shakes
that’s the rumour
we do know Americans
travelled
(Hannah arrives)
kiss left, right
i did start with left to right
left cheek
so organic you don’t really think about it
at least its more civilized
so how’s your job
that’s why
i come to Banff
do you think i could rent a car
and meet them
so you’re liking it
every one, yeah the positions
find
fine
find
i’m really liking it
i think Calgary is a great city
just like me
just like so
it’s like i’m there
making it
take the time to do it
we’re meeting all these guys wherever we go
i do, i do its wonderful
during the first world war i read bird songs
i don’t know where i was in high school social studies
we had to take history
i don’t even know
more and more
learning because you want to learn
it might’ve been history
revolution, that’s all
the more we care, the more
i need my notebook
wonderful to travel
keep working
keep laugh working
there are worse things
what’s your passion, your hobby
there are lots of bum cooks
(can that be right?)
in our generation
picking
up
what
i’ll look at it on the web
i might even read the book
look at that screen
look around that would drive me crazy
why bother i can’t take it to bed
when you fall asleep it wonks you on the head
its all about the experience
some archaic liquor laws
and then i ran out of cash, we can pay for this
glass of red
hybrid suv
runs on oil
leftover stuff
filtering system
expose this trying to find somewhere that’s likeable
buy our own land
its a great thing
publication of time
science
and everything else
butcher it
google translator
web site
that's quite the book
Cottonwoods
Burch Street canopy: gold lanterns
hung from every branch.
How much can change in two weeks.
Early evening on the stoop, leaning into
the street’s new palette,
when you walk past. I hook you
with a question, the answer,
your errand, forgotten
as we crane our necks to catch
October’s curtain call. Sunlight wicks
the leaves pink, then orange
applause against the dark sky.
We watch night turn on
the houses around us.
It’s cold, I said. Won’t you come in?
hung from every branch.
How much can change in two weeks.
Early evening on the stoop, leaning into
the street’s new palette,
when you walk past. I hook you
with a question, the answer,
your errand, forgotten
as we crane our necks to catch
October’s curtain call. Sunlight wicks
the leaves pink, then orange
applause against the dark sky.
We watch night turn on
the houses around us.
It’s cold, I said. Won’t you come in?
wrap
slow your mind
to the ritual
of preparing your hands:
long strip of red cotton
wound around each
thumb, wrist,
extra passes over knuckle,
then criss-cross
criss-cross
criss-cross,
rhythm of the one-two
in your breath
hands come to life,
wrists sturdy and ready,
knuckles bundled
inside gloves,
you launch them into air,
wall of the heavy bag,
never let them out
of your sight
slow your mind
to the ritual
of preparing your hands:
long strip of red cotton
wound around each
thumb, wrist,
extra passes over knuckle,
then criss-cross
criss-cross
criss-cross,
rhythm of the one-two
in your breath
hands come to life,
wrists sturdy and ready,
knuckles bundled
inside gloves,
you launch them into air,
wall of the heavy bag,
never let them out
of your sight
staging base
M.,
a year ago. Toulouse. the beginning of my walk. 800 kms across Spain. to Santiago de Compostela. determined to never think. about you. again.
Toulouse. the southern light. white and warm in late spring. the windows of my hotel room open to red tile roofs. early morning murmur from kitchens across the courtyard. the day’s onions, potatoes peeled, chopped. stock pots simmering. warming me to everything.
I remember lying in bed. curtains half open. looking out my window. swallows (hundreds of them). dive, weave in and out of each other. a cross between F18s and hockey refs gone insane. they whistled a crazy game above my head.
you were at Camp I-can’t-tell-you-the-name-of it-or-where-it-is (though of course everyone knows). your staging base. waiting for the next Hercules to zigzag you into Kandahar.
I promised to never write you again.
for three days I walked Toulouse. spoke rusty French. ate too much. cassoulet, croissant, café crème. bought myself a polka dot dress. tried out new equipment. boots. pack. high-tech clothes. walking sticks.
in Toulouse I met a man. younger than you. lovely. no wife. no kids. good looking. one of those brilliant types they used to call computer geeks until they cashed in. Scottish. he has a second house in the south of France. I walked the rue du Taur with him. scallop shells, bull symbols on doors, lintels, frescoes, embedded into sidewalks.
but the light that evening was inexplicably cold. I left him at the door of my hotel. walked away (how different is that, M.?) his blue eyes following me into the elevator.
only 10 p.m. I rolled my gear. packed. went to bed. watched black swallow television outside my window. fell asleep. 6 a.m. caught a cab to the gare de Toulouse. went into the Cybercafé pulled the scrap of paper scrawled with his email address from my pack. threw it away.
S
supermodel
between streetlights & rain, the street
flickers stars.
Stuart Ross reads a draft of a poem
about the High Level Bridge. along I-beams,
water flows
out from where it should not. reads his poem
& his notebook is small, written pencil.
Mary Magdalene performed miracles
that perhaps only Jesus knew,
if either of them existed.
there are stories that shift & evolve,
& eventually outlive us, & change
as those who would tell.
on the most beautiful young person reality show
or whatever it is the bar watches, they already warned
some of them will not last through the day.
I am undone, the permission
to hammer out glass.
if I am blue you are red
& we perfectly paired as twin suns.
flickers stars.
Stuart Ross reads a draft of a poem
about the High Level Bridge. along I-beams,
water flows
out from where it should not. reads his poem
& his notebook is small, written pencil.
Mary Magdalene performed miracles
that perhaps only Jesus knew,
if either of them existed.
there are stories that shift & evolve,
& eventually outlive us, & change
as those who would tell.
on the most beautiful young person reality show
or whatever it is the bar watches, they already warned
some of them will not last through the day.
I am undone, the permission
to hammer out glass.
if I am blue you are red
& we perfectly paired as twin suns.
Pick Any Three
Because we like to travel
and we're already in debt.
Because we're really busy
with other things to do.
Because sleep is something
we don't want to give up.
Because we can't even keep
a plant alive.
Because we work late,
and our careers come first.
Because we felt the urge
in different years.
Because we can't agree
whose turn it is to feed the dog.
Because I remember the screaming
and it might be what I'd do.
Because we like to help out friends
by taking them off their hands --
as long as we can give them back
at the end of the day.
Because we can't see further
than two months down the road.
Because we don't always live
in the same city.
Because we still have time
if we change our minds.
and we're already in debt.
Because we're really busy
with other things to do.
Because sleep is something
we don't want to give up.
Because we can't even keep
a plant alive.
Because we work late,
and our careers come first.
Because we felt the urge
in different years.
Because we can't agree
whose turn it is to feed the dog.
Because I remember the screaming
and it might be what I'd do.
Because we like to help out friends
by taking them off their hands --
as long as we can give them back
at the end of the day.
Because we can't see further
than two months down the road.
Because we don't always live
in the same city.
Because we still have time
if we change our minds.
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