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BREMSER BREAKS JAIL
Bremser in Bordentown lockup
writing Drive Suite
Buhaina in his head
teasing the snare and
skinning the ride cymbal
At Monty Montgomery's
interzone studio
washing down peyote buttons
with tequila "Hey Ray
remember Rita
the rose poet of Philadelphia?"
(She was my first wild
passion--and how we cut
each other's hearts
in slices)
Says Ray
a toothless grin flashes
pink gums
puckering under his whiskers
"Did ya fuck her
* in that troll house of her ma's
with the old man nested
in the attic like a bat
and grandma snatching a grab
at her long loose locks?"
WHAM rappadoom jing-jing
I sure did Ray
we made the two-backed beast
up and down the stairs
and in the hall
from rug to roof
Ray sees Egypt
on the East River and
Ecbataba
in Jersey City
Back in State Prison
tilted on his metal bed
digging Monk KLONG
Coltrane WHEEDUP WOE UH-OH
Ornette SKROOBA BRATTLE ATL ZOOGAH
remembering childhood
dreams of his sister's breasts
and dank green hallways
that reeked of drains
and rats and dogs
("Suffering grants no rights"--
you were born knowing that)
or blitzed in the parkor blitzed in the park
playing phenomenoes
and goofing on the whole mad scene
or reading in the stuffed church--
we were all cold and wet
from tramping crosstown
through the pluviation--
and you took out your jailhouse teeth
to get those plosives
in placebos plus
and some square asks
"Are you high
Mr. Bremser?"
"Yes, my friend, I am--
and I intend
to stay that way."
Those burning poems for Bonnie
"Poetry saved me, and
god gave me Bonnie"
________________________________
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Emphysema got you
and you huffed your last riff
but I remember
Blues for Harold,
Blues for an Old Shirt,
Back on Black Blues
Drive Suite,
Frankenstein
Ray--
the poet who swings
Nellie Lutcher into the poem
is all right
with me
________________________________
KOSTAS KOUVIDIS
[Greek jazz drummer in the Andreas Thermos
Quartet, died in a tragic accident in the spring of 2007]
I did not know him
we traded not words
but glimpses and grunts
as he spoke through his skin
his punctuation
was all stops
split pauses dashes
semi colons ellipses and elisions
apostrophes
commas and questions
exclamations brief and rare
his brushwork was precise and clean
taut as a whisper in a thicket
light as a cats moustache
glancing glinting cymbals
highlights on the shimmering surface
of music
rolls and shuffles
rimsnaps drumthumps
sang support
living volumes of space
for bass to build his columns in
piano his arches
open doors for tenor to pass through
his accidental absence
dyes the silence
another color
___________________________________
OUR FRIENDS
a wave rises and takes a step
before falling flat on its face
pulled by the heels it's dragged
back where it came from
the sea is rubbed by the skin
of bare boys and girls who thresh
the air with cries and barks of laughter
their summery curves sprawl in the sun
dusk is saffron salmon and bronze
night rises with a slow restless turn
stridulation of the motorbikes begins
and cyclopean lights crawl the mountain roads
autumn stars advance out of blackness
and the risen Pleiades announce the danger season
when we harvest the black fruit when the dead
our friends speak in their sleep and ours
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Weight
Weight
Only starting point possible
for a poem
that's to be
on Sam Exler--
one of the so-called Great Generation;
one of those slog-through Gl's
who came home to McCarthyism
(he was a bespectacled Jew, & earner of
many medals).
A witness to darkness,
he was a survivor:
a funny and patient man;
a serious, triumphant poet.
Ok. Enough about Sam.
I want to examine
where I am.
Sam would understand.
Donald Lev
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