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Poetry of Issue #6
Page 54 |
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Table of Contents |
One for Shepp ( 1980 )
Shepp screams sweetly into the nite
summer '65
some new thing @ Newport in the rain
some new pain jolting the brain
bones moan
hungry angry shivers wobble the minds of the weak
it's recorded testament now
as rain & shadows chase the cat that
eyes the sparrows
hanging like leaves from the leafless tree
cold ghost eyes staring thru these little birds
@ some spot beyond even the sky
meditative eyes that watch the scene
so blankly
thru cobwebs on the window
& thistles on the fence
Shepp screams calmly for the dying ones
who sped junk sick and beaten black/blue
to their private corners rotting
on rooftops engraved into hallways
bottoms always bottoms
moaning "call me by my rightful name"
to the shining white symbols of light
who spit silver onto their corpses
corpses that dream the frozen golden dream
while passing borrowed & unnoticed into forever
fingers snapping snapped necks coughing chocolate
into the wind
go out on this nite
tightly
wrap yourself in fire
make your cry heard
you a gypsy
only wanting space in this overcrowded barren Room
where even life marks time
unnoticed like cats & birds in trees.
steve dlchinsky__  |
The BARD (A Perfect Day #2) (for Allen Ginsberg)
the Bard
is Dead
yet 76 yr. old Marvin Shapiro
"homeless"
still walks around shouting
"...Cyanide metal poisoning. Cyanide metal
poisoning. The Surgeon General blew it in my
face."
it's a cold-for-this-time-of-year
afternoon
& tonight i'll make another
attempt at looking for the be-bop
comet
We all arrive as free "MEN"
& SLAVES
slaves to breath
to food
to money
slaves to mothers
to children
cat slaves
dog slaves
slaves to windows
walls
telephones
& sex
bicycle riding our broken hearts
from egypt to africa to rome
jesus was a slave &
moses a slave to his god
Leadbelly the Son of Slaves
& me too probably me
we are slaves to Evolution
to the System
to Natural & unNatural History
to Industry & advertising & our
Selves
it's a cold spring day
& the Bard is Dead
& our bodies are for rent
& Marvin Shapiro
the lonely plague-infested jew
wanders around day & night
with his pockets stuffed
& his umbrella close &
swinging -
just in case
the chinese gave the japanese
everything
including their respect
yet ended up their Slaves
epictetus taught aurelius
all he knew
yet he was his Slave
cowboys & indians Slaves
slaves to religion & music &
LOVE
many sold their kith & kin
as slaves
gypsies poets scholars & fools
were slaves
concentrated & killed
I'M a SLAVE to YOU
we all arrive
as FREE MEN & SLAVES
slaves to sorrow
sickness &
JOY
slaves to Weather
flower &
time
to Life
sleep
consumption
Dying
&
WORDS
the Bard is Dead
but his poems are not
& his spirit set free
now resides with the ghosts
who charge aimlessly about this Patterson sky
this impossibly perfect Patterson sky...
steve dalachinsky__ |
2 dead crows
i wanted to leave but felt trapped within the Q & A
fine full blades of grass crept up thru the clefts
of the ruins
& a field of roses surrounded the colonnades
trapped within its chassis
we need not create a world i mutter something to jim
used to be so's one could walk within the garden
w/o seeking solutions
h.w.'s pretty wife left him for a rich young free mason
anti-all-the-rest where will all the poems & rhetoric
go now bad enough in any season but this one so interchangeable
with the last
he's closing up shop for dollar & health ( c.z. not a bad looker )
will not see that statue where emma lay
rise up before her again
we sat in the truck it wreaked of sullen & free
crammed with colonades & no license to bear them
i muttered something to jim
what is free mason & does he still exist
slave revolt he says disguised as wild orgy
something tells me then tells someone else same
what's meant by all the pony i asks is all that philosophy ya speaks of is it useful
say's useful as a poem there's the rubout climbing toward the tops of it
i insist on leaving but only to myself. i am seated in a corner trapped within the Q & A.
i'm not easy to read though i always think i am so i say here this is what i am read me hey
don't read me i'll do it for you h.w. says she left him & his funds & health are failing.
oh, stinking fucking rotten world where an uncontrolled grope comes so natural.
cider in the corner coffee's not so good here anyhow none's the music either
it's all the same anyway. 2 dead crows in the little basket with a
lid...they've been showing us them for decades i mutter something
to jim i could have left hours ago
but instead munch another carrot the Q & A is over i ask WHY...
steve dalachinsky__ |
on the bar - for Jack Micheline you were drunk and
sad
you read the Post and
farted
you were lost but not yet gone
and strung out on the corner
you sighed
"Sure"
and signed my copy of
Last House in America
"For Steve,
Keep Smiling
Love
Jack Micheline"
from harlem to frisco
from mexico to soho
you said
" sure....that's a nice one."
you said half hung
belly hanging large from popped buttons
grey hair
tough mouth
such softness in the lines
around the eyes
inside the book
that something in your face
you paint sometimes you said
but never write
right now that's right
what use for goddamn words
or picture books
for that matter
or any.............(unfaithful goddamn words)
you know many people
die on trains
in cars
in planes
in bars
and some sit stoned
cold on the corners
hanging in hung
and out of........words
poor words
pouring from the corner of a truly
unsung voice
you asked if i knew Will
i said yes
you said he's a great guy
a dreamer and player of horses
for 20 years
dreams and plays the horses
dreams and never wins
and that was why you loved him you said
a dreamer
yes i said i met him on this very corner
he dreams you said 20 years dreaming and losing
oh i said
i don't know if i've ever dreamt
but i do know i've never played the horses
you coughed hard got up slow
folded and tucked the paper
under your arm
then walking away you half-turned and said
"my horse came in 2nd today"
looking absently through me
"GOOD" - i said naively - good
and with your back toward me
and your body tipping on a slight angle
your grinning words replied
"but i bet him to win."
oh
i said
oh
you were drunk
and sad
but maybe not unhappy
steve dalachinsky written 6-29- 81 slightly revised 3-9-97__ |