Sunday, February 04, 2007

we only remember the art




ELEGY FOR MEMORY

in 1978
the super-8 movie was bought at K-mart
it clanked through in 3 minutes and then was done
that seems brief, but, at the time it did impart
more in my head and a new dream had begun

I flung myself off the hill, the model ship had tipped
with the shocked passengers, I was one of the losers
no one knew what I was playing so they couldn't nip
and shame, then pound me into a masculine bruiser

skinny boy that I was, I wanted to be Shelly Winters
she seemed nicer than anybody else that I knew
but such longing caused odd mental splinters
and the parts never did undergo a rendezvous

is it sad that such memories go off to no place
and sit until they're rather distilled or forgotten
if we can only go back and somehow improve and replace
stupid old ideas with something more intelligent or Zen

the super-8 is worn out, it wasn't made to last
I no longer want to be tumbling like Miss Winters
I know now that even if real ships did tip over
finding all the exits in time isn't the end of a story
there is no end to any story, there is no story
and I now remember it as rather unimportant

I lay on the side of the hill, head down
only pale grass and a creek are below, drying
I'm trying to listen for a consequential sound
The ungrounded feelings are mystifying

35

KINETIC SCULPTURE

that one on a pole looks like a piece of Las Vegas
not half as good as that car dealer sign, "Don't Egg Us!"
but it's put in a gallery so very expensive
we all peek and creep away inordinately pensive.

36

TRUNCATED SONNET TO A CHOPPED OFF HEAD

When your head is chopped off, how long do you live
far from your lungs, there is still air in your brain
for a few minutes, maybe, thoughts will detain
far from your heart, can you feel emotive
do you remember the time you got lost on the train
do thoughts splash at you like real sips of champagne
do you feel combustive combative compulsive
do your eyes creak open to see the mob so destructive
do you think hard with your cheek on the street
or will there be such glory in your immense defeat
will there be a final silent minute for complaint
or do you just black out, abruptly, in a dead faint

and that time that you were on a train and got lost
you couldn't see, your windows thick with your frost
you were running from feeling and reputation even then
even then you lived feeling short of some pure oxygen
falling down the hallway was enough to almost exhaust
with fire on your head, pounding your own Pentecost
but the fire didn't bring God, only a final amen
losing your confused and bejeweled diadem

37

JANE JANE HYDROPLANE

Jane Jane had her head
lopped off under a truck
The fireman bagged the thing
along with pounds of yuck

was she drunk, sold to a carnival
or was she brainlessly buried alive?
No one really knows - how can they for sure
but we do know Jane Jane couldn't drive.

some people work so hard to be famous
they have no real trade they can do
they can't do anything but hustle themselves
but the marketplace will tolerate so few
of those butterfly creatures to idolize
most don't give a flying-flip-flam at all
selling shoes at the mall is close to glamour
but it isn't cobbling so it won't scratch
the high that some people need so they're
irrelevant to the nations with cold numbers

38

JOAN POEM ETERNAL

Joan Crawford is anxious
she chewed the lens to bits
because it showed a line from her eye
where the ends cease to convene
because Father Time gave the role
to a new generation
a bright blonde missile
from the other side of the tracks
like herself pure doubt
pure ambition
elbow grease
and forward marching

the plastered creature looks goddess
on white sidewalk posters for desiring
the paper texture has a lovely smooth grain
in a stencil the shapes feel eternal
even if it should stain in city rain
her glare is violent bullet hole suffering
languid martyrdom during attractiveness
and will burn an ache through you
at 24 frames per second
the pulse on her face is enough
to glow like a vision of divinity
diaphanous fan manna breadstuff

39

HOTSIE JOAN BAD

Joan had a lifelong crush on Bette
a lifelong crush hotsie and bad
so sent gifts to show she was horny
but unrequited hots make one sad
so she also plotted Bette's doom
revenge is the same word as love
you'd think she flew high on a broom
there was nothing she was above
I read this gay twist in a book so smart
full of gossip that could not be mistook
irony hits here as kerthunk as a dart
Crawford's MEN was the title of that book

40

Marlene Dietrich at 75

snip tuck snap tape
staple pinch strap
pull pin tape again
white fur, yellow wig
vodka bottle - friend for pain
tug pull lift squeeze
tweeze paint draw again
white pills - friend for pain
yellow green - friend for day
blue blue - friend for night
two marble bolsters
cold pallid pillars
barely propelling
strap encase wrap
swaddle sheath in stardust
encase strap wrap again
icicle bauble winking stars
jewel glass shimmer
barely pulsing
barely infected
shimmering tourniquets
famous legs

41

WAX MUSEUMS NEED DUSTING


Babs was too young to play Hello Dolly
unless she hitched as a lil pip
killed her husband by ten (a famous diner by then)
so the all waiters sang big for her tip.

Vanessa Redgrave had a perfect role
as a fashionable Camelot queen
she's spoiled then pampered
bitchy then hampered
always decorous in the decorated wide
wide wide wide wide screen

Madonna was good in Evita
although the woman can't act
but posing without chat is where it's at
and mere posing makes a star diplomat.

42

POP

tell me talent ain't true blue sky
it's just something to finagle and buy
the way to market how a shopper should think
is not art but reminders that we like a good wink
then a singer can make lots of glitter and money
but not be rich in singing genius or funny
but we keep our eyeballs glued to the screen
asking ourselves what does this glitz mean
if you want art then listen to Bach
if you want the hips and a junk food shock
then jump up and down at the bar to disco
pop and art
is like extra virgin olive oil
and Crisco

43

BACH'S NAME

the clergy aren't remembered
beyond the old ladies who
caretake kitchen table altars
until they and the flowers die.
It's a fact, beyond my being a brat
name one pastor Bach played for
hum a Bach tune, you can, even
if you think believing in belief is dumb
even atheists and satanists love Bach
Bach thought he was in a stupid place
and went to jail for cracking the
pastor over the head with a stick
it's a fact beyond my being a brat
it's all in the German public record
that's what happens when you go to jail
the name of the victim is also there
but I bet you don't know who he was

we only remember the artists
we only remember the artists
we only remember the artists
remember that

44

THE SEQUEL TO WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOLF: THE DAY AFTER

Dick: I'm too hung to move
Liz: My liver just popped out. Can I name it Jeff?
Dick: How did this entire bottle get up my nose?
Liz: But is it empty?
Dick: Get the yogurt
Liz: My cheek is glued to the floor
Dick: No, it's your wig - you've been mopping with it for hours
Liz: If this were a drinking game, the entire Russian army would be dead

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