tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post9103351850066947188..comments2024-02-17T01:47:17.207-08:00Comments on Emperor of Ice-Cream Cakes: Poems Are Jokes: Clawfoot Bathes the Baby: Installment the Third: Can You See the Pictures?Patricia Lockwoodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05054871173880967520noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-86294922761232323622007-11-09T12:52:00.000-08:002007-11-09T12:52:00.000-08:00Good luck! Mow them down with your erudition.Good luck! Mow them down with your erudition.Patricia Lockwoodhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05054871173880967520noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-56422990510144717422007-11-08T20:50:00.000-08:002007-11-08T20:50:00.000-08:00HIAWATHA’S TOMB 1.Go to the crossroads, Ferocity, ...HIAWATHA’S TOMB<BR/><BR/> 1.<BR/>Go to the crossroads, Ferocity, and you too,<BR/>Luck, Cunning and Greed–-or is it Need?–-<BR/>For the nexus of poetry and celebrity, <BR/>And for Hiawatha’s tomb. Behold a juke joint,<BR/>A public arena, and a little, overgrown <BR/>Cemetery-–not so little, really.<BR/>Remember the billions of ambitions<BR/>Stillborn or thwarted from lack of your help,<BR/>Or too much sincerity and humility,<BR/>Our myriad mute and naive Miltons,<BR/>Our hungry sheep who look up, up,<BR/>But are not fed! Well, the grass<BR/><BR/> 2.<BR/>Is under your chins, muttons.<BR/>Nibble what you can before it grows<BR/>Out of an eyeball and over your nose.<BR/>Fame and its graveyard lie at the intersection<BR/>Of Violent Hope and Imperfection,<BR/>Right behind the old Cultural Mulch<BR/>And Recycling Station, new ones<BR/>Cropping up all over, places shunned, <BR/>Of course, by monastic academic <BR/>Idealists and historical associations,<BR/>But Longfellow’s popular Indian poem,<BR/>Written to delight the Indian’s conquerors<BR/><BR/> 3.<BR/>Soon as the Indians were hamstrung <BR/>Or extirpated, is right there, where Lycidas <BR/>Picked up an electric guitar and imagined <BR/>Himself Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Mick Jagger<BR/>Or some other chameleon of our immortal<BR/>Protean angst and the soul’s pandemonium,<BR/>Incessantly sad, glad or neutral, circling<BR/>Each of our lives like an albatross<BR/>That alights on an atoll and calls it love,<BR/>But finding itself growing lonely again,<BR/>Marks it in memory with a whitish, in-flight plop, <BR/>Plans to return sometime for dinner, maybe<BR/><BR/> 4.<BR/>A goodnight kiss, or more, but to locate <BR/>Those impediments to breath, that darkness <BR/>Which imitates light, freaks of noise <BR/>Called words, nuances of grief and grandeur<BR/>Called song, Lycidas’s albatross must rise above <BR/>The moribund comforts and tasks<BR/>Of domesticity. It must flap its filthy, <BR/>Lice-infested wings–-the idiot wind<BR/>Will blow-dry clean or paralyze like dope<BR/>Those poison bugs awhile–-and off it flies!<BR/>Blood on its beak and talons, nothing in its head <BR/>But hunger, nothing in its heart but desire.<BR/> <BR/> 5.<BR/>So there. Go ahead and boo. Go ahead <BR/>And prefer the tenderer ratio of a flight <BR/>From polite endeavor to delicate expectation<BR/>As if blowing spiritual promises at each other, <BR/>Marking their passage back and forth <BR/>In air by an elegant, gently descending feather. <BR/>Maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s poetry. <BR/>I don’t think so, and don’t like it. I think it lies. <BR/>Luck, Cunning, Ferocity and Greed, they are<BR/>Our horsemen of the apocalypse, the violence <BR/>Which takes what it thinks we need, trampling <BR/>Everything else underfoot forever.<BR/><BR/><BR/>[Tricia, I got one night's sleep and one more day<BR/>To pluck some hope out of this misery! Let us pray!]<BR/><BR/>http://www.mainehistory.org/programs_forum.shtmlAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-44021033074304849822007-11-08T18:26:00.000-08:002007-11-08T18:26:00.000-08:00I agree with you, I am imaginary, and it is enormo...I agree with you, I <I>am</I> imaginary, and it <I>is</I> enormous fun. I wrote an albatross poem when I was nine, but I don't remember much of it, so I would be pleased to hear yours.Patricia Lockwoodhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05054871173880967520noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-70350348660028873342007-11-08T14:29:00.000-08:002007-11-08T14:29:00.000-08:00Listen here, Miss Sharp As A NeedleAnd evasive as ...Listen here, Miss Sharp As A Needle<BR/>And evasive as Marianne Moore--<BR/>An orange, according to Francis Ponge,<BR/>Resembles a sponge, in that both <BR/>Get aggressively squeezed,<BR/>Yet where one effortlessly yields its juice<BR/>And recovers, the other never does--<BR/>Was fascinated by the fact<BR/>That her name meant black (I'm talking <BR/>About Irish politics), hence<BR/>Her fascination with the name Melancthon,<BR/>Which means melancholy person. Philip<BR/><BR/>Melancthon was an associate of Martin Luther,<BR/>And thought to be the last person known<BR/>To the suffer the actual acquaintance<BR/>Of Dr. Johannes Faustus before consumed<BR/>By the smoke of myth and ideological <BR/>Convenience, he whose science enabled him<BR/>To trade his soul, above all, for one<BR/>Of Helen of Troy's boiled kisses. Helen<BR/>Means fire and Greek, of course--and I<BR/>Who know all this, barely graduated college,<BR/>Would have been swallowed by Viet Nam if not<BR/>For four desultory professors--none of them friends--<BR/><BR/>Late at turning in their grades, failures<BR/>In my case, and an irate lady registrar<BR/>Who blindly gave me four B's. For most of my life<BR/>I couldn't read most things, nor understand, <BR/>And suddenly my panicked ego relaxed<BR/>Into a colander happily draining the pasta<BR/>That passes for poetry and an educated intelligence<BR/>And my brain filled with starlight, lovely<BR/>Though worth nothing on Ebay. Meanwhile<BR/>What enormous fun, to write you poem after poem<BR/>(Spaghetti, macaroni) on the nonce, and I<BR/>Have learned so much, because you are imaginary.<BR/><BR/><BR/>[The other colander head I know was Don Quixote,<BR/>And I love the fact that after losing an arm<BR/>At Lepanto and languishing in an Austrian pokey,<BR/>Cervantes made a come-back by forcing himself<BR/>To write bleakly and politely. Anyhow<BR/>I have to briefly contribute to a reading tomorrow <BR/>At the Maine Historical Society for Longfellow's <BR/>200th Birthday--and so, notable but anonymous,<BR/>I wrote a poem for the occasion, The Lonesome Albatross,<BR/>I'll share if you'd like, a riff on the soul<BR/>Being lonely flies, so germane to that extent,<BR/>And after 35 years, I've rediscovered <BR/>Bob Dylan, whose my age, and other germane things,<BR/>Though he's more dignified. "Lay Lady Lay"<BR/>Always embarrassed me because it came from him.]<BR/><BR/>Okay, Hostess T., <BR/>C'est mois, i.e., me.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-78500137311704696712007-11-08T13:14:00.000-08:002007-11-08T13:14:00.000-08:00You shouldn't trouble yourself about my definition...You shouldn't trouble yourself about my definition of anything, probably, being as how I am an uneducated eccentric. Or are you perhaps wondering about the particulars of my own highly-hidden poetic idiom? HINT: Tons of exclamation points, sometimes as many as two in a single poem.<BR/><BR/>P.S. Genoways, not Glenoway!Patricia Lockwoodhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05054871173880967520noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-64667126300293676492007-11-08T07:16:00.000-08:002007-11-08T07:16:00.000-08:00An addendum: remember Stevens’Cheeky concern for t...An addendum: remember Stevens’<BR/>Cheeky concern for the ocean’s<BR/>Verbosity, the indifference<BR/>To us of infinity, of which there’s none,<BR/>It being the domain of Satan, all <BR/>Flight interim, even <BR/>For an albatross, but it’s flight,<BR/>So I ask you again, what<BR/>Is the modernist idiom<BR/>And a Tricia’s alternative<BR/>(Atrocious, by the way,<BR/>Is my favorite word<BR/>In the mouth of a woman,<BR/><BR/>Better than prisms and prunes),<BR/>But according to your stars<BR/>And residual innermost sextant,<BR/>What is the compass of truth and desire’s<BR/>Magnetic north, the empirical <BR/>VQR (reinvigorated, I hear, by cash<BR/>And the senescence of Gregory Orr),<BR/>Or the glittering abyss<BR/>Behind the ice cream cakes<BR/>Of Hostess Trish and the emperor<BR/>Of pleasure’s ignis fatuus,<BR/>Which inspires and lubricates <BR/>So much invention? Last I saw<BR/><BR/>Glenoway was extolling <BR/>Paul Muldoon, that jolly ass,<BR/>Along with that alp of towering<BR/>Tedium, Tom Sleigh. But suddenly,<BR/>In the gap between Gog and Magog,<BR/>The opening of the lips to all<BR/>And actual granite rocks on the plains<BR/>Of Galilee, close enough<BR/>To glare at each other, I see<BR/>That there’s no answer to a question<BR/>Created from words and reality,<BR/>No answer to a reality<BR/>Created by a question.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-58036444113450447932007-11-08T04:44:00.000-08:002007-11-08T04:44:00.000-08:00Ah, Tricia--Look in your mirror!Tell me you neverC...Ah, Tricia--<BR/>Look in your mirror!<BR/>Tell me you never<BR/>Consider yourself<BR/>An infinite <BR/><BR/>Learning curve<BR/>With soft shoulders,<BR/>Porcelain at higher<BR/>Elevations, <BR/>And in winter.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-75776951244485991272007-11-07T21:38:00.000-08:002007-11-07T21:38:00.000-08:00Education, you say! But where, precisely, is your ...Education, you say! But where, precisely, is your education deficient?Patricia Lockwoodhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05054871173880967520noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-20310341557431725392007-11-07T15:22:00.000-08:002007-11-07T15:22:00.000-08:00FAMILY TREEAlluring?! Me? Them? Terrible Max,And p...FAMILY TREE<BR/><BR/>Alluring?! Me? Them? Terrible Max,<BR/>And poor little Sarah? That’s not the point <BR/>Of being a smut-juggler, Tricia, nor a cannibal, <BR/>But I was wondering, do the Irish, <BR/>With the passage of generations and the famine <BR/>Behind them, use Worcestershire Sauce<BR/>On their bathwater marinated clumps of hair,<BR/>Or just in the case of the English? Or was that, <BR/>Tricia, another coy and inverted Delilah-like ploy? <BR/>Barkus is willing, but Samson is vulnerable,<BR/>And a fool for women, un-alluring ugliness of mouth <BR/>And demeanor notwithstanding. Should have seen me <BR/>At the pool arranging for stroke-coaching <BR/>With Jasmina, “Jazzy” as she'd prefer we say,<BR/>With a butt on her that would have made both Rand <BR/><BR/>And McNally equally dizzy. My goals <BR/>Were strength and speed, I told her, being weak, <BR/>Slow and in need. Jazzy, blonde as a sunrise <BR/>On the north pole, was undaunted, and didn’t disclose <BR/>Her last name, but her blue eyes twinkled <BR/>And she waved farewell as I departed the pool, <BR/>And chirped at me sweetly, “Don't forget <BR/>To sign up for your stroke instruction!” <BR/>Always helpful, and never a case <BR/>Of carrying coal to Newcastle. King Solomon,<BR/>Thought Yeats, grew wise from talking<BR/>To his wives. Everything Anonymous does is an appeal<BR/>For female education. Thanks, anyhow, <BR/>For commenting on my comment. <BR/>It’s getting dark out here, and cold.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-84088296018996946012007-11-07T12:46:00.000-08:002007-11-07T12:46:00.000-08:00Bobie and Zadie--how extremely alluring!<I>Bobie</I> and <I>Zadie</I>--how extremely alluring!Patricia Lockwoodhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05054871173880967520noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-77627159927801432482007-11-06T13:43:00.000-08:002007-11-06T13:43:00.000-08:00Tricia! That's perfect. But I knewYour Grandpa was...Tricia! That's perfect. But I knew<BR/>Your Grandpa was a cannibal!<BR/>All Grandpas are cannibals,<BR/>Which is why in every photograph from Atlanta,<BR/>Elyse is wiggling like mad to get away!<BR/>Oh my, so proud of being awful!<BR/>My Grandpa loved to rub his freezing, <BR/>Unshaven toothbrush of a cheek<BR/>Against my soft warm one, smelling<BR/>Generally of whiskey, coffee, coal ashes<BR/>And his freshly starched shirt, <BR/>Home from making sure his furnaces<BR/><BR/>Were lit so the "neighbors" (socialist parlance<BR/>For tenants)had hot water, and so the phone<BR/>Didn't start ringing off the hook<BR/>And my grandmother, in her tiny galley <BR/>Of kitchen--in his cut-out cast-off shoes<BR/>Due to gout and bunions--didn't start clucking <BR/>In Russian (her children, my father and uncles, <BR/>Knew Yiddish) as if an aggravated hen.<BR/>I say Grandpa and grandmother, <BR/>But this was Bobie and Zadie Rosen,<BR/>And I, sadly enough, am simply<BR/>Grandpa, not one of them.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-61350918001498726512007-11-06T11:00:00.000-08:002007-11-06T11:00:00.000-08:00MORE DISCLOSUREWeary to the bone is a metonymy,A h...MORE DISCLOSURE<BR/><BR/>Weary to the bone is a metonymy,<BR/>A hyperbole for bored uncertainty,<BR/>Itself a dither, a psychological mask<BR/>That probably hides a faint,<BR/>Inchoate, but constant and infantile<BR/>Craving for pleasure and its less<BR/>Material corollary, maternal approval:<BR/>In plain words, mother me,<BR/>Play with me, and adore me!<BR/>I promise I won’t indulge anymore<BR/>In anonymous smut and the ribaldry<BR/><BR/>I love, the roar which emerges<BR/>From earth and the heart’s core<BR/>(A triumph of truth, a tautology!),<BR/>My face suddenly un-convulsed<BR/>In a cunt’s fat smile and laughter,<BR/>A gladness that wipes away<BR/>Villages of tenderness and grace,<BR/>Centuries of delicate elegance<BR/>And enlightened politeness<BR/>And humility, truth a pandemonium<BR/>Contemptuous of triumph and stability.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-69622108973434060722007-11-06T10:59:00.000-08:002007-11-06T10:59:00.000-08:00DISCLOSURE1.Annie Proulx, expert at depictingObtus...DISCLOSURE<BR/><BR/>1.<BR/>Annie Proulx, expert at depicting<BR/>Obtuse obnoxiousness in the male,<BR/>(She went to high school here in Portland),<BR/>Had an old man answer his daughter-in-law’s<BR/>Eventual call to supper: “Ready<BR/>As a dog with two dicks!” But I cribbed<BR/>The saga of the Innocent Bride, Tricia,<BR/>From a Turkish novel by O.Z. Livaneli<BR/>(Equal if not superior, in my view<BR/>To Orhan Pomuk, but who cares?<BR/>Who reads?) called BLISS, in which<BR/><BR/>2.<BR/>A cousin sets forth to assassinate the niece<BR/>Raped (defiled, they'd say) by her uncle,<BR/>His father, the narrative a level-headed<BR/>And relentless scrutiny of fanatic<BR/>Fundamentalist stupidity saddled<BR/>With the burdens of mere humanity,<BR/>Girlhood (she was fourteen)<BR/>And intuitive masculinist cruelty.<BR/>Is anonymous smut a remedy, promoting<BR/>Immersion in the kindly wilds<BR/>In the human comedy? It sure beats<BR/><BR/>3.<BR/>Murderous puritanic hypocrisy.<BR/>Pan, that filthy can-chewing goat, chased<BR/>Nymphs into trees, but never raped them.<BR/>That was accomplished by Apollo.<BR/>Be sure to vote in today’s election<BR/>And give the Passamaquoddies<BR/>The right to play the stock market<BR/>And calculate their actuarial advantages<BR/>Over muddling American pocketbooks<BR/>And wallets. Quit regulating vagaries of vice<BR/>Out of fear and cosseted sentimentality.<BR/><BR/><BR/>[With regards to installment three,<BR/>I don't see nothing, Tricia.<BR/>You better muzzle that clawfoot<BR/>Tub! She's licking that little<BR/>Dino baby too clean!]Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34876486.post-48215552968867517102007-11-06T10:58:00.000-08:002007-11-06T10:58:00.000-08:00I went ahead and reposted--it should work now. Let...I went ahead and reposted--it should work now. Let me know if it doesn't. Anonymous, I'll repost your comments below.Patricia Lockwoodhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05054871173880967520noreply@blogger.com