What could I have been thinking of!
Thought. I was a-thinking thought. All
I was was thought and I needed to get “it”
Out. It rhymed. It was a story, an image
Slugs your face like a lost skylark, timed
Like a suicide, the Thought countered.
Hey wait, I am the thought! But inner
Workings, well, who’s to know till “it”
Gets out. Even a Poem turned to the wall
You can read shadow, it is pre-writing….
It is, as Prof. Ong says, “nested in
Sound.” Where does the ong come from?
From song. Wrong strong gong daylong
Dipthong. Playing ping pong with King Kong.
Sigh. How much terror can one life hold?
The way you held me, that death smell.
Can the idea of thought keep Death out?
I thought you were dead but it was me.
My father, the suicider, and then my step-
Father followed and as ever, yours, father-
Less. I always feel like a fatherless child.
It took vowels to develop analytic thought,
They go cheek to jowl. Like the saying,
A picture is worth a thousand words, why
Is it a saying? You aughta be a picture
Of a man crying with a child crying beside
Him and an unspeakable wind, idiot,
A fog with two lights sticking out of it.
Sure they go up too far, illuminating
Nothing and they are in the wrong place
Too, but what would you have us do?
Now we are us, we are all thinking about
Every skylark, accident after accident
Until the horrible truth finally dawns: it’s
Dawn and you are still awake and the streets
Are long and lonely and dark and Mr. Ong’s
Guitar gently weeps. I think I want Mr. Ong
To be my father. That thought rapidly passing
The other way a fireman heading up the stairway
Looking for the fire while the bodies fall
All around. Apples. Gravity. The Afterlife. Suddenly
Praise poems are obituaries, Papa Susso taught me that.
If you listen, the walls will speak the Poetry. Writing
Is Death. So busy remembering everything he forgot
To do anything worth remembering. Get milk.
A singalong, passed on and on generationally till
It loops into an epic. Read that back. Dadotdit. Thought
Is sound. A brilliant collapse, what I’m saying
Through corpse: Thought reinvigorating. It’s
Agonizing Everso. The Year of the Grandson. Hello.
End of Final Message. I’m happy, why did I say
That? Contained, under the hat, universe condenses
Into single image, image of song, song of a
Painting, painting of dance, a dancing poem.
_________________________________________________
January 3, 2002
Dear Bob,
You are not allowed to use
the word "beautiful" in a poem
this year.
Signed,
The Rest of the World
Except for You
_________________________________________________
I read it in a book oh yes oh my oh
How the book was a dead thing so Get out there boy!
get out there and live that life and don't you come back no more no more
To a book or write it down like Hold it there you're writing down what I'm saying
No I am not writing down you got it all wrong oh my oh my
I write up and that's why it's life and I am in love with typewriter
and I don't even have one anymore no more no more
so the book be dead and I a corpse grab my tongue
go for wild ride we no stop live or dead no hazmatter
Keep on singing ze bookpage textsplatter
_________________________________________________
Duskus Interruptus: Boulder, Colorado
“If only the Whole
World could be like this!”
Writes my student
In her notebook
As we toss beer empties
Into the dumpster
At Varsity Townhouses
And scan the horizon
For Noncaucasians
_________________________________________________
What’s it take to be a painter in 2002?
First, build your own house. Then, get a job utilizing technology
like a tuning fork – you get the note, it flows color.
6th floor Loisaida walkup with elevator and one of his paintings gracing the funk of the “lobby”
Spare room filled with paintings that’s the living room and in the back a spare room
filled with works-in-progress that’s the studio
Nothing to say that can’t be seen –
nothing hidden, abstract, obscure or in-between
Paintings labors:
forces of Dynamism, see the inner workings
(his paintings do make sense) of a World Gone Mad (world that does not make sense)
Paintings color-filled buoyant and animated:
“Decades of drops and drips, stripes and squares, enough
Of that! I create an Imaginary World in which there’s a harmony
in physicality – I’m no intellectual
What makes sense makes sense – can’t you see?”
Oh I see I see
I agree.
This one called “Canal Street Hip Hop”
answers “Broadway Boogie Woogie” –
Chunks of Canal Street plastic ordained into a rhythmic beat,
rapalicious grooverama hey hiphippity hop don’t stop don’t stop
The Orange spiral is twisting to
the sky in "Daydream" -- opening blue to red
Where’s the sense in that?
The sense in red and blue shadow, in moving forces, in blinks of eye, in art and love?
The Present-Day Painter refuses to Die!
Homesteads his house, and quietly applies
Layer of paint to build a new world.
Sit at computer and use “Maya” to construct a pelvis, the bones would make the body, so basic
You see (Yes! Cries the Reader of this poem, actually seeing the painting!)
Painting isn’t closing your eyes,
spilling drips and hoping it comes out right.
You plan, you explore variations, you
Do It.
Ah, dear bright Reflection of New York City’s multiblossom culture clash!
Dear Artist of Solitude in world gone crazy barmy lost in greed, selfishness,
materialism, racism, sexism, homophobia, intolerance in general, apathy, cars,
pollution, squandering resources
of air and water, is that enough or should I go on?
Living in land mines, wars, unequal distribution of wealth, television,
corporate
dominance, advertising, religious dogma, lack of funding for AIDS research…
You make your own little snow globe, am I right or am I wrong?
You make your own little snow globe and you SHAKE IT UP, isn’t that what we do?
Paintings that simply add enjoyment to people’s lives,
paintings that simply put some of the pleasure back into the world
Nothing confusing obscure unapparent
Clarity, obvious, attractive shapes hopping
around the canvas in an interesting way.
Art of shape, space, and color!
Painting of thought and energy, with no mystery but love!
Eternal rocking unassuming creation!
Bob Holman
_________________________________________________
Under bough folds, a poor woman sleeps poorly
In the complex branches, a broken neck’s angle fits
Off to the side don’t look go off to the side off
P files (no subdirectories of P)
Gatherin
Gathering
Essay
on desktop, a text file: uzismurf
Resume
Library
Bowery
_________________________________________________
song cry shout no
roar bawl bellow no
Lean over edge of world looking down at all that is not there
A song is holding my breath, a song is under my step a song
And I am upside down besides you can see it swirl, babe
who will sing the song of no
Who or maybe what
And when I am gone let go
I am doing this for you let go
All of you who are not me
Your hair a flag draped over my face
swift rush of emptiness a lemon
of the building into the building will not go
there it goes a rose of time! your kiss crime
to say sing so sorry for everything big and bold blast wind
_________________________________________________
OK everything is in its place and
everything is
going to take over one another’s place luckily
leaving a blank space right where it just was
for the one moving in good thing we do not
have a long term lease arrangement here as we
just keep moving to try to keep out of the way
and also simply to be moving moving all day
and that’s the birth of dance it follows the music
where is it going that is the word so it stays up
all night and it flies like nothing and it means
everything
( )
Go ahead
Open the door
Hello white water
Hello there bridge
Hello figure
On the other
Side of the bridge
Saying hello
Just myself
I Thought
You would answer
Between You & Me
That river
That tree
Woulda bop kiss?
(I always thought I’d see you
baby
one more time again now)
Walking mind to easy time
I fix the spot
Every time
I put my foot down
When I lift it
I leave it
I return
To fix it
Thank you
Very much
Who Knows
Who cares
Why bother
How come
What possible difference
Could it make
Night
Night put on its enormous hat
& started imitating me behind my back
I whirled around so quickly
I walked right out of there & kept walking
Night set out after me, calling
But I was so cool
I just kept on walking & walking
To this very day walking
Previously Saving
You no think me
You no love me
This old custom
Break heart
Folk custom
Way-things-used-to-be
Previously saving each other
We think go ho ho
So difficult, loyalty
Like white heads
Disappearing in white water
Rain (talk about things to come)
How I love
To stand
In the driving rain
Blowing my horn
At the entrance
To the Holland Tunnel
Fire (pieces on the ground)
Remember who
To send it to
I love you
Just yesterday morning they let me
know you were gone
Susanne the plans they made put an end to you
I walked out this morning and I wrote down this song
I just can't remember who to send it to
I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
Won't you look down upon me, Jesus
You've got to help me make a stand
You've just got to see me through another day
My body's aching and my time is at hand
And I won't make it any other way
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
Been walking my mind to an easy time my back turned towards the sun
Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around
Well, there's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you, baby, one more time again, now
Thought I'd see you one more time again
There's just a few things coming my way this time around, now
Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you fire and rain, now
_________________________________________________
Found 2
(Bill Adler/Michael Gonzalez)
don't
forget
it's free popcorn chicken day at kfc
:
Would you like some Extra income?
I'm not talking about getting rich.
I'm talking about a few hundred a week.
All you have to do is sit in front of your computer
for a couple hours a day!
_________________________________________________
graph that starts "The Big Picture": delete phrase (link) after Digital Video Dojo
_________________________________________________
Speak, o Poetry! O marble-encased everything but marble!
Looking over your shoulder – what word will these letters be?
A flying tourniquet, a brave cave opening. A quaint nothing
Doing anything ah a coin drops on your eyes – which is
It – heads or tales? Many people ask mutter and wander around.
But only you found the opening to the heart of the eye, the musty
Light we can see each other by touch, something more than infinity.
Something that would pay back the politicians for every lira they got
Without an element of public service, this place a shrine, a place
Ravenna can shout your name. The echo’s the same.
_________________________________________________
MORE NIGHT
Whattafug? Decipher light, ok?
My eyes! My eyes! What about your eyes?
I dunno, they are hungry, I guess. So
What? Well, I -- gee, I "see" what "you"
"Mean." Oh, great, quotation marks--why
Not sperm? My my what mouth. That sounds
Like sex! Sperm? No, sorry, sperm is not sex.
Sperm is life. Like the night. The volcano. Of
Night. They meet. Under the great yes of night.
_________________________________________________
swirloverlapsavenueventwirlelesbod
nhmonguoylilililtiltvicissattitudestru
optmmesmerzlfrckenvelopaloftlingis
wmwnowomeneyflypaperaseover&t
swirloverlapsavenueventwirlelesbod
nhmonguoylilililtiltvicissattitudestru
optmmesmerzlfrckenvelopaloftlingis
wmwnowomeneyflypaperaseover&t
swirloverlapsavenueventwirlelesbod
nhmonguoylilililtiltvicissattitudestru
optmmesmerzlfrckenvelopaloftlingis
wmwnowomeneyflypaperaseover&t
swirloverlapsavenueventwirlelesbod
nhmonguoylilililtiltvicissattitudestru
optmmesmerzlfrckenvelopaloftlingis
wmwnowomeneyflypaperaseover&t
swirloverlapsavenueventwirlelesbod
nhmonguoylilililtiltvicissattitudestru
optmmesmerzlfrckenvelopaloftlingis
wmwnowomeneyflypaperaseover&t
swirloverlapsavenueventwirlelesbod
nhmonguoylilililtiltvicissattitudestru
optmmesmerzlfrckenvelopaloftlingis
wmwnowomeneyflypaperaseover&
_________________________________________________
What blue child serious and deadly
Sits above the moon to judge the world
Only a madman would scrim the truth
Knock the wind out of the bourgeoisie
And still find someone to pay for it
It's the Ideal City, above heaven itself
Hills and mountains hidden by the round strength
I cried there, between the wells so perfectly balanced
Silver porches and slender silent gusts
This was protection, a small golden light
And a glass detail sweep the marble piazza
_________________________________________________
A Toast[1] to the 01-02 NYFA Fellows in the Form of a Praise Poem[2], Whitney Museum, 23 May 2002
OPENUP!! openup hope-ope-open
hopenup finfinefunfinally time it's time can only
cannoli prrrrraise rraaise knock knock whose air
cmon cmon cmon kin can comin time's begin
begin
Poetry to celebrate participate and cultivate at any rate perpetuate tonight at Whitney Museum of American Art cocktail party for the cocktail-party challenged
This is Praise Poem for NYFA fellows! for NYFA! for artists and art! for Us-- that's where I start
All humanity is artists and you guys actually get to write it on your tax forms so feel free to hoot and holler design and photo me, choreograph my fiction music painting video me collaborate participate in this oral thang called Toast or Praise Poemcalled poem!
At this point yr probably wondering what is this guy into/ nuff already with the intro/ he’s overdosed the Toast
So I hope it won't upset you, see, martinify yr cup of tea I'm Bob Holman and what you get is me and I call this poetry (my art)
You see I'm just back from Africa I've been studying with a griot - keeper of the oral traditions as hinted at in Footnote 2 –
Alhaji Papa Susso's teaching me how music, celebration and poetry originated as one
In The Gambia it's part of the poet's job description to inaugurate events like this with a praise song, and as a poet’s job description is hard to realize I’m doing what Papa Susso says
(Blame him)
So hear now the praises of the places and the dayses amazes NYFA Fellows hey I’m talking to you
About you
Now charitable bountiful munificent and liberal are not things we talk about these days without embarrassment considerable
Ya ya that’s why I've borrowed this praise chant from the Family Dembele of the Djibasso region of Burkina Faso
And now if I keep going on like this/ you'll have a first hand experience/ of why the oral tradition probably died out in the first place
Or maybe today we'll survive it revive it make it live it pass it on and leave this gathering humming hmmhmmhhmm
So I guess I can stop this singing that is if you call this singing though personally I just call it "Reading the Poem"
HERE WE GO
Ok grand finale time
For Grand Finale
We turn ourselves into Giant Living Artwork
Let’s storm the museum!
let's dive into the art on these walls!
You dive first. Ok. I'll jump first dive head First into swirl
whirlpool I can’t swim is ok no need to swim drowning
in art you cannot drown in art man you get spit out like food chunk twanged by whale’s toothpick
to drown in art is to save a life
to drown art is to save life
so let’s drown in this praise poem
we'll not escape (Chorus: no we'll not escape) (the call & response portion of the oral tradition) we'll not escape (Chorus: no we'll never escape) we get down anti-drown we drown in it not a bad way to go is it, as Orality Overcometh Formality oral tradition makes comeback and I'm starting a new poetry club on the Bowery and am currently looking for investors to go in on Real Estate for Art! New Model!
Capitalismo gee what a gizmo
Deleget, Meeks and Potter
Averbuch Graham Johnston (did I mention Ted Berger?)
Jeanette Vuocolo, Senior Program Officer, my dear old pal, oh ho! Did you hook this Whitney gig up?
Thompson, Lacey Piletic Pue Taylor Grundman Feher Travis Dawn-Marie Culbert
And way down alphabet row there’s
June Zaidaan, that’s zaidaan@nyfa.org
NYFA we are
drowning in the work you do generous and selfless and the handing over prizes
doctorates presents awards flowers love balloons fellowhips fundraising like
bread fiesta pesos y dollaros and the news flash cold cash for what you give us
is Incalculable and all we do in return is praise best as we could can humbly
offer this poem which ends here each recipient deserving so much more but what
can you say not even poet can do more than hand over the money here ya go and
thank you here ya go
And praise you here ya go
And leave the poem here ya go
And leave the poem
with you
Bob Holman
[1] Which I was hired to do, although I am not getting paid to do this, so if you’d like to contribute to a NYFA Fellow from last year who will now have to get along without the 7G’s it’s so easy to get used to see me after THE TOAST
[2] Praise Poems being one of the numerous forms the West African griots or jeli utilize as part of their full-time art jobs with their tribes thus negating the need for a NYFA Fellowship
_________________________________________________
I saw so many things
I wanted all of it mine
I busted the glass
_________________________________________________
Sing! O Muse! (or, Shut the Fuck Up)
.
Let the guitar bleed! Turntable, skritch! The mouth work overtime!
I am a poor wayfarin’ stranger, alright, Baby
But I still loves ya Baby
I got my fishing line doing double-duty on the koraooty
I blasted a love pit into fractious Tribeca
& I’m a foy for your amour
This ain’t nothing but rock’n’roll,
A true story told by a lyre
A keen-edged consortium of vowels and cons
Guaranteed to be your steady eon,
Sidekickback Other
Listen to me now
Hey
Once and believe you me once is enough
Once the baby stopped squalling long enough for the sun to set
Once the doctor had set down the black bag and begun cluck cluck
I never no I never want to go back there again dear Alice
I will never leave you again
Hiccup pogostick accordion what’s the connect at
Let me tell you tell you
Let me speak of speaking
Let me tell you tell you
Let the voice choice it and let repetition be the icebreaker
15 cents for a daiquiri on a student ship talking
1966 talking 6/6/66 and the sky so cloudless you could live forever
Hello, Li Po
On assignment
To greet the moon
From his boat
TS Eliot’ll footnote that’un
Li Po is a mite drunk tonight as he paddles to middle lake
Whereupon he commences to speak directly to the moon
“Ah. Moon! Tragedy
Collapses into your shade
Of Day, insistent”
Excepting that it is the moon’s reflection
So he dives flips slides overboard
Drowns in the moon
I will do that, he hums to his father
I will do that too
I will drown in the poem
I will do that too
Drown in the moon
_________________________________________________
for Ted
That twist which
Wracked bat dust
Back swung teed
Off spiked up hung
Hunger anger going
Grace Fenway go
Ing wall crack gone
Words for Lord Buckley
looking for words for the ever undefine future longside ya
my partner Other Ear and the Gang under the bridge hey
where’s that bridge go who gives a shit she dives in slices a knife
the tiny pickle-shaped molecularities are all rumba da gumbo
I am hole I am hollering Mama I am saying listening and you
talk now enter space of space and what place to face your
face the amazing face place grace on the one you love it is words under
words dartin through tooth gaps smackin cheek flaps puckerin leech
leech meanings clabber soft cream dear ass dear sweet
ass dear nose of ass smell me these words smell up page
of tongue graspy nasty needy bleedy and the elegant
float of a word on your throat of rosebud tangerine means
_________________________________________________
: Would you like some Extra income?
I'm not talking about getting rich.
I'm talking about a few hundred a week.
All you have to do is sit in front of your computer
for a couple hours a day!
You
what a day with you in it
as if spring knew where it went you
walked right by me did you notice how
I looked at you and kept looking on a day
like this with you in it
_________________________________________________
Praise! Zoë Praise! Best Praise! Anglesey Praise Poem! Praise!
OPENUP!! Hope’n’up hope-ope-open
Hope’n’up finfinefunfinally time it's time can only
cannoli prrrrraise rraaise knock knock whose air
cmon cmon cmon kin can comin time's begin begin
Hear now the praises of the places and dayses amazes loving hugsnuggle struggle of most generous woman
Now charitable bountiful munificent and liberal are not things we talk about these days without embarrassment considerable
So I've been studying with Alhaji Papa Susso –a jelikontigi, a griot - keeper of the oral traditions – who’s teaching me how music and poetry originated as one (Blame him)
You see in The Gambia it's part of the poet's job description to provide a praise song for the one we’re celebrating—Praise be to Zoë! – and I’ve always been looking for the poet’s job description – Praise Poet Anglesey!
So I've borrowed this praise chant from the Family Dembele of the Djibasso region of Burkina Faso
Ya ya the oral tradition is a way to give praise to someone without humiliating them totally
And now if I keep going on like this/ you'll have a first hand experience/ of why the oral tradition probably died out in the first place
Or maybe this afternoon we'll survive it revive it make it live it pass it on and leave this sacred po spot humming hmmhmmhhmm
Ooo sing praises Zoë Anglesey
And I think I’ve now established the fact that this is gonna be a Praise Poem for Zo (mit der umlaut Zoë)
So I guess I can stop this singing that is if you call this singing though personally I just call it "Reading the Poem"
And Zo never stopped me from reading my poems in fact she's always encouraged me so now you can thank her
Praises! the ceremonialization the stripped communiqué conversation the soul to soul the mouth to ear the tongue to tongue to breast to breast libation
And what do you say of this Poet then/ whose prowess is international when/ she’s still best known here as secret strength behind the scene – the scene behind the scene behind the scene
You say that poems are made of more than words -- that’s not true! poems are only words -- no, something more than force as someone once said to me some someone named Zoë Anglesey
In an intimate mood ---Something More Than Force – the mood so intimate it became the title of her book of course
Poems are made of words! but words begat actions! and actions begat change as slow as that formula may sometimes be
Words like “Zoë” words like “Anglesey” words like “Zoë Anglesey” have the capacity to spread skin round bone round marrow grow healthy words praise the lungs words to praise the chemo to praise the cancer the struggle the love -- words that human-ize
Clad in poetry our Zoë walks, spreads word to world -- word up! listen up, word! and ever so more so simply put – Word!
The oral tradition says pass it on -- This Poem Woman! This Praise Poem! plays long the angles’ angels Praise Life’s complexity! Life’s simplicity for Zoë
Words that begat loves yes let’s not forget the lovers who begat the children every word a lover and the children who discover and return and carry on and on and on Melanie Shavahn Catherine Cheryssa Best
And the books yes they are children! Praise the books! they are Zoë Anglesey Something More Than Force, Climate of Deep Waters, Quantum Dangers and anthologies, Praise Them!: Ixok Amar Go (bilingual, 57 Central American poets), Northamerican Women’s Poetry (14 poets translated into Spanish, bilingual) and its US edition, Stone on Stone/Piedra Sobre Piedra cover by my wife Elizabeth Murray; Word Up! (youth poetry from el Centro de La Raza in Seattle, where Zoë ruled schooled cooled and carpooled
She was the rattle of Seattle she stirred the storm of battle at el Centro de la Raza youth program revolutionarily controversial where they even managed to kidnap Ernesto Cardenal from Solentiname for a lengthy residency This period of time when she returned to the Northwest Olympia-region of her youth – this quintessential Loisaida poet woman born of Mormon parentage in Pacific Northwest
Take a moment on the bus for the Poets Invade Nicaragua Tour 1988 when a gang of US poets made the trip to Managua – where 7 of the nine members of the ruling Sandanistas had published books of poetry – Ernesto Cardenal greets us on the tarmac – we read to 500 soldiers at the baseball stadium dedicated to great Nicaragua bard Ruben Dario, who wore bowler to match Sandino’s 10 gallon – together to birth a nation-- Joe Richey Kevin Gerien Pedro Pietri married Diane Burns on that trip as praised in great poem by Joy Harjo who was also there along with Roland Legiardi-Laura Alurista Tom Savage and our pal Allen Ginsberg who hovers here today dear Spirit of St Marks sing Praise to all Zoë with harmonium wheezing backup
Praise Zoë of the Brooklyn Moon where her hats became a poetic form unto themselves just look at Eryka Badhu this advocacy and hiphopricy birthing Listen Up! (1999 compilation of nine spoken word poets) continuing the legacy to infinity Zoë degree pedagogy at the New School, Boricua College, and Rikers Island forever fighting the powers that be.
Back in the day let me tell you Praise! Zoë! Alas I have been forbidden use of the word “beautiful” this year – she was/is breaks all rules! She was pre-Stoop, but a main dynamic in what is now the Gathering of the Tribes – she picked the blind guy up and hauled him home and this was when he still could see and did they do the town forever till passion’s heart turned fiery and she did she burnt his house down, more stories for the Great Poem of Zoë, the Poem of Praise Poem Zoë Poem the Zoë Praise Day at Bowery Poetry Club c’mon Bob we wanta get to the auction
Now approaching Grand Finale all people dig deep to help our dear Poet Praise the poet w/ your ducats and [don’t forget to spread poetry out at the Bowery Poetry Club 308 Bowery which should be opening week after next always looking for investors see me after the poem – Zoë promises to hang there, if Yusef gives the woman some time off]
Thank you for the time to rhyme sublime with sublime
For all together we become una poema organica totale y siempre por nostra amiga Zoë
Praise Zoë Praise poem comes to sudden halt
But somehow always keeps going going, as she does
Please more poems more money more parties more praise
In this club which is our church where poetry is the religion
On this day when Zoë Anglesey is our center
This job of writing Praise Zoë! Praise Anglesey! Praise Poem! made of words to actions to change ends with the word