1 The wind in Santa Fe (slamming the door shut)
2. The ad in New York (Liz Murray wins the prize)
3. The dream w/ walkway and stream (E is rolling underwater)
4, The Murray signs along the Prince of Wales 2nd Line route
5. Lunch w/ Aggie Gund at
Another Love Poem
Hold
on there, Tiger! In
fact, quite the opposite is
true! It's
true things
are you know clenched like
a motherfucker, I could tell you
a buncha stories de ma vie ahora,
pero let's talk about You. You
are consummate and true, realer
and vigorouser, smarter and
fulla whiplash takedowns. Doing
anything tonight after the show?
At the Center w/ Lao Tze
At
the center of your being you
have the answer; you
know who you are and
you know what you want. sweat
beadsÕ first poem crackles dry ravine spotlight You left Is Bigger than Any Other Mac So whatÕs it to ye, McMac? ItÕs a MacMac, itÕs that kinda Mac Macaroni Mickey Phony Balognaboney Biggest Mac superior-sized washoutaholic Plus guaranteed 100% MacCrap
WhatÕs Blake Got to Do with It, Got to Do with It?
Love another gives its ease, seeketh not itself to please
Blue Hills of Morning
blue
hills of morning running to the sea
Blue Tent
(Sparrow
and Bob Holman)
BOX --
Walking Brooklyn Bridge
This stunning stand, Lifting, rocketing towards sun! IcarusÕ dream, the span Pointing the empty sky, Where Towers had been The day the clouds rolled back To allow a little light in here Manahatta touches bridgeÕs landing Police get educated here! The sick enter all doors here! Trinity Church spire tilty above Below foaming, probing -- here the city erects Police car waits like a cat and Brooklyn shyly beckons, love
ends Chinese father in a light running suit, his daughter in
fashionable mixed plaids Manhattan Bridge searches north, crossing like an acrobat And south then to the Verrazano, stretched below the glass caverns
of Wall Tall ships now a tourist attraction! South Street Seaport!
Om! Lay the words on you! Sprinkle organic jimmies! East River is inviting ah, blue green this morning,
twinkling Suicide fence running alongside, equidistant, no problem All wall spread out crazy quilt to the southwards Thrum and thunder, speeding cars A bench -- who sits, who writes? Helicopters hover GovernorÕs Island Uptown blocked by projectÕs tiff, Empire State peaks between
Manhattan bridge looming over FDR attracting buzzing small
plane, Two dogs, their masters in matching red berets And here at last long cables swoop rough roped steel Anchored through hand cut boardwalk gaudy streetlamps
rusting Handrails change the ballast Here the crossing wires, the famous photo of the workers
spread across the Dada sky Pedestrians to the right bicycles to left walking the centre Electric line, illuminating globes parting the night opera Flag atop Arabic arch, negative spaceÉ. And the first cell phone of the day! Oh Manhattan, Tow! Spooling over proprietary river, opening
the tower shields! 14,000! the Total mileage of Wire rope Ð RoeblingÕs
invention, thatÕs How he got the job! noted on the plaques, the official
plaques! The official garbage can! you are now officially on Brooklyn
side! Williamsburg as seen through Manhattan Bridge web Brooklyn marries Queens! Sea wharves slowly mounting, river
of movement Staten Island! her ferry setting out Tourists with video cameras cell phone after cell phone Some in heavy winter coats this blazing sun day fall Others in shorts and tee shirts insist global warming is a
daily occurrence Cables slide back to rest midpoint balance Ah, the official benches! why not sit here, see you face to
face? Write a poem, hymnÉ the Truism of the Totality of the
Universality! Sailboat salt motorboat sugar Circle Line bracken ferry silt Commerce slow this Sunday mornÉ. I approach you, these thoughts of you. Begin slight descent -- again the rockets, the Arabian
sights Looming elegance, sheer geometry stone Someone has left a note and a rose! Korean soldiers in gold pea coats! Cables lift and fall -- the Watchtower announces itself The now familiar descent, Earth itself rushing up Parents pointing children not looking surly teens with hands dug in Tension packed, lifts, shot off, Brooklyn gestures, ÒCome
in!Ó The park that borders the river The ferry landing with no ferry Exit signs for the BQE land lashes out The trees, the autumn trees of Cadman Plaza Over my shoulder, the other bridges come to rest in
congruent conjunction Oblivious baby in oversized stroller an hourÕs extra sleep
today The smells of spice and rot and salt and gasoline The fence finally gives pause gratitude and stress And sweep at the moment of choice Walk up swirling splitting subway to the sky river to the
stars As I turn and walk Walt home
Columbia S07 ÒI RememberÓ Demo/Performance (after Joe Brainard)
I remember the sundial in 1968 and MarkÕs idealistic face as
the idea of going to the gym site came to him Ð how natural and organic a balmy
day just a hint of cold Ð dancing down Amsterdam, everyone chatting,
exhilarating, the cops came, Fred lost his glasses, this went on for hours I remember how different time was then Ð IÕd have to walk
out of the demo now and go somewhere important Luckily we plot our own art movement (ÒBody ArtisticÓ) in
class Ô07 I remember saying I give up! to my class at Columbia Ô07 I canÕt teach anymore could someone else please teach? I remember Matt saving the class I remember how amazing this particular class is with people walking out in protest all the time and finally we all walked out How we walked single file How nobody noticed How our escape routes never materialized or needed to something about a button on BrettÕs sign something about a banana on mine I remember we felt like a unity after so much singularity in the classroom the idea of everyone protesting whatever they wanted
together was the final idea for the class performance How beautiful the green sign of nothing on the sundial As da levy would say fuck the bullshit right back into the bull tank the bank leave it blank the poem factory never closes when you canÕt read my books read my mind when you canÕt read my mind let me borrow yrs Ð I will publish it on the other side of the street where the words are always green having an extra vowel added to make the land tell the truth covered as it is by the ash, the paper, the ink is the poem DonÕt DonÕt keep Do not keep me DonÕt keep me waiting for whatever it is you think should happen next it ainÕt this this it is not that this and if when it is or not hey No DonÕt keep me waiting Do not keep me DonÕt keep DonÕt how
beautful these flowers grow miscanthus
hockhollies cosmos all around the swimming pool hotfooted paving cool water It was too long I didnÕt have the heart To cut the crying
Elizabeth: Five Minuets at a Time
Many have asked for Òthe briefest descriptionÓ or Òanything,
anything at all,Ó Òa shred, perhaps?Ó of what it was liked to be married to
Elizabeth Murray for all those years. It is something, correct?, that I was
rarely asked this question while Madame was alive. Occasionally another Òwife
of the artistÓ (IÕm thinking here of pals Leon Falk and Whitfield Lovell, hey
guys) would raise eyebrows with me at being referred to as Mr Murray or in
WhitfieldÕs case, as Fred himself (get the picture?). While speaking with me, Elizabeth would always be creating:
drawing or painting or jotting notes. This was her mode, the Work mode. She
would take time off for the kids, not for me; I was therefore in both sides of
her life and, as has been documented, was given access to Name That Painting, a
task E did not enjoy (there were many tasks she did not enjoy). This brings up her image of the intertwined 5 fingers. This
was one of her great leaps into art Ð to draw Òcartoon handsÓ (not really!)
with five fingers. Each finger on the right hand is playing a different Minuet.
On the left is where we are married, and in love, and nothing will ever come
between us.
GOOD MORNING
what's
so good about it? barking
dog concrete
sawing machine obligations appointments must
be three places at once last
night in bed dreaming
of you where
has my life gone
While I was writing Hey you
Too cold this morning. Feet are planks as they freeze on
impact to the tiles. What the fuck. Gray out the window not fog but paint --
somebody came and painted the window gray during the night. Expect it to be
bricked in by tomorrow. There was an interesting hollow next to me when I
awoke, as if someone had slept next to me. Hahaha. Don't you just love the
first joke of the morning? I am sorry we couldn't
I am sorry we couldn't have
time last night so
sweet and so hot plums
melting at midnight I Am Plant
I
Am IÕm
not! IÕm in Front
of you like a poem lying
await in the con Tinuous
presense it rolls a
wheel of glass That
feels right on noggin &
rushes past language Plant Plant
the idea seed into
the mind ground and
grow the fruit idea then
get a stomach ache And
see which way youÕll follow IÕm
not! IÕm in Front
of you like a poem lying
await in the con Tinuous
presence it rolls a
wheel of glass That
feels right on noggin &
rushes past language I could never understand your Mind No never understand what you were saying Whatever it is you are talking about is would you Mind speaking in a fashion that communicates Reciprocates with the Sir Tongue mishegoss I got the Ears and Brains whatÕs the Big Mouth All about?
Repetition is the only possible Way to go if you think maybe rehearing is going To make some difference as to whether ThereÕs any sense to be made out of the non-duh What other possible out come could this here be To this relationship excepting for the over And over again trying to comprenez vous and Verstehen sie und auch tu entiendes you betcha You betcha you betcha IÕll say you and betcha Will say something that actually is something to say About this here act oÕ communication This emblematic portent this encouraging Ambiguity. I mean, what are you, speaking In Farsi? Martian? And my name is huh hello? I dreamed much mud
I
dreamed of much mud and embarrassing situations, wearing a tshirt only, having
to pull it down to cover IT, hold IT down, sliding THROUGH cars , trucks/vans
actually... my shrink was putting us (me and girls?) up, but he was old and frail
w/ a silly mustache... I see the World Trade Tower, curvy and growing in all
directions I see all kinds of flowers and I have to be concrete OK I see the sun(flowers) and the blue(bells) Iris cosmos black-eyed susans daisies (my faves) I see lakes from above Oceans from below In sneakers walking into the attic Oral Tradition
I
still hear the stones grinding time, spitting out stories....
If You See Something, Full
disclosure: Only wow do I love to hear yr instincts yr wild raw instincts bubbling up stream in a dream Bergman grasses untangle pubic hairs unmesh reveal Angel Elizabeth It Might Be Lonelier (Without the Loneliness) There was a time when and if there is some time left now IÕd just like you to remember we are both alive Soon Enough Everything else will happen, or not Ð in fact The extreme dailiness of the hour (hello, it is 9:49 am, the 17th of July, 2007, on North Grimes Hill Road) and the Big blue tranquilizer bobbing on a green flat In the windowÕs reflection of the dance rests I am looking and looking and looking When you say itÕs ok To stop looking and I stop looking Dear One, All
Seeing Tasting and Smelling what is the yummiest yum of the yumyumyum ??????????????????????????? A line of forever wonÕt wait a second A tangerine solace, a brilliant
beer apocalypse, a Frantic fuck and a meandering slight graze Of skin upon skin ALL Is
YOU And when they say, Hey WhatÕs
yr name? Will you say I am Blue Flute, The Forever The Essential The Proposterous Silence The Everlasting Nod The Ton of Love ??????????????????????????? My Sweet Lord ! A funny one a person with very very bad luck God hates him! thatÕs what Kumbija Kantaba means to the extent that whatever he does, thereÕs God, shaking his head and wondering why he isnÕt doing something else heÕs a very hard working man but no luck at all say he goes to a big feast- well, his food turns to mud or sand while the other peopleÕs food is gooood, so good TubanyouÑmaize, Delicious! sanyoÑmillet, Incredibly tasty! mannoÑrice, Wow! even geoÑwater, thirst-quenching water geoÑturns to blood oooooooooooooooh so one day he goes and sits under a big jahlo tree ÒGod!Ó he cries to the skies God! I did everything! I tried everything I could but no success I have never enjoyed anything! God! So please go ahead and kill me!Ó Then a big branch falls off the tree and lands right beside
him the man jumps off and runs off shouting ÒNow I understand everything!Ó Last
night underwater swim with Lady of the Lake Faraway
faraway hmm underwaterfall was a-washinÕ The
rocks' socks and stones' phones Twas beyond
the cool tractatus, verily kissed among thee With
a nose for a nose and a mouth for a mouth Together
agallop this body illiquid LifeÕs a funny place to be When youÕre me Real
time walks over claps hands attention The
painter is closing shop the fountain dissolves Into
the water The sidewalk is now the dust and the The
is now the now and then the love
it. of course i've seen you, as you've seen me, and i see the you in you as i
hope you vices me verses. The lights are on, our eyes are open then they close
around that moment called our First Kiss and then. And then the lights are off
and our eyes are open as we are to each other now and forever. Forever as we
know and only we know is now, the eternal now of knowing/not knowing. I want to
hold you and laugh with you at the amazing world that has served us up to each
other, a gift, delight, luscious and physical and gentle, Venus from the sea.
Two days is forever if we can hold the moment as you hold me I hold you. That's
all I ask for everything. And a simple moment. And everything else a memory
made real. --
for Elizabeth Your hand throws out As you sleep And brushes Another body Lands and settles On the other body Except it is your hand And it is my body
May
the New Year bring new news May
the news be better New
news to surround Like
a newspaper round fillet Indeed Good
news! Is
the motorcycle You
rode in on Is
ready for you To
ride out on Problem! Over
here! I
got one! More than one, actually, a whole batch of them! My
Life is actually one Big Problem made of a gazillion tiny ones. Help!
Problem! Over here! Right this way! No
problem to find problem! come on over here. We
got em by the sack, problems problems, problems. How
dare you tell me, ÒNo problem.Ó Are you kidding? Problem
Problem! Problem! How
can I apologize Lemme
count the weighs First
I am an asshole, ridiculous slippers on a howling moon Then
I cut no slack, bled bone dry in a lobster's bed Perhaps
some transitions here as our old friends they all are dead Then
the reawakening horror of ongoingness Crapola
yet again bogosity sneezearfle rot flump And
in conglusion The
Czech she is in the male I
am also wandering nowhere in
search of Elizabeth. Oddly enough, I
seem to be making some headway! I am patient as the windshield I look through For you Here Goes Nothing Sleep into the beckoning day Sleep into me. You, on the other hand-- are out of hand after
hoisting just one
wit you, start li'l poem to
the long married You want to read it! They want to read it! EVERYBODY wants to read ÒOrgasm SchoolÓ! Hell, even I want to read that poem The one you cum on, the one that teaches you how to Greenwash Whitewash DonÕt look CanÕt
see anyway Wait a second A
second second Window ItÕs the wind. Oh! ItÕs the art of existence Balanced
on the tip Of
your eyelash I hate it, being labeled a
Òperformance poet!Ó ItÕs what my teacher, Walter Ong, called a retronym Ð
renaming the original because the new model has become the standard. The
example Ong uses is Òa horse is an automobile without wheels,Ó and what draws
his ire is ÒOral LiteratureÓ (why not ÒWritten OratureÓ?). But there you have
it, it doesnÕt ÒsoundÓ right (donÕt you love the sound of ÒsoundÓ?). And
besides, Every poem must contain its opposite! So I took this epithet as a challenge, and hereÕs my poem, which starts off with an
epigraph (for the vocabularians: epigraph:
quote at beginning of poem; epigram: pithy, witty ÒsayingÓ; epitaph:
words on tombstone; epithet: curse) (this is where the intro may seem to swamp
the poem, but remember that in the Oral Tradition the poem is the entire event.
So, by that definition, this is all part of the poem!), starts off with an
epigraph, as I was saying, by that great Performance Poet, Rainer Maria Rilke: Voices. Voices. Listen, my
heart, as only saints have listened; until the
gigantic call lifted them off the ground; yet they kept
on, impossibly, kneeling and didnÕt notice at
all: so complete was their listening. --Rilke HeÕs diving off the front of the stage! You better bring the house lights up some, The audience canÕt see him. HeÕs still screaming, Screaming and dancing And heÕs twirling the mic -- I dunno, should we turn off the mic? I dunno, turn it up? HeÕs running around, heÕs twirling and HeÕs still like reading. The book is in his hands, sort of, the people Seem to like it, theyÕre into it -- Maybe itÕs part of the act. If itÕs part of the act he shoulda told us! Now heÕs in the back of the house -- heÕs Still going strong. This is pretty Amazing. IÕve never seen anything Like this! HeÕs running out Of the theater -- I can still hear him screaming In the lobby. HeÕs back in the house! (WhatÕs he saying? -- ItÕs something about It sounds like Òlake snore freedomÓ.... I dunno. ÒBreaking down reasonÓ?) Oh shit! Oh shit oh shit -- heÕs got a gun! Christ! wait -- awww, itÕs just one of those pop guns. Shoots like firecrackers or popcorn or -- What about the hat? Still wearing the hat. Holy -- heÕs dying now, I mean heÕs acting like that, Like heÕs dying. This is it for poetry in this house man, IÕve had it. HeÕs just lying there. The audience is wailing, theyÕre keening You know, like at a wake. No, I do not think HeÕs really dead. HeÕs getting back up, see, I told You -- itÕs all part of the act! ItÕs all part of the end of the world. What am I, the guyÕs father? Come here! Look at the monitor yourself HeÕs ditched the mic somewhere, Should I go get the mic? Look! oh my God -- heÕs, whatÕs it called, HeÕs going up, heÕs levitating! Holy shit! The roof, the roof is going up Music is coming in The crowdÕs up outta the chairs, man this is it This is it IÕm telling you -- Raising the fucking roof is what heÕs doing! Now heÕs back on the stage with his poetry stuff Yeah heh heh yeah, He never left the stage ItÕs what his poem was about IÕm just saying what heÕs saying Through the headset Yeah, heÕs good HeÕs pretty good alright But I could write something like that Anybody could write something like that Sad Nothing Could make me happier than Everything Dreaming of you is the shit IÕd love your tongue only your tongue your blessed tongue
red and darting lolly thick Thunderous tonguerous tonguearoonie Slip Slipperty slidezor the tongor From the Inside From the inside these guys Obviously are writing a poem To be transmitted telepathically Globally resulting in briskly Reformulating an all-new barber Shop quartet Mr Ear meet Mr Mouth all directions going South Singing all together now what? "You can hum it. At the
summit." Big Poet Pow Wow Wows Whitney All news wonÕt fit in print Flora
Biddle! One guy rumbling off the stage says To the other guy, ÒLordy if this
is The Summer of Love gimme the Winter of Fractious Locutions!Ó
and Immediate hoopla they dance
all night in The moist gallery of latent
hippydippity Cream thoughts, unity jelly,
sharing art. weÕre all on the same page but thereÕs no page left weÕve been preaching to the choir but the choir has up & left weÕve been part of the left but thereÕs no left left Hallelujah! as for me Ð IÕve left I
thought you promised to
keep our secret secret me: I saw Camp T-C today -- 2
1/2 hrs! Paul: another
masterpiece? me: almost. actually
the first I've seen that was disapppointing -- very didactic. Plus, there are
NO WOMEN Paul: haha -i am used
to DIDACTIC WOMEN me: Yes, they are,
magnificently sexily so whilst the poor ol dudes w/ 3 wives are left w/o a
hardon to standon The Definition of Funny (Four poems by Flash and Bob) The Definition of Funny The truth only faster Bob Holman and Flash Rosenberg Two People Make a quote Flash Rosenberg and Bob Holman Quotation Marks Two people listing Listening Period Run on Late
president Renamed
the days of the week For
members of his family I Still Hear the Stones Grinding Time I
still hear the stones grinding time, spitting out the stories..... still
hear stories grinding time, spitting out the stonesÉ. keith,
mick, all of them chewed up old men between
stories and stones, I choose the open road....... how
can you tell the motherland from the fatherland? (my
attempt to raise the poem to a higher level, beyond stones) your
thoughts of the motherland are not the motherland. leaving
a seam of language, quartz threaded through slate and
papa was a rolling stone--wherever he laid his hat between
the stones without names and the graves without stones my
brother, a lonesome tax collector a
crescent of ice-green sea shimmers beyond the ridge (collaboration with: Zeitlin, Zavatsky, Litzky, Sirowitz,
Gerardi, Anderson, Smith, Kaufman, Sparrow, Landry) DonÕt ask me why DonÕt ask me name I forgot what we were talking about I am looking the other way On purpose because I am into shy And that is my way to say please Lay off me for a minute Please donÕt barge into me with questions I am into shy I am into shy The sun is my mother The moon my other mother Two mothers, is that why I am into shy The rabbits are my sisters And the turtles my brothers And my twin is a parrot Who says what you sayÉ Honeybee honeybee
deep in the honeytree Do not tell me to
suck dry the tips of whip grass Swan sway swan
sway Ganges flows all day Would you send me
off then to the blasting seas? Tale singer
nightingale crooner carousing on the leaf drip Who dares say,
Excuse me, quiet please, eat dry leaf clippings This robin
rocking tail lit by the fullest moon Try to redirect
to fogbound swirl, see what happens to you My feet on the
lotus? No, my feet are the lotus! All God? Gosh, I
was looking over at you Ð shh. No need this
talking, this poem so obvious, shh.
In a
message dated 5/24/2007 3:42:34 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time, ken@hkschueler.com
writes: Dear Bob, thanks for your kind message with news of
Elizabeth. I met with Dr. Miller on Tuesday morning just after you
left-sorry to have missed you both. Humana has been intractable in not paying for Sutent, so I have
insisted on an outside reviewer and I have filed a formal complaint on their
delays in responding to communications. I wish I could report more positive
news. In a week ASCO (American Society of Clinical Oncology) will be meeting
(largest cancer meting in the world) and we are hoping that there may be
another presentation or abstract on Sutent for NSCLC, to further support the
formulary waiver. I wish you and Elizabeth an enjoyable graduation day with Daisy. With best regards, Ken From: Nuyopoman@aol.com
[mailto:Nuyopoman@aol.com]
Sent: Thursday, May 24, 2007 8:24 AM
To: ken@hkschueler.com
Subject: Re: Sutent Ken, I
am so glad there is a you, and relieved that since there luckily is I somehow
know you so one part of this Glorious Ordeal (Life) is abated, sweetened,
loosened, possible for wholeness. Sorry
to've missed you too. Love Bob Dear Bob, I am deeply touched by your soulful words.
Relationships are precious and knowing you and Elizabeth comes to me as a gift. With warmest regards, Ken I
still hear the stones grinding time, spitting out the stories.... and, yet, i hear the stories grinding time, spitting out the
stones Tara as sung by Papa Susso to Bob Holman Cheik Omar Taal!
Cheik Omar Taal! Cheik Omar Taal a religious man in Mali 14th
century Tara means he is gone Moussa yea- la la la when papa growls the earth shakes and is in transformation from voice to earth deep goes the voice deep goes the earth when the kora strings soar then the voice sings and zips along like a kite string without a kite what is holding up the string? that is the wind of the wind the wind, you see, has a secret that only the jeli can tell you just as sound has meaning so the wind has other wind we call tara the strings are sailing along lightly they are flying (no kite to hold them up, as I said before) and then along comes the kora to snap the string put them on verse like a beautiful dress the African word for dress he came from a place called Segau well known around the world Walliou Ð God sent messengers God sent many many many many Walliou to deliver messages to all the people wonderful things to open peoples eyes before Cheik Omar Taal was born his father had a dream that he was gonna have a son like that there was an older brother one year two months old his father was a Marabout they were traveling by foot step
by step by step by step it gets dark and it was time for prayer Hayred the fourth prayer, the evening prayer, Cheik OmarÕs
father says Òwe have to prayÓ his wife put the baby down and they started to pray a hyena came and came closer threatening them but his father and his mother were praying to God they could see Allah so they did nothing the hyena took the baby away Cheik OmarÕs father says ÒWife! why didnÕt you save the
baby? I was praying to GodÓ his wife said Òyou serve only one person, I serve two, God
and you as my husband so I cannot stop if you had stopped, I would have stopped but I cannot,
aloneÓ ÒOk if that is the reason why you couldnÕt stop I am going
to ask Allah to give you a new baby and this baby will be known all over the
world for the sacrifice that his mother made to AllahÓ ÒOh great AllahÓ prayed Cheik OmarÕs father Òyou have seen
what has happened with the hyena and my babyÓ Allah replied ÒIÕm gonna give you a Walliou child, born in
Segou, a very famous town at 15 Cheik Omar becomes a Walliou prosperity comes to all
his family and he is asked to be the chief, the king ÒnoÓ he replies ÒI cannot because as chief I cannot serve God in the proper
wayÓ I want to be Allahkajong- a servant of GodÓ next thing you know Cheik Omar fights a holy war for God itÕs a long long long long long story it could take all day. itÕs all about how Islam came to that
part of Africa itÕs about the Christian missionaries and their battles to
control Africa itÕs about the animists and their desire to keep the old
ways and its all about the Walliou, the messenger who brought the
songs of Allah the songs for the Griots Cheik Omar moved from Segou to Hamdallah then a Griot came from another town to Segou but didnÕt know that Cheik Omar had gone. Instead he sees the churches that
the missionaries have built he sees the European schools he picks up his engoni and begins this song ÒTara!Ó he begins, ÒCheik Omar Taal is gone Tara! He is gone!Ó Papa SussoÕs Poem for His Young Children The first time a father tells his child The child is nowhere to be seen The second time What is that strange buzzing I hear The third time the child must go get something to eat And then on the fourth time The Child starts to hear something When I tell you it the fifth time You say to me, Are you talking to me And on the sixth time you reply, What language is that you are speaking By the time I have told you the seventh time The words become a song and the poem becomes the kora And you must learn it my little griots And then you can repeat the story And the story goes like this: 48 years I have been working, Spreading the word of the griot Spreading the word around the world And sending the money home to you And Sankung is here And Al Hassan is here And Fatou is on her way And Mariama is on her way And Karamo is on his way And I think I may be on my way On my way to the Gambia To return to the griot life at the Koriya Musa Center For Research in Oral Tradition at Sotuma-Sere So my dear children Who carry the word of the griot From my father Alhaji Bunka Susso, jelikuntigi of the Gambia Through me to you and back to the first Susso who made the
first Kora I sing the song of the father who tells the children it is
time for them to begin The new generation of which I sing And which you will live and carry on And buy each othersÕ tickets and pay for each othersÕ rent And teach other the ways of Africa and United States Of Gambia and the world And know this song is the loving father Father Song
How
provident the prudent toaster Evident
in the roller coaster Particular Patient Persnickety The
Prudent Toaster Browned
enough Dark
enough Warm
enough Crispy
enough Just
enough Perfectly
prudent Petulant
Petrarca Plenarian Plentiful Purty Perty Perky Powwowish I
wish Wash,
I wash you Cannot
remember the correct "p" adjective You
gave your wonderful toaster Particular Patient Persnickety Just
gotta be "the great toaster that knows to take its time and will
regardless And
always Perfect" what
is it about that toaster that
reminds me of you I
certainly have a lot of fun remembering
all the fun we
have to remember my
grandfather was a peddlar schlepping
pots and pans no
English but price tags told
The Story To You, World I regret the only language I can speak is poetry and deep
muscle tissue massage sex And I have no regrets Blue triangles in the afternoon of my birth Day first spring Again my youth In front of me Big chew from Yemen Tender snake outta Tennessee Drowning in nostalgia in the Yangtze with you with you (with
you) Good morning, good luck Times the number of number waiting at the bodega Coolly representing Lucky Juice Joint number 58 As cool as Snowfall in
Nutcracker March 10 As hot as clitoral lake magma Where was I? Oh, yes oh no Be born again, Madre In the Babel I was spoken too When I fucked everything up and you still loved me the word When I fell in the mudpud and the turt brusted mine vest
syllably I was a lone clown But now that I am President IÕm kill fascists before they kill freedom Poem loaded In revolver And IÕm not googling for truth no more no more So step into the circus baby Eat the singing veggibles that Build no-wait busstops Singing Hallelujah my hitchhiking days Are back again, here again To my friends who are alive in jail: Christopher X Brodeur, To friends who died: Paul Gulielmetti, Hank Kuhn, Barbara
Guest, Zoe Angelsey To rhymes come harder as the Columbia Brigade downshifts The accordion logs in the field of crass Eleemosynary advances into fat universal ear Call me 2123346414 Or send me IM I ainÕt getting any younger, Bubbulah ÒCall me RosebuttÓ
too
blue, too many lines. waving,
as in ocean anti-depression.
then, a kick of
water in mouth and a
spew as you too liquify
and forget
ÒEven though I am
a Hippie/sometimes I just cannot Love.Ó --Sparrow Brain universe
totality afloat in skull sea eternity pill Bluesilver
Redgold Greenblack Gelitentacle Aieee Balance elephant
dance construct on shell of giant tortoise GooÕbye! We gonÕ
missinÕ you! You a-goin on a tripÕn Everyone else is
here waving adios weiedersehn Ciao
sayanora a bientot gooby googoo Googly all eyes
on you! Luckily (all ways ÒluckilyÓ) So much going on
county fair-wise carousel ferris wheel Running circles
merry-go-rounds of energy from Organ grinderÕs
cranking monkey scat tapdance shuffle candy coton Corn dog braying
contests allow you to nip round back oÕFreakshow tent
with little purple barrels of Trip ~~~~~ Light Bulb smashes
slivers teeth grit dripping light Welcome Well Come
Writewritewrite Po Dem Poor everybody
All Emotion whatÕs the word for For gold shone
shine on Holy Mount Vaginas of Tamalpais Acid Tribal
Gathering Riposte: All nod together now NO CAN WRITE ink
blending into page, itÕs All One Here I capped the
mesc Split the little
containers plastique Get wacky wordy
Scooooop the brown brain pow Der in and slip
other half cap in and twisty ThatÕs one Put it aside and
dive into Two Know what it
means to dive into two ThatÕs the part
that allows no digressions as my Man Hammers around on
the ark where we take two Of each kind,
tanGoing who is your Other? and as sun sets my other ManÕs Man just hears
Moon Will join our ark
space launch slated for later the same ~~~~~~~~ We are going to
the moon, now luckily the moon will be with us, so We will already
be there before we leave! Get image beyond definition rose Destination Road
Rise Rose Terrific flower
gold sun blossom into single bud eternal stillness enwrapped Rapt all
possibility no actuality hyper image of no image What Will Be Rose Green thorn
paramecium coverlet, hairy ball raging, gorging scientific taxonomic dialogue
with language itself (ÒThe RiverÓ) To all those who
died believing in their reality, the Window is Not The Window
but is only the window Ð the window of the apartment with the tin fool wall
paper and the Indian medal lamp covering the red bulb of love is not the window
of eternal consciousness no matter how far out you may walk trying to open the Doors of Perception on O Rose thou art
sick, ah Sunflower, slowly eternally sisyphisian unrolling the hard green allowing
alarming smell supple red petals to unfurl their hair to beckoning sky While meanwhile
the strychnine has kicked in and the answer with a ding is the bell and
wandering in the tchotchke store (I AM A WRITER) I buy All The Bells in the
store, And The Stand They Came In On (ten dollars) É Once in North
Carolina Pat looked at me and said, ThatÕs just like you, youÕd rather trip
with strangers than relax with your girlfriend I got a phone
call from Danny DuBoff and Will Daily to come to this party (or was it Jocko?)
that there was some crazy ass weed there so I jumped out of bed told Pat IÕd be
back and lit out for the gathering where we smoked ÒHog,Ó which would
eventually pick up the moniker ÒAngel Dust.Ó Its defining characteristic was
you were here, you were there, but you were never in between. Was this where I
was shouting Groove on Boogey as we listened to the droning bass clack paddle
bell of NonesuchÕs Chanting Tibetan Monks, one of my Top Ten Picks, up there w/
Hendrix, Beatles, Salty Dog (Procul Harem). King CrimsonÉTalking w/ Will and
Danny, I went into detail of my experiencing, at which point they offered me a
job to start immediately as their Taster, first assignment to work on big
Mescaline Deal in Sausalito O Gods of Tiny
Particles, and Absurdity of Gods of Humongous Important Shit! Call on you
psychedelically I got my trip shirt on, the long white embroidered Indian light
as wind catcher skin itself (even better than skin!) and my Freak Flag is
a-flyin, -- I donÕt think I cut my hair till 79 or 80 years, down to the ass,
at war with Society, the drugs making the 2 sides speaking different languages,
different consciousnesses, different worldsÉ the busted nuclear family with the
overbearing mother acting like sheÕs not and the emotion-starving father and
his disappearing act vs. the Family we Chose Ourselves, the commune, our promises to stay together busting
up by money, my shrink now telling me to create a Òsoft landingÓ when money
becomes the Issue, and how I am maybe even doing that in buying Elizabeth all
the comforts we can think of, she wakes up in the morning feeling awful, says
ÒI donÕt think IÕm going to get betterÓ and yet last week, for the first time
since January, six months ago, when we had to go off Patupilone, that the tumors have been in retreatÉ THE TRIP, Pt.
II TRIP SONG Never evuh
remembuh bub what ya mama tile you Style zizzfra and
the meat hammer benailed junque And Ð mais bien
sur Ð donÕt fuckin forget it either When remember is
the Trip and Forget is the whole rest of yr life! THE TRIP, Pt.
II TRIP DANCE THE TRIP, Pt.
II TRIP SEX THE TRIP, Pt.
II TRIP SEX THE TRIP, Pt.
II MY FIRST BOOK ÒMay I
hallucinate on your face?Ó Always ask
permission I propose this chilly morning to the world Itself awaiting a duh flash spilt tongue lift From and over the cloud suture and astral Bludgeon with pigeon slowly Dusting the powdery snow of never Quite spring the Bowery and people walking Past the door they are invited into Calm betrayal of blue caution, how To challenge the everyday stupidity of knock? Go in, my dear Friend, how friendship Covers the moment grave gravy I crave Potential even as the salty rock diamond Stalactite drips efficiency into the trollÕs mug Bard soap and melt the hair Retrieve all hope that rocks out the tear And then they would respond, all One of them via ventricle the cerebral-spinal fluid Ocean, speak to the shore and the river craves The rafter to the soldier and her kin a reminder Of uniform plaid crazed blue stain barbering The remainder with keener resplendence As the tough went and the leaner surrenders All over the floor, dancing swans and minstrels Makering a mockery brokering the brackening Affiliate of the sore sporeÕs delight to restore Capturing the glance momentÕs pleasure in Significant disarray for never and a day off Just to wish a happening birthday man the relish Of forgetfulness and the king of dome under sun Meshing alluvial restraint to the mitred velocity A hand appears to float around like a magic trick Without the magician and the church sprouts Up like a cornstalk silk and one wink fractures The morningside domainÕs dominion of predominant Dominoes and prevailing veils waiting the pun To vanish the child into the man the woman The ages suit up and rashly billow a fragrance All too balmy and proficient It was 88 and everybody was young and skinny sang marched and picked coffee And drank beer and rum and slept on the floor and Married each other barefoot people diving smooth surfaces into rocky interiors discover Meditation is not meditative! It is rocky. Also making love is not such smooth sailing either, contains a passionate
bite. Ah well, let me go meditate! Wedge & Loaf (translation of poem by Steve Zeitlin) Life's born on the edge of the wedge Take a crumb to it So you get born, so be born again. Pumpernickel, cheddar. Grease life with butter, Buddy. The heart runs it tight direct & no exit The impossible applause of the heart Ð Why bother to wash your heart? Life lasts about as long as where is my sandwich anyway? Oh my Friend, don't complicate things. You're hungry. Eat. A
Found Joy Harjo Poem The mother field is immense and extremely
magnetic. When the Elephant in the Room is an Elephant Imagine an elephant When all the elephants are gone This will happen Will you be alive to say The elephant in the room is an elephant Because that time is now, Dear Having been to New Orleans Having been in the Prince of Wales 2nd Line Having heard the trumpet unmuted Having seen the black sky break Having felt the crowned sorrow Of the City that Care Forgot I am finding you The ever presence The quintessultima To house no regret To clamber aboard the all aboard To ratify the inconclusive To batter the cobwebs lachrymosely Harmonize practically Crowd out all clouded signature Reenter the peaceable neighborhood Rebury rally figment coast At any cost The wise man does not say wise man The wise woman does not say wise woman The three wise men do not say the three wise men A wise guy is a wise guy * The wisest thing I ever heard Put salt on tail of bird Absurd Till cooked and offered * The sound of one hand clapping Is the same As the sound of the other hand clapping * Do Not Delete! Two Found
Poems Rescued From Spam Don't Forget Would you like some Extra income? Do not let
circumstances control you. You change your circumstances. You Two and the Lilies (ekphrastic after photo of Jill Batson and Teresa Foley) You are lilies!
because, you eat lilies! I am so All over
you I am
under you too You Too It is
morning You are
glory It is
late You are
light
Yum
muy You
Yum Yummy Muy
yum Yummuy Yum
you yum Muyyumyum Yumyumyummy You
yum yummy Muy
muy yumyum Yummyyum You
Yum Yum
clack prayer beads second poem
wish hope manifest
one word central new necklace love breast bead poem 3
now the beads are birthing sluice
jewel seeds apop
all beads in place walk fifth poem home tender buttons
And builds a heaven in hellÕs despair.
. . . . . . . . .
Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in anotherÕs loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heavenÕs despite,
tug of fog hinting at the slow sky
all night waiting for morning -- here it is
I've forgotten.
Unbuild box!
Deboxify box!
Unbox antibox! Call it
No box!
I was saying Hey you to you!
Say Something
Banana
Published in a limited edition of 144, signed & numbered by:
PurgaSquare Postcards Subscription, Purgatory Pie Press
Letterpress printing from handset type- Dikko Faust
Linoleum cut illustration- by Polly EllaNora Smith Faust
Editor/designer--Esther K Smith
Heard on WNYC-FM ÒMorning EditionÓ
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Produced by Jocelyn Gonzalez
Chanted on Sundial, Columbia U
By Bob Holman's "Exploding Text" class
March 21, 2007
Saparmurat Niyazov
Moussa, Kinda, Fatoumata, Sarjo, Abdullah
Whatever happens in the mother field is multilayered, and most layers are
unreachable by words.
Songs get closer.
And what about the levels of tones beyond human hearing? Beyond human voice?
Songs get closer
it's free popcorn chicken day at kfc
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!
In Hollywood if you don't have happiness you send out for it.
The stupidity of one brain multiplied by twelve.
I think my securities far outweigh my insecurities. I am not nearly as afraid
of myself and my imagination as I used to be.
I have read your book and much like it.
How goodness heightens beauty!
Teach us to give and not count the cost.
All I know is I'm a Marxist.
That man never grows old who keeps a child in his heart.
A friend in power is a friend lost.
When a contradiction is impossible to resolve except by a lie, then we know
that it is really a door.
Faults are beauties in a loverÕs eye.
Kids are wonderful. I like mine barbecued.
beautiful ones and twosies too
they may be noses, halloween treats
they are of course surely sex
barely waking from their buds
these lilies propagate like m+ms
on the trail to the gingerbread dominatrix
and when they sugarplum
all santa fe rouses in a red hot chili pepper
dousing the water with fire and remembering
how art explodes and everything
lives together propulsively ever after
just like us