LIBRA
I asked my friend
Mr Stevens
if “thus” is not
the greatest word
in our entire lexicon
and he having used
the word in
a poem on at
least one occasion
for a moment
he dithered deeply
typical Libra
then told
me he
would get
back to me
thus
leaving me hanging
leaving us all hanging
TS, Arthur,
Samuel Taylor, Nietzsche
when you
press them all
these Librans
are the same
thus ends the poem
with thus as its name.
POEM FOR 1983 ME
there you are
in that disintegrating photograph
so sure of yourself
Mr Wry Smile, so unsure of
yourself : deconstruct
this photo Professor Academic
Expert
so much space here
to delineate those inner doubts
and (to make no bones
about it) existential torments
scars of neglect
and what eyes have browsed this?
looked here, remembered,
eyes have looked into,
souls loved, have loved,
still love
could never
possibly forget
(know who you are, know
what history we have,
stuff
shared together)
and now having
pulled this out of the hat
my next trick
will be
one of disappearance
taking all this stuff of self
off the shelf
go Cheshire Cat on you all
(having at times
threatened to
go full
mad hatter
perhaps in truth, far more Alice
caught right there
before the door into Wonderland
crazy. divine, nonsensical
quantum who
knows what
Wonderland
battling to balance
medicine that makes me
too big medicine
renders me too small
she
of the sign of the Libra born
most loved of the beloved
quietly shaking
her head at this point
and you
who only yesterday
told me
to come visit
hit me
with all that goddess mythology
made everything
look so
effortless
what fatal nonsense
was it our paths crossing
what fatal
nonsense was it
nothing and not
everything, all?
POEM FOR 1983 ME
there you are
in that disintegrating photograph
so sure of yourself
Mr Wry Smile, so unsure of
yourself : deconstruct
this photo Professor Academic
Expert
so much space here
to delineate those inner doubts
and (to make no bones
about it) existential torments
scars of neglect
and what eyes have browsed this?
looked here, remembered,
eyes have looked into,
souls loved, have loved,
still love
could never
possibly forget
(know who you are, know
what history we have,
stuff
shared together)
and now having
pulled this out of the hat
my next trick
will be
one of disappearance
taking all this stuff of self
off the shelf
go Cheshire Cat on you all
(having at times
threatened to
go full
mad hatter
perhaps in truth, far more Alice
caught right there
before the door into Wonderland
crazy. divine, nonsensical
quantum who
knows what
Wonderland
battling to balance
medicine that makes me
too big medicine
renders me too small
she
of the sign of the Libra born
most loved of the beloved
quietly shaking
her head at this point
RIGHT TO REMAIN
espied you
waving your wand
glaring at the stars
determined
to tear them apart
whilst below
far below
ensconced in Hades
Eurydice can here
her husband’s love
beautifully
sung, closing in
there fellow shades
muster support
gather to
explain to her
the symbolic significance
of her
own mythology, deconstructing
this text, reading it
against the grain, wholly
from the liminal
perspective
of borders
and margins
Oh, if there were only pure
light down here not
perverse neon
enough raw
plain, uncomplicated energy
to carry her through
lift her
high above
dive like a swallow
into the arms
of Oedipus
where she can speak
with conviction of all
none
but she can
now explain
and there too
you, our celebrated astronomer
wondering
about the planets
all the planets
and whether
denuded of majesty,
stripped
of mystery, void
of so-called
music
of the spheres
they have a right to remain
FRIENDS
would rather be caught
in bed with Stalin’s girlfriend
than have to suffer
the excruciating torture
of listening to you speak
(“speech” here
an euphemism
for demented droning
poor take
on dictatorial power,
resurrection of Caesarism
if you ask me
so let me
stick to my principles
even risking
the Gulag
Siberian subzeroes
to freeze
my skin to bone
but then
the intelligence of
fellow inmates, their
loyalty to the ideology
believing
in the system, banking
on the real
possibility
that they could well
survive to serve
as confidants
become
the Boss’ closest friends
AT THE SHEBEEN
I took Wallace Stevens
down to the Shebeen
we dined
on braised cow’s head
and a selection
of South African beers
all of this chased down
with tub-fulls of
salted caramel ice cream
throughout this novel experience
I felt I could detect things whirring
in that machine-like faultlessly
poetic brain
something afoot behind
those placid eyes
finely meshed, sublimely
purposeful
some I dream, gut-feeling,
but also there
in heart
of hearts
he will real all this off
by way of a special poem
cleverly infected
in language
flirting with becoming
totally impenetrable to me.
READING MR STEVENS
AS SHADE OF COLOURLESS GREEN
close to the shoals
of colourless green
Mr Stevens verged
close
to wreck, was
my initial fear
this I saw
oe believed
I did espy
with my
own two eyes each
mesmerized
though
the sound did sedate whereupon
yes, seduced me
to a danger
I dare
not stomach
actually embrace
and to
think out there
a, whale of a, whirlpool
Charybdis to outdo
closest thing
terrestrial (I meant maritime)
to that fat
killer singulaity
they say drives the galaxy
and yet be
a secret
submarine portal to
an all new
nonsense Wonderland
where
Hatter 2.0 and
the entire 2.0 gang
speak this post post post
Also Sprach colourless
idea
sleeping, dreaming, totally
insomniac
deconstructive
jibber jabber
giving
the poem such
a hard time of it
ideas colourless green
fried to a frazzle
in the desert
or there miraculously in
the mind of Apollo
whilst
he sleeps
lives his cosmic wet dream
read it here, on the page,
then tell me
it might never come to be
THE DAY THE FUHRER LANDED
the day the fuhrer landed
home land security and
immigration
were put on maximun alert
rushed into action
terrified that there would not be
enough babies and flowers,
guards of honour
rapturous screaming crowds
to welcome Herr H
to his
final, true home
TICK
beware the
time, of the tick
your speech
already rambling
pretty fucked up
and
tick yourself
you bite, you suck
give yourself
permission to leave
the table Harkonen
blood-bloated
who were meant
to be more symbiotic
than parasitic
in style
of leadership
delivering so little
promising
so much
taking so much
you said you
would drain the swamp
end up draining us,
draining us, denying us,
despising us, depriving us,
meant
to uplift
giving new sick meaning
to the image of bounty,
symbol
of overflowing
but
speaking of symbolic
it seems you eschew
all that
is indeed so
better to stick to
the sclerotic, the
crying out for diagnostic ,
tick
gets pulled
tick gets squashed
all its pilfered, stolen
blood
one fat smudge
of what
it was
nothing else to see
THERE NEVERTHELESS
we both got
Daddy pressures
both got
Daddy issues
lifetimes (mine longer
yours, shorter) of pretty much
failed adjustment
tough to find
a resilient forgiveness
strong enoigh to survive
first emotional storm
and since
we are comparing wounds
(our best effort at
any kind of
hoped-for intimacy)
i might suggest
though mine is deeper
yours deep enough
that there
is no
stopping the bleeding
a red
deluge in the making
mine
a wound no one, nobody
ever there
to care about
presume to notice
yours, pages and pages worth
unbandaged, still
outpouring
everyone there for you
(too hideously late) but
there nevertheless
poems 2 die for