BACK THEN
everybody was
listening to
Dylan
back then
and me
stumbling around
like an idiot
so much
in love you
how could I
feel
this
so exclusively
how could it
infest, invest
me
so completely?
maybe I was getting
a precious sense of this
via all
these Dylan songs
oil and water
different oceans
creatures from
different planets
and now
on different continents
still some
strange, sad exchanges
between us
destined
to separate lives
BEHIND YOUR BACK
According to the Chomsky
model of language acquisition
poetry is universal
written into our heads
we do not
learn it
from scratch
in fact
spend our early years
simply unlearning it
(the parts
that do not fit
that do not rhyme in Rap)
so, to
put it in
basic terms
we are all poets
yes, part of
the current economic,
social and political systems
but also
part surreal,
with our split brains
and who knows
what other opposites,
oppositions, quirks, quantum
superpositions. contra-
dictions
and dualities
and thus the rush
the impulse (like first sex)
to put
pen to
paper
hit that
keypad
see what comes
flashing
on the screen, staring back
at you
from the page
the poem itself
(albeit in its
as yet
unrevised
version)
instant poem
just add salt, sugar, spices,
condiments, distilled
whisky or water
wormwood to
kill any
pretentions
to taste
so much easier than
writing fiction – – worlds
apart really
and
heart and soul of the thing
(if you would trust me
and allow
me
here to reveal it)
in bad, bad times,
times of tyranny,
unashamed dystopia
poetry is
pretty much
our last resort
thing you can write
hands tied behind your back.
THUNK IT
academics in the files?
who would
have thought it,
thunk it?
mirror me this
mirror to mirror
what is
the academy to
the narcissism
of ideas?
what reverse alchemy
at work here
turning gold
into base metal
turning base
metal into
something
far worse
turning billions of U. S.
into something unspeakable
turning
the final dream of
community
into a confederacy of
Caligulas
and there as touchstones
sextants to
navigate such
progress
Professors of every
discipline and indiscipline
from triple X
to Zee
our Alphas, Betas
and outright Omegas
there on the island gowned
for the occasion
fiddling with
what bit they know of
intellectual apparatus
performing research
for the
benefit of mankind on
the most unwilling of subjects
walking subtexts we
need to read
from below, behind
and between the lines
until, with
deadening “thunk”
the truth is right there
AT THE BAR
I feel
like I am
just muttering
to myself
at the bar
bar where
advocates, attorneys,
judges come
to get
boozed up
dreaming of
the day they
will hit the supreme
court passing
the law
of laws
ultimate legislation
that will end
all law
exactly as
Nature intended.
CATS LITTER-TURE
cats love writers
writing
my cat curled up
on a sheaf of what
I do believe
is my best
work yet
lying there
begging to differ
Tom (named
after a
certain Mr Hardy
and a
certain Mr
Eliot)
kneads the priceless
text with
kitten claws
interviewed afterwards
(in French) tells
some other
feline
intellectuals
of his
great love
and respect for me
even if what I write is shit
GUIDED TOUR
I remember Paris
will Paris
ever
remember me?
I came to listen
I came
to write things down
repair my words
speak the language
of those horrible invaders
my ancestors
you see the imprint here
on everything
I say
wandering down
the left bank
hunting for absinthe
signs of
Rimbaud’s
drunken boat
ghosts and absences
mist at dusk
and in
the morning
making my own way
finding things out for myself
unlike the Nazis
in 1940
no one
giving me a guided tour.
ONCE UPON A TIME
once upon
a time
we were
slick together
made a child
perfect creature
but time passed
it grew
to confound
surpass our
expectations
became adult
we had to leave
kind of
a sad
goodbye
leave him
a world fucked up
by our generation
trouble with us,
those like us
after a while
we forget
to care
AS YOU RECITED
was following you
up the hill,
climbing, climbing,
as you recited
but then
looked back (fatal
flaw) only to
realize,
what was a mighty river,
now, barely a stream,
now just a
couple of intrepid
stragglers,
the number diminished
so many disappeared
and now
just you and I until
with shock I
realized
that even you
had, lost heart, had
lost faith, or
it was
always a con
not willing
to die
upon
that hill
the whole of humanity
regimented, controlled,
faithfully in
line
told
what to do
marching off
to war
for Empire
to shed their blood
die in
droves
that power never
show
its
powerless face
POOR OLD
poor old
dystopia
what is
there
left to say
sadly, can
no longer
be science
fiction creature
of dark imagination
your evil
become so ordinary,
everyday, run
of the mill, super tawdry,
ultra banal
here is
Hannah Arendt
left
totally gob-
smacked
nothing to add to
the discourse, not
a single
cutting to
the heart erudite
contribution
to capture the moment
define the terrain
TALKING DESIGN
Chomsky being currently out of commission
dunno who is going to
explain to me
whether love
is transitive
or intransitive verb
and then,
as regarding the word
as substantive
is it here
by design or
off the cuff a thing
we just
make?
and talking design
blue prints, project management,
where are
we exactly now as
everything
ebbs and
flows?
time not just elastic
but a kind
of liquid
I have felt that before
and,
Occam’s razor aside,
do believe it confirmed
inside outside
don’t spook me out
with talk of wall to
wall
consciousness
sloshed around
like buckets of whitewash
yes
talking of design
why were we not all created,
designated, love engineers,
exquisite
mechanics of pleasure
so much in our specs (as
sent out
into deep space)
to have us believe this
well within our range
poems 2 die for