Cross Review is a groovy little lit magazine and reading series in New Jersey, and the good editors took my poem, "Fleetwood Mac."
Blog originally designed for the cruelest month, when I scratch out a poem a day in order to stay connected to Robin Reagler. Now also a repository for my matters poetry. (Ab Chaos Poesis is a riff on Ab Chaos Lex, which is Joyce's joke on the catholic motto, ab chaos ordo.) (No relation to the metal band which is top fifty results of a 2020 google search to check the latin.)
19 May 2015
15 April 2015
09 April 2015
08 April 2015
03 April 2015
A little Diane di Prima to Prime the Pumps
REVOLUTIONARY LETTER #19 by Diane di Prima
(for The Poor People’s Campaign)
if what you want is jobs
for everyone, you are still the enemy,
you have not thought thru, clearly
what that means
//
if what you want is housing,
industry (G.E. on the Navaho reservation)
a car for everyone, garage, refrigerator,
TV, more plumbing, scientific
freeways, you are still
the enemy, you have chosen
to sacrifice the planet for a few years of some
science fiction Utopia, if what you want
//
still is, or can be, schools
where all our kids are pushed into one shape, are taught
it’s better to be ‘American’ than black
or Indian, or Jap, or PR, where Dick
and Jane become and are the dream, do you
look like Dick’s father, don’t you think your kid
secretly wishes you did
//
if what you want
is clinics where the AMA
can feed you pills to keep you weak, or sterile
shoot germs into your kids, while Mercke & Co
grows richer
if you want
free psychiatric help for everyone
so that the shrinks
pimps for this decadence, can make
it flower for us, if you want
if you still want a piece
a small piece of suburbia, green lawn
laid down by the square foot
color TV, whose radiant energy
kills brain cells, whose subliminal ads
brainwash your children, have taken over
your dreams
//
degrees from universities which are nothing
more than slum landlords, festering sinks
of lies, so you too can go forth
and lie to others on some greeny campus
//
THEN YOU ARE STILL
THE ENEMY, you are selling
yourself short, remember
you can have what you ask for, ask for
everything
02 April 2015
27 April 2014
talk about it (27)
talk about it, the splendor
Never the language always the rhythm.
Always the beat, the song, the blood’s pulse,
the finger running, thrumming, toe knock knock
knocking against the seat in front, would
you stop, would you just stop. Ever
the nodding, catching the tune, sipping
the melody out of the jazz, sucking
the jazz out of the lyric, hearing
the joke in the shift in the lilt, ready
to laugh at it, ready to cry about it, hard,
heavy sobs, breath lost, sob muscles
essing the body. Never the words, or hardly
ever the words, because here come the waves,
the mountains, here the view of the bounce,
green in all directions and dun and pearl
and undulating marble mounding, squeezing
that space inside, mounting and
again then pushing it out, out, heaving,
hefting, helling, heavening. Again.
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