Poetry

[pugetopolis]

Jeremy Bennett “The Perfect Wave” (2008)

Cleaving the American Wave

http://www.snarke.com/2009/08/cleaving-american-wave.html

“Space assumes the form
of a bubble—whose limits
are entirely plastic”
—Kit Robinson
In the American Tree

“The cleavage—
goes through all the
phases of experience.
It is the jump from
prose to the process
of the imagination”
—William Carlos Williams
Spring and All

The cleave—is incomplete
It’s not just—left brain/right brain
It’s West Coast/East Coast WAVE

The Western Imagination—
Versus the worn-out decadent
Sold-out old-money East Coast

The cleave—is right down the
Mississippi Middle of America—
The East Coast—is fryed

Stale as toast—desolate
Hard-pressed—Ponzi-queered
Bad boyz—of the Beltway

West coast cleavage—goes
Just the opposite way thru
Olson’s projective verse

East coast Maximus—dead
Dead as Massachusetts Gloucester
Time to map Maximus—Westcoast now

Cleavage—jumps from one
Coast to another—Movement
Is the American imagination

Only trailer trash Imagination
In all its vulgar immediateness
Can dynamize it—Transpacifica!!!

Transatlantic—poetry is dead
The Euro-imagination—stinks
Except for Cézanne & Picasso

The pure products—of America
Go crazy—Jars in Tennessee crack
Old red Wheelbarrows—rot

Time for some—West Coast
Devil-may-care Indian blood
The sheer lust for adventure

Numbed terror—Perfect Wave
Brains—the truth about being
Wild and Free—once again!!!

The Cleavage—is complete
The Blogosphere—is the Net
Vast Pacifica—the new WAVE!!!

[pugetopolis]

Riding the Next Wave

“This is my last
communiqué from
the planet of monsters”
—Roberto Bolaño
Distant Star

never again—will we immerse ourselves
in literature’s—stupid bottomless pit
we’ll never go back—to print culture again

we’re addicted to—the blogosphere
that’s where—we’ll publish our crapola
the net—our aloof task mistress

digital dominatrix—google me baby!!!
may snarke—disambiguate my lousy life!!!
may wikipedia—salve my sick weltschmerz!!!

and when the welt—comes to an end
and they turn off—all the electricity
may there be—pure numinousity

[pugetopolis]

some haiku

faulkner haiku
—for laurie

the haunting presence—
of light in august—fills me
with delta sadness…

mississippi haiku
—for willreedi

biloxi boyfriend—
sullen dormitory nights
mississippi frights!!!

elba haiku
—for knoxharrington

youth in asia—
anime counterforce to
western ennui

show boat haiku
—for kitinkaboodle

ava gardner sang—
so many swan songs for me
her mulatto son

[pugetopolis]

Joanna Silvestri

“The clinic wasn’t
luxurious”
—Roberto Bolaño
Distant Star

The last time I saw her—
Before we said goodbye
She turned on the TV
And switched to something
On the Italian channel.

We shook hands—
And I left—as I was going
Out the door—I couldn’t
Help glancing back at her

She already had the
Headphones on—and
There was an odd
Expression on her face

A military sort of—
Expression—I don’t know
How to describe it—
As if her sick room…

The cockpit of a spaceship—
And she were the pilot
Firmly in control. And what
Happened in the end?

[pugetopolis]

Pugetopolis....I've been waiting for you to get to that Williams/Faulkner we talked about......All those books and films just sitting there waiting.

Pale Fire

“I was the shadow
of the waxwing slain—
by the false azure in
the windowpane.”
—Nabokov, Pale Fire

I blame the NYTimes—
For just about everything
Especially Nabokov…

[Lhoffman]

some haiku

faulkner haiku
—for laurie

the haunting presence—
of light in august—fills me
with delta sadness…

mississippi haiku
—for willreedi

biloxi boyfriend—
sullen dormitory nights
mississippi frights!!!

elba haiku
—for knoxharrington

youth in asia—
anime counterforce to
western ennui

show boat haiku
—for kitinkaboodle

ava gardner sang—
so many swan songs for me
her mulatto son

Haunting presence....think Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is a ghost story?

[pugetopolis]

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is a ghost story?

Kinda. There’s a ghost in Brick’s closet—his love for Skipper. Maggie knows about it—so does Big Daddy. Gooper knows about it—and do does his lovely wife. That’s why she keeps producing lots of no-neck little monsters—to prove to Big Daddy that Gooper deserves the plantation & all the money.

So there’s a great deal of mendacity to go around—and Maggie’s sick of it. So is Big Daddy. Both try to convince Brick that he’s really straight—that he deserves beautiful Maggie and the whole works. Not just the bottle.

The gay ghost in the closet—a major Tennessee Williams theme in all his movies, short stories and poetry. Night of the Iguana, for example. But even more reeking of "mendacity" in DOMA and the Proposition Hate California gay marriage fiasco.

"Mendacity," one of those key words, titles and phrases that Tennessee Williams was so good at.
 

[madupont]

What about Orpheus Descending? How about The Rose Tatoo, set in Louisiana although I never thought of that particularly as that truck was everywhere.

What did you think of Terence Howard's Brick?

[pugetopolis]

Interesting topic.

I've bumped it up to the Movie Club to see what happens.

http://forums.escapefromelba.com/index.php/topic,190.msg165102.html#msg165102

 

[pugetopolis]

http://www.snarke.com/

Schwarzenegger in Mukluk Drag

No Ugg!!! Mukluk Best For Political Season!!!

No, this isn't an exercise in bad imitations of Native American or Eskimo Fashion Design and Haute Couture. But it may be a nod to their Style.

Touting the Mukluk boots as the newest Alaskan Campaign fashion, the uber-trendy Arnold Schwarzenegger seems all but ready to charm the entire Ugg Population of Alaska to become the first President of the new Offshore Republic—Pacifica.

How exhausting it is to keep up with the trends!!! But the Governator of California—former champion weightlifter and Hollywood movie star—knows how important it is to win the Alaska voters. Governor Schwarzenegger wants to be Pacifica POTUS really bad—the Ugg voters have a friend with the charming goodlooking Schwarzenegger who isn’t bashful about showing a little leg to be El Presidente.

Ugg voters are usually unfashionable in their various mukluk footwear—but recently a pair of coyote mukluks worn by Schwarzenegger at the Fairbanks YMCA drew rave reviews from the usual stoic Indian and Fisherman community. Ears pricked up—when the CA Governator pushed the idea of—the powerful Pacific Wedge of California, Oregon, Washington and Alaska joining together to form a new West Coast Republic.

What better way to stir up publicity and add a little flair to the new concept—than to wear Mukluk boots in the nude and boogie in the igloos with the new generation of Eskimos, Fishermen, Slackers, Hippies and other Pacifica proletariat bent on secession from the Beltway DC Queens back east.

What a dilemma!!! How can lobbyists buy-off a new generation of Mukluk-booted white trash rowdies—when they have everything they already want? Naturally earthquakes, erupting volcanoes and perfect waves lapping the edge of the Gulf of Alaska are demonstrating their approval for the Election of—President Arnold Schwarzenegger as the new Mukluk Major Duomo of the Known Universe!!!

[pugetopolis]

http://www.snarke.com/

Mukluk Boyfriend

Mukluk kid—Call of the Wild!!!
Dancing nude—in your cabin
It sure ain’t—a fancy condo!!!

With nothing on—but your
Coyote mukluks—showing off
The way the boyz—do it right!!!

Up North—in rainy Fairbanks
All the way—to the Bering Sea
All I can say—is take me!!!

When dayz—grow short and
Nightz grow long—Northern Lights
In your long black Indian hair

What else—can a guy do except
Enjoy Eternal night—stay loaded
Feel it all the way—to Yellow Knife!!!

[pugetopolis]

Vincent van Gogh The Poplars at Saint-Rémy

http://www.snarke.com/

The Trees of Lost Time

“Learn from the
winter trees…”
—Carol Ann Duffy
“Unloving,” Rapture

I’ve learned—from winter trees
To kiss the leaves—a long goodbye
Seeing how they—hold their faces
Stricken by Fall—autumnal fingers
Turning to ice—beneath the skylight

Deciduous trees—so much like
Ghost ships shedding sails—
Tall poplars, leafy elms, great
Chestnut boulevards—weeping
Willows, cherry, orange, lime…

It used to depress me—making
Me dumbstruck as summer fell
Away—but then that’s when the
Cedars & firs bend in the moonlight
Welcoming the Pineapple Express

Scudding clouds—perpetual rain
My breastbone—throbbing like some
Turkey wishbone—deep inside me
Just above my Frankenstein heart
Stitched together—monsoon again!!!

Seagulls—high over the lake
Crows from—Dead Horse Canyon
Cormorants gannets—swallows
Down by the dock—swooping thru
The barn door—of my gone mind

[pugetopolis]

http://www.snarke.com/

Night of the Wal-Mart Dead

“They’re coming to
get you, Barbara!!!”
—George Romero,
Night of the Living Dead (1968)

The movie opens up—like Night of the Living Dead
There’s shot of a—long lonely blacktop road
Leading out of a—dead-beat ghost town somewhere
Out to a Wal-Mart store—the only store in town

Johnny, a greasy duck-tail hood vainly looking at
Himself in the mirror—a perfect Elvis Presley hood
Driving his teenage sister—Barbara (Judith O’Day)
To visit the grave of their—shop till you drop mother

She’d dropped dead in the bargain aisle—eyeing crap
And they buried her—in the parking lot cemetery
A Special Deal for all Special Shoppers like her
Right by the flagpole—next to the gas station

Johnny is chewing gum—sipping a can of beer
Bitching about traveling—all the way to crummy
Deadville to show respect—to their Mommy Dearest
Bickering with Barbara—like a scene out of some

Herschell Gordon Lewis flick—Two Thousand Maniacs
“They ought to make Special Day—Mother’ Day.”
Bellyaching about the long drive—from Pittsburgh
Just to visit the gave of their—shopper Mother

“Hey, c’mon Barb—Wal-Mart’s for shopping right?”
Teasing her with the old “coming to get you” routine
But Barbara’s adamant—once a year showing respect
“They ought to make everyday—Mother’s Day!!!”

Only to find Mommy Dearest’s grave—rudely dug up
Along with others in the—scattered blacktop cemetery
Underneath some stark burned-out streetlights
Only to be quickly surrounded by—Living Dead!!!

Bodies of the Wal-Mart Living Dead—all hungry
Barbara screaming—one of the decaying zombies
Bashing in Johnny’s head—with a shovel on sale
His oozing red brains—immediately sucked up

It’s just awful—how greedy the bloodsuckers are
Their sunken-eyed depravity—chilling to the bone
Barbara barely escaping—the clutches of the dead
Horrible denizens of Deadville—brought back to life

It’s Special Day at Wal-Marts—Apocalypse Now!!!
She barely makes it to—an abandoned Winnebago
Locking the door behind her—feeling safe kinda
Only to discover her dead brother—in the bedroom

Shock of shocks—incestuous carnivore desires!!!
The look on Johnny’s dead face—what a Boner!!!
He’s the Special of the Day—Zombie El Supremo!!!
Bad Boy Brother—Wal-Mart meat muy grande!!!

Soon starved fanatic zombies—pounding at the door
Smashing windows to get some—Barbara’s flesh!!!
Johnny’s leering face—getting closer and closer…
Pretty soon Barbara—getting strangely excited?!?

How exquisitely stylish—pseudo-cinéma-véritée!!!
So full of vivisective—vivacious verisimilitude!!!
Turning middleclass USA—into drooling satire
Night of the Wal-Mart Dead—a great gore movie

Double-billed with Slaves of Sodom and Gomorrah
Critics raving about Night—“A horror genre gem”
Wal-Mart parking lot—perfect gothic landscape
“It’s flat murky ambience—tres Hitchcock-esque!!!”

“Brilliant open-ended metaphor—for topical anxiety”
“Just like The Thing—Invaders from Mars along with
The Body Snatchers—Cold War dystopian critiques
Night of the Wal-Mart Dead—Viet Nam War satire

Followed by Dawn of the Wal-Mart Dead—in color
Continuing the parody of—consumerist fantasy
Stalking the malls—zombies in Abercrombie Fitch
Living dead up escalators—cheerful Muzak shoppers

[pugetopolis]

Pulp Poetry

“I steal from every
movie ever made”
—Quentin Tarantino 

Like in Pulp Fiction—
Start it—in medias res
Then work your way out

[Lhoffman]

A poem and painting from Williams:

As I stood in my room tonight, drinking a solitary toast
to the greatest poet of all time, Hart Crane,
I began to dance.

For in the distance I heard a radio playing.

I was in Brooklyn, in view of The Bridge,
I could see it from my seventeenth story window.

I saw you stride across it, Hart, great swinging stars
with lanterns in both hands.

A bellowing voice!  O you were the giant of Brooklyn,
I saw you followed by companies of sailors,

Whitman came after you, too, spewing wine on his beard,
Poe with his raven followed at some distance.

Unholy Trinity!

But there was fellowship in you.

You stood, Crane, on the Bridge and shouted to Melville,
I heard his hollow answer from the deep.

So many swimmers sprang, so many fish!
The air was cut by wings of phosphorescence,

Beneath arcades the hearty loiterers tossed silver coins,
O I, danced with them, too, on my seventeenth story,

I was filled with the running warmth, the greatness of blood
which is you, dear Brawling Crane!

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