Check out other work in the Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay series here.
Strange Faces Other Minds 11: College
This Mary Ruefle poem is one of my favorites of hers. I haven’t heard her read it unfortunately, but I found this in her Trances of the Blast collection.
Check out other work in the Strange Faces Other Minds series here.
Bookshelf 17: In the Realm of Perfection
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Occasional Verse 3: Reading Nietzsche Before Watching It’s a Wonderful Life
These spirits do not mix.
All it took was a 30 minute dose of Nietzsche
on the herd mentality, mobbing,
and the perversion of the ubermench’s spirit,
to make George Bailey’s wonderful life a Greek tragedy.
Prior to this encounter, I had seen the movie
over 15 times, usually during holidays,
and it always touched me.
But this was the first time I saw
George’s family, friends, and townspeople
ply that combination
of guilt, shame, and sex
(not to mention some angel dust pyrotechnics)
to level George Bailey, man of talent.
And on this viewing, surprise of surprises,
Mr. Potter turns out to be the only man
trying to save poor George,
even if it is
only out of self interest.
And all those gut-wrenching moments
coming so close to escaping:
the board meeting,
the bank run,
the train station with Harry,
the call from Sam Wainwright,
(if that idiot can make it anyone can).
If only Ernie the cabbie
would just chloroform Georgie-boy.
Just so he could get out of his own way
for a half an hour.
The real dagger in the soul is the end
when he’s wet, disheveled
with tinsel matted on his head,
looking out as an imbecile on all proceedings,
as he is made
to feel grateful for it all.
Check out all the work in the Collection: Occasional Verse
Uncollected 62, Window in Snow
Check out other work in the Uncollected series here.
Racists of America Club Note #13
I lost a coat as a kid when we were staying in a hotel in the southwest. I’d been playing with another kid staying there on the hotel’s sportcourt. The boy was Mexican. When the coat went missing my dad asked me where I thought it was. I told him the Mexican boy probably stole it. My dad called me on that assumption immediately and that same day he found my coat in the hotel’s lost and found. My dad bringing it to me mentioned it was probably the boy that turned it in.
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Dirty Dish Gallery 29: Cracks
Check out other work in the Dirty Dish Gallery here.
The 17/18 Poems 33: A Square Yes
a square-yes
no not even that
or maybe it doesn’t
find its fold
the map I mean
make it into work
of the captured heart
the heel is heavy
I serve
a practiced gesture
since I can’t say no
I won’t
Check out other work in the 17/18 Poems series here.
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 15: Cement
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Strange Faces Other Minds 10: Eggrolls
This is one of my favorites. I’ve heard Shapiro read this one. It’s great spoken or on the page. Here is the page-version from Slate.
Check out other work in the Strange Faces Other Minds series here.
Bookshelf 16: Crying of Lot 49
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Occasional Verse: Series Descriptor
Occasional Verse is an attempt to reimagine that genre of poetry around smaller events. Events that are still meaningful in a life without being the major threshold events that are the mainstay of occasional verse: birth, marriage, death…
Check out all the work in the Collection: Occasional Verse
Uncollected 61, Brush
Check out other work in the Uncollected series here.
Racists of America Club Note #12
(an attempt at dialogue, I’m viewing this as the founder being interviewed by a reporter)
-How do you try to “escape” racism?
-Mostly by talking. We each share a little something. It could be something going on at the moment. It could be something from the past that a person is working through. The important part is that it’s not judged. Each person says what’s in their heart. They learn to trust the group. One guy has a black guy at work he’s having problems with. One girl has a story from when she was ten years old that she is still ashamed of.
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Dirty Dish Gallery 29: Red Drops
Check out other work in the Dirty Dish Gallery here.
The 17/18 Poems 32: Of Made To Gather
of made to gather
jingles many songs
feeds a complex hunger
live at your ear
to notice and care
admitting exchange
eyes never shut
sense trying to make itself
mist more than memory
a raft of deadmen
late at night
in low earth orbit
Check out other work in the 17/18 Poems series here.
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 14: Cracked
Check out other work in the Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay series here.
Strange Faces Other Minds 9: Le Petit Vie
I first heard Le Petit Vie on the Poetry Foundation’s Poem of the day podcast. I love Edwin Butt’s poem written too.
Check out other work in the Strange Faces Other Minds series here.
Bookshelf 15: Jayhawker
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Occasional Verse 2: Driving the Wrong Way Down a One Way Street
You entered the do not enter
and there is no way out but through.
You will learn that the usually effective
embarrassed/apologetic wave has its limits.
Even the church-going mother
in the hatchback
taking her children to school
can be seen muttering
a few non-biblical epithets
under her breath.
Her stare is enough to wish for the end times.
You have screwed this up for everyone
and will have to keep screwing
because backing up is worse than continuing.
You can only manage your level of wrong here.
Driving the wrong way down a one way street is like
putting a roasted potato in your mouth
at a dinner party that is way too hot
but you can’t spit it out.
So take the honking,
take the shrugs,
take the fingers.
This is an exercise in humility.
It is spiritually cleansing.
Remember Elliot’s words
Nothing dies harder than
the desire to think well of self
and know that today,
if just for a little while,
you killed it.
Check out all the work in the Collection: Occasional Verse
Uncollected 60, Smug
Check out other work in the Uncollected series here.
Racists of America Club Note #11 (a cry for help)
I have a question about the Racists of America Club. I’ve been working on it like I said. I seem to have gotten into it by opening it as an interview. Right now it doesn’t have the bite of a real story though. It is more akin to one of the Socratic dialogues in Plato in which the star is the idea less than the characters discussing the idea. I think one of the problems of the story for me is that I actually believe in the idea too much. It is not like a real interrogation. I’m too one-sided about it. Have you ever had this problem writing a story? Maybe I should be writing an essay instead? Help! -BW
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Dirty Dish Gallery 28: Nail Clippings
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The 17/18 Poems 31: Early The Scarlet Morning
early the scarlet morning
the sky floods
blood ruddy
we must remember
the heart is simple
the limousine full
it is ancient
it is awful
image: turning baskets over
Check out other work in the 17/18 Poems series here.
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 13: Boxed Box
Check out other work in the Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay series here.
Strange Faces Other Minds 8: The Rain
Bookshelf 14: Trances of the Blast
Check out other work in the Bookshelf series here.
Occasional Verse 1: Arguing About Whether You are Arguing
You are discussing a movie with your wife.
Talk has circled around various interpretations,
and now you find yourself debating, rather vigorously,
whether you agree with each other.
You maintain that with minor exceptions you do.
Your wife is quite certain that you don’t.
Don’t be surprised.
For if there is an acorn through which
to glimpse the forest of marriage,
it must be the argument about whether you are arguing.
And so, here we have
in this discourse
the inability of two to be one,
coupled with the relentless determination
that quite simply two equals one.
It’s a very real physical impossibility,
a duality of states
as in superposition
not as one, not as two
but, for lack of a better term,
a one / not one.
Uncollected 59, Lines
Check out other work in the Uncollected series here.
Racists of America Club Note #10
Talking to a reporter:
So this is my point, there are a lot of people out there that are a little racist, but don’t think of themselves as racist. In fact, my guess is most of the racism in America is of this sort. There are very few people that even in private conceive of themselves as racists. I would also guess given that our difficult 400 years of race relations that nobody has been untouched by that history. Struggling with race is in our cultural DNA. Calling somebody a racist is basically calling them American.
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Dirty Dish Gallery 27: Artichoke Burn
Check out other work in the Dirty Dish Gallery here.
The 17/18 Poems 30: Willow Said to Be Weeping
willow said to be weeping
joy said to be mocking
hope said to be thin
and the cargo was not slaves
this is the verbal energy
that surrounds the contemplation
of difficult (I mean ravenous) things
a bit daring I do say,
unlovely hand,
you are the subject given over
just like the dead
and in such quantities,
such well-meaning forevers
Check out other work in the 17/18 Poems series here.
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 12: Ticket Sign
Check out other work in the Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay series here.
Strange Faces Other Minds 7: Presque Isle
In every life, there’s a moment or two.
In every life, a room somewhere, by the sea or in the mountains.
On the table, a dish of apricots. Pits in a white ashtray.
Like all images, these were the conditions of a pact:
on your cheek, tremor of sunlight,
my finger pressing your lips.
The walls blue-white; paint from the low bureau flaking a little.
That room must still exist, on the fourth floor,
with a small balcony overlooking the ocean.
A square white room, the top sheet pulled back over the edge of the bed.
It hasn’t dissolved back into nothing, into reality.
Through the open window, sea air, smelling of iodine.
Early morning: a man calling a small boy back from the water.
That small boy–he would be twenty now.
Around your face, rushes of damp hair, streaked with auburn.
Muslin, flicker of silver. Heavy jar filled with white peonies.
Every time I read this it takes me to my room somewhere. I first experienced this poem on the page. I wish I could find a recording of Gluck reading it.
Check out other work in the Strange Faces Other Minds series here.
The Mantra of Craft T-shirt Gallery 15
Strange Faces Other Minds 6: Somebody in a Bar
This is a great example of how lightning can strike anywhere. I photo copied this page from a book of poems in the library. I didn’t like any of the other poems. I don’t even like this poem, but the second stanza by itself is probably the best thing I’ve read all year. It kills me every time I read it. I tried to track down who wrote it, but wasn’t able to. If anyone reads and recognizes it, please let me know.
Bookshelf 13: God’s Silence
Racists of America Club Note #9
The reason I can’t write the story is that I believe in the idea too much. It would be the same as writing one dimensional characters that are surrogates for pure good or evil. I don’t have the ability to interrogate the idea.
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Uncollected 58, Comb
Strange Faces Other Minds 5: Birdseed
Robert Saunders was a good friend. He passed away 10 years ago and I still miss him. It is hard to know if I’d like this poem as much if I didn’t know him personally. It definitely reminds me about what I loved so much being around him. I guess it doesn’t really matter though, if you love a poem, you love a poem.
Birdseed
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 11: Pitted Blue Wall
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 10: Staples
The 17/18 Poems 29: Stubbornly Former
by this kind
he means cancer
the prospect he attaches to firmly
narrative abusing time…again
he is the tom of love now
all windows
in the mood to be forgotten
while others discuss
bribes and blandishments
instead of the love
they are too afraid to want
let the heaven we inherit approach
out of the deep business of some dream,
that heaven so stubbornly former
Dirty Dish Gallery 26: Salad Gone
Uncollected 57, Second Hell
My company for eternity
Would be “onerousâ€
Said the devil
And that is how second hell started
I called to the cloying
The grating, the unambitiously mean
With no small pride
I say we are many
Light 26: building occluding sun
Check out other work in the Light series here.
The 17/18 Poems 28: No, Mrs. Khokhlakov, No
no, Mrs. Khokhlakov, no
what can one say
of how to live a life
other than
to just survive it
burnt shame
darkening memory
can God even caution you now?
I hope, but hope only
waiting to be told
that Icarus melts the stars
Bookshelf 12: The History of English Poetry
The 17/18 Poems 27: From Where the Animating Myth
from where the animating myth
such a thing including
the farmer/cow rehearsal
always like we call them
we first and death as dead
I was young once
mind big like a city
human above the body
two ass-clenching years of it
like a bird too chirpy
practicing my no-one in a bar routine
you don’t know how shitty perfect feels
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 9: Grate
The Social Unit 11: The Problem of Justice
Justice is not an us versus them problem. It’s an us versus us problem. Any inversion of social/economic/political class just perpetuates injustice. I.e. the difference between labor/capital or high/low class is only an accident of history, not written in our biology. That is why “taking” power only results in “taking on” all the moral problems once despised in an oppressor. A deeper kind of a revolution is one that frees oppressors as well as the oppressed.
Check out all the work in the collection: The Social Unit
Series X, 36 Bathers
The 17/18 Poems 26: Various and Blinding
and if not why not
talk to me
I’ve given
a wonderful way
a wordful song
a foolhardy love
sometimes you need
off and unlike
various and blinding
I’m not saying stupid, stupid
Caveat to Aspiring Immortals 19
The 17/18 Poems 25: I’m telling
there falling wasted
when I think closed down
with such a thing including
if by yes
of course I’m telling
what?/but cool
a sign of grace
these woods, these old people
the spring of morning
the bones I still remember
Dirty Dish Gallery 25: Baking Pan
Practicing My Writerly Gaze 1, Manscaping
It is kind of hard shaving your asshole.
It’s a bit of a blind spot really. I have many.
Blind spots, not assholes.
Why do I do it? I do it like I do many things.
Like writing poems.
I am wondering if poems are like assholes–
hard to find, delicate,
somewhere you shouldn’t go near with a razor.
Yet we feel compelled. I even listen with razors.
Burroughs wrote a lot about assholes.
One of his characters taught his asshole to talk.
It didn’t end well. I can’t help thinking,
if mine could talk, what would it say?
It always looks angry. At least in the mirror.
Mirrors are funny though.
In a car once with my brother, I heard
an interview in which DFW said
he believed something down to his asshole.
What he believed, I can’t remember
even at the time it didn’t seem
as interesting as where
he felt that belief.
I’ve never felt anything that deep.
Maybe my sphincter lacks conviction?
I’ll deal with that later. For tonight
my little rosebud will have to be content
with being groomed: bald and beautiful.
Now I realize a poet asks a lot
when he asks the reader to contemplate his asshole.
If you are still reading, thank you for indulging me.
I want you to know
I didn’t try to write this poem.
It doesn’t make any sense
but I feel like it picked me.
Where poems come from and why
is a knotted mystery to me.
Tipping my seat to DFW I never fail to feel
that kind of uncertainty where the poems don’t shine.
Bookshelf 11: The Hartford Book
The 17/18 Poems 24: Dude Raw
a break like a bend
more or less alive
many rains,
desires, and ideas
dude raw too afraid
the whole jealousy
a suitcase of a man
or a tarball ruining
someone’s beach
the freckled little milk
the mall of dead commerce
the sad clock of particular energy
it’s mixed character
tick, tock, tick
Dirty Dish Gallery 24: Orange Fluff
Strange Faces Other Minds 4: Dancing With Strom
This Nikky Finney poem is too long for my usual taste, but just took me in. I heard it first and was enchanted by the multitude of conflicting emotions that one event could elicit. Having since read it, I still really enjoy the text version. Here is a link to both versions on the Poetry Foundation’s site.
Light 25: light in a passage way
The 17/18 Poems 23: And Said Twice
before and astonished, poems.
beneath the honest
and worse the sincere
by hook or by crook?
-crook.
down, as in, to the bottom
then a lateral move
at slow velocity.
And said twice
it seemed
the truth was being told.
Uncollected 55, Window
Racists of America Club Note #8
There was a woman at the meeting. She was older with a huge Elvis caricature on her t-shirt. I wouldn’t have noticed it, but the pompadour fell right across her large breasts. Every time she moved or spoke Elvis’ coif bobbed up and down.
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 8: Sticker
The 17/18 Poems 22: You Didn’t Expect That
minimal, slow, and well put
his mode, total attention
a clever view of necessity
and well worth the fight
here is limbo
you didn’t expect that
yet the world opens
the very kind of north
we are talking about.
a place of faith
deadly serious, solemn
the silence
like a prism for words
and their separation
Bookshelf 10: Mother Said
Bookshelf 9: On Being Blue
The 17/18 Poems 21: Soon
shakes and groans. shivers
the sky was two
was too watery
what a week
how feels a fellow?
the patient, the fellow
lives to fail
must operate soon
Collection of Oddities: The Hair-lo 18
The Story of Discourse 13: Danto’s Gallery of Indiscernibles
In Dantos Gallery there are many red squares. Some are framed hanging proudly on the wall. Some are being prepped for artists, Giorgione for example, to further adorn. Another is by the stairs simply waiting to have ‘exit’ stenciled on it. Being spun through room after room thick with the presence of red squares of every sort… oh look, there’s one on the shoulder of a security guard…the question one is intended to ask is this: is art camouflaged in the banal or is the banal camouflaged in art? How does one find art when it is so cleverly hidden? Or stranger, how does one find art when it is so clearly abundant?
Dirty Dish Gallery 23: Toast
The 17/18 Poems 20: Never-ending
No spare of the headier side
my soul but a devil
the sheath of personal nature
sweating in the shed
prone to need
a list of battles
the body, the great landlord
it’s complaints, coercion,
never-ending
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 7: Plank
Racists of America Club Note #7
I’m having trouble starting from the beginning. I could start in the middle at an actual meeting. Or maybe a reporter interviewing one of the founders.
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Series X, 35 Ghost Flash
The 17/18 Poems 19: The Rush to Gather
of that much.
both be foolish.
spaders.
smile bones I.
get lost.
are now.
into the work.
a true report
as in the rock
the mind on words
the rush to gather
many great songs
the real suchness
Bookshelf 8: Baltasar and Blimunda
The 17/18 Poems 18: Knowing Better than Love
he’s a person that knows better than love
but can’t stop himself all the same.
she was a church in the sky
dropping birdshit on people below.
in Britain, things were done differently:
more slowly and with less passion.
okay, something hit me somewhere.
is it that
I can see myself a portion of malice
or at least the meander of their doing?
our hero arrives in take charge mode,
but who can ultimately confirm or deny the world.
we are left with its giant question.
hero cowers. It’s okay big guy.
The Mantra of Craft T-shirt Gallery 14
Strange Faces Other Minds 3: Seed Poem
This is an old favorite. I only know it from a audio compilation of poems from Giorno Poetry Systems. It’s read by Charles Stein. I can’t find the text of it anywhere. If you have the poem or can find it online, let me know. This poem is as smart, playful, and funny as any I know. Here is a link to the album I found it on. It’s called Seed Poem.
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 6: Fence
The 17/18 Poems 17: Elegy Blowing Through
beautiful drunk eyes
through which they fall
memory’s sunburn
all over my face
a dangerous inlet
a poem perched on arrival
the elegy blowing through
Racists of America Club Note #6
I thought an early humorous episode by the founders would be to have them create a list of white guilt/shame provoking outings. They would call them field trips.
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Collection of Oddities: Sweet Talk the Hot Box 12: I Just Want a Little Bit
The 17/18 Poems 16: It Seemed to the Dying
her sad
it seemed
to the dying
I’m saying.
money,
can we say,
is the most
that matters.
Dirty Dish Gallery 22: Birthday Cake Tray
Bookshelf 7: The Body Artist
The 17/18 Poems 15: A Wall Is a Door
so I have heard
and do in part believe
a wall is a door
you can’t open
am I the one? honestly?
is it Japan where you are?
the distance loving subdivision
compellingly unlikable
(influence felt here)
Paint Chips, Cracks, and Decay 5: Safety
Strange Faces Other Minds 2: Ararat
Collection of Oddities: The Hair-lo 17
The 17/18 Poems 14: If You Break a Name
if you break a name
the cause it gives
the action I mean
is/I have no idea
but think of it this way
because coming north is impossible
what could be ________
and why such hot blood
other than they hate you
and hate you in every color
Uncollected 54, Dried Leaf
Racists of America Club Note #5
I was thinking about plot points for the story.
-origin story
-the club’s first black member
-a visitor misunderstands the club to be a solidarity club not a recovery program
-media attention
-a pc crusader visits the meeting
-a meeting is protested
-founders brainstorm how to adapt the 12 steps
-a nationwide tragedy happens like a Charlottesville, police killing, or a black church shooting
Check out other work in the Racists of America series here.
Dirty Dish Gallery 21: Eggs and Ajvar
The 17/18 Poems 13: Smile Bones I
of that much.
both be foolish.
spaders.
smile bones I.
get lost.
are now.
into the work.
a true report
as in the rock
the mind on words
the rush to gather
many great songs
the real suchness
Bookshelf 5: Thai
The 17/18 Poems 12: The Dislocations of Summer
the dislocations of summer
head behind the stars
thinking right now
something ought to
fall out of the sky.
if we feel a who
where a what should be
or a when that reveals itself
to be a why, then
let time fall back on itself
think it’s own tomorrow
swim like an ocean
an Athens of thought