Poetry 2

Some new and selected poems

Epithalamium — poem pages by Robert A.B. Sawyer
Best New Poets 2007; 50 poems from emerging writers. Edited by Natasha Trethewey, Jeb Livinggood, series editor.

On Hearing From Tom Hart That Matthew Courtney Is Dead

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him.

1.

It would have been kinder if he had been allowed to enjoyOne more summer, one last summer."Summertime, when the living is easy."A few months more with which to settle his affairsTo have one last laugh before turning his back on usOn another wet and punishing fall.

2.

He lived longer than any of us might have expectedAnd, died before any of us would have wanted.There were still prizes and acclaim to claimBadges for heroism and, of course,The feather in his capA Times' Sunday Magazine feature article."Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs?"

3.

Ours is a grim little world; more knot than pastureAnd, he was a grim little skull of a man who would lose all his teeth.Before he lost his bite.
He hailed from Portland, Oregon, Catholic OregonAnd, if that green place betrayed him or he betrayed itHe spent much of his life seeking forgivenessOn his knees, on unforgiving pavement.
He was a poet, a clever, too clever by a half, loudmouth poetBald, exposed, the man-child pointing to the naked emperor.The man talked too much.
He was a street artist, too, a serious artistDrawing for years on loose pages of the WSJ and the TimesTen thousand hours divining with Sharpies and colored markers.On pieces of cardboard, and subway announcementsWood planks, too. Whatever gusts of exhaust threw at him.

4.

Poor Yorick of Prince Street, a purposeful disagreeable manA grinning, terrible, impulsive punster,Performer, provocateur, a crowd-pleasing clown.Content, contented to be content.
Is there a specific moment in time when a man's life turns to Hell?Toward Hell? Down, downThat long, too damn long, descent downDown to Hell?
He was a gymnast with words,He spun them, turned and twisted themWhile squatting for years on, and around, Prince StreetBetween Greene and Broadway.
Drawing self-portraits, poorly disguisedSay, no eyes, closed eyes, open eyes, bright eyedThe artist as an exotic.Inspired by the African masks, Picasso found irresistible.
On the page, above, below the fold were strangers, strange men,often sporting a hatThat sat lightly on their heads like Sinatra's did.
In art as in life, the man was another, otherAnd it had to hurt.
And, he also drew skylines, which were rarely kind,Seen from the pavement, from his perchHis "Steps To Nowhere Gallery"Which turned out to be sadly propheticA pun gone monstrously wrong.
He drew what he knewSold what he could.

5.

Ours is a grim little world, breeding grim little people.Damn poetry, the arts, fashion, and theaterAnd, buried treasure, unearthed every season.
Did I say the man was an actor?Exaggerated features, gestures, God, he was good.
So, why was he left behindTo die a little grim skull of a manA slow motion, momento mori.
$20 bought a drawing and as many insults as you could bear.Golden tongued, foul-mouthed, honied tongue,Butter wouldn't melt in that mouth.
A vicious queen dying of AIDS, dying for years and yearsDying for laughs, dying for tears.
Prince Street's doorways were his atelier, stage, galleries.Sometimes he hid, perched like Oedipus's SphinxWound up, ready to pounce.
The clock, tick tock, his clock was always ticking soOnce his tongue was sprung, it sprangAnd he'd take off after itMore ham than harm.
You ended a harangue by turning your back,And going about your business.
He particularly enjoyed the attention of tourists, who were taughtTo hold their tongues, while he tickled them with hisMinistrations.
This fool was no fool.He knew on what side his bread was buttered.

6.

Spleen is not a word you often hear, here.He must have known his BaudelaireAnd been influenced by him, because for yearsHe dragged himself out of the dark and then into the lightAnd back into the dark. Back and forth,
Grim the subway ride back to Brooklyn, to his Godforsaken roomGrim the subway ride back to Soho, for showtimes.
Tick and tock,His clock was tickingBut until he was clocked, our grim little poetOffered bits of his spleen to any of the grim littlePedestrians, shopgirls and boys, tourists,Whoever held out their handsAs if receiving communion.
Cock-centered, cocksure, cockatoo, cockadoodlingLapsed Catholic, melancholic, metaphorOur fool, unbowed by the last humiliationOut the next day to receive the next blowAnd the inevitableNext blowAfter that.That's showbiz.
Until he wasn't where, anywhere, we expected to find him."Poor Yorick, I knew him"One of the most photographed men in New York.And, likely, the City's best-selling artist.Our fool was no fool.

Donald Sawyer's Dead or The Last of the Gray Flanneled Men

e.e. cummings

Buffalo Bill's defunct
Donald Sawyer's dead.Who used to stay at the Hilton, Sheraton, Palace, Plaza, St. RegisAnd ate at the Palm, Sparks, Gallagher's, 21 Club and The Four Seasons.
Who wore worsted, twill and gabardine in solidsPinstripes, glen plaid and herring bone.
The man liked blondes, brunettes and redheadsTall slender church-going womenExotic voluptuaries who charged by the hour.Housewife, coed, salesgirl, brand managerChic or raw, it was all the same to him.
He dreamed and kept his dreams to himself.
The man worked, built, gambled, won, lost, began againAnd again made it and again threw it away.He sang for his supper, picked a few pocketsBoasted, bragged, betrayed, and betrayedIn the end, alone, paid the devil his due.
Donald Sawyer's deadWho walked in Church's, Florsheim, Gucci and BallyWho flew on PanAm, Delta, American and UnitedAnd drove a red Triumph, a black Lincoln, a white Mercedes,and when I saw him last.A borrowed sapphire Jaguar.
He dreamed and kept his dreams to himself.

Enameled Twilight

This place, so real, it appears artificialLike the painted backdropOf some Technicolor musicalWhere real was simply not good enough.
Here too are colors too true —Blue without a dropOf anything that isn't blue.
The sky, sapphireAnd the gently rolling spacesEnameled with a hard ice shellThe blue of a weak gas flame.
And these trees too are blue.Bereft of song and swayThey tremble against a transparent skyLike hands reaching for a momentMore of life.
The park's enameled.Above it, nothing flies,Across it, nothing movesExcept for this polished ribboned pathAnd my own darting brown eyes.

In a Church by Chance

I am so tired of being observedOf holding my tongueAnd hiding my nakedness.
I've seen enough.I've heard enough.I've endured too much.
But, before I go, tell me.Why are bright objectsNever bright enough?

Legacy

For Murray Schneiderman

We die with empty handsThat was your final lesson.You might have taught:We live with empty hands.But that would have been too abstractA gesture.
Instead,You promised me every bright object, everythingSweet, everything ripe, but left nothingHaving lost everythingYou accumulated over 80-odd years.
Love was your excuse to hide the truth—That we expand, contract, and in the endHave nothing to show for our painBut our pain.
Now, a year after your death,I am no closer to understanding how things are lostOr why it is necessaryWe must lose them.

Moon From the Corner of Charlton and 6th Avenue, September 19, 2002

For Charlotte Barnard

Ladies and Gentlemen, I direct your attention overhead.Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you a marvel.Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you your moon.
Are there no taker?No one among you who will steal a glance.Ladies and Gentlemen I implore you.
What has she done to be so reviled?This spent coin. Shorn collaborator. Empty promise.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I offer for your pleasureLadies and Gentlemen, step right up and see for yourselfLadies and Gentlemen, for one night only
This broken heart.This downcast eye.This frozen tear.
Ladies and Gentlemen, there's nothing to fear.Look into this blind mirrorAnd see yourself as you really areMore than a fragment but less than whole.

The Three Gorges of the Yangtze River

Dynasty after dynasty after dynastyFrom Xia and Tang, through Mao and YuanPoets have praised these rocksAnd the fierce river that made them.
But poets are lazy and avoid hard work.To them rivers are metaphorsWrecked ships and drowned fishermen are metaphors.The tears of wives and mothers are beautiful.Their desperate cries and screeches make a kind of musicWhich in poems are frequently described as beautiful.
But from this point on there will be no music.No more metaphors or, for that matter poets.Qutang, Wuxia and Xiling will disappearBehind the monstrous Three Gorges Damn.And the water, for all its centuries of howling, will be calm.
"No music." Perhaps I overstated my case.Metaphors, like energy, won't be destroyed or transformed.As for beauty, we shouldn't be surprised when poets find itIn displaced people, drowned villages, engineered landscapes.
After all, what possible use is there in suffering except toTo inspire words so full of feeling that they break into song.

Fallen (On Broadway)

David Ignatow, From Three In Transition

I wish I understood the beauty in leaves falling. To whom are we beautiful as we go?
Will I end up like him, oblivious to time and placeFuriously scratching at a small square of paper?Better him than the woman squatting between parked cars.Or like that tiny man, who having misplaced everything else,Decided his shoes were dispensable too.
It's hard to be part of another's fall.Fall is the only word for it.Even from a distance it's unnerving. Isn't it?And aren't we ashamed of our response to it?How we wish they'd go away, bad dreams and all.
Still, it's hard to see so many falling.Hard to imagine how anyone can be so aloneHere in a world that sings of little else but love.

Fallen 2

A man on fireA woman, shrunken as a dying catA child beating his arms like a bird"Cockadoddledo."
They emerge like hornets from behind a wall.Each one inhuman.Each one more monstrous than the last.
I could say, "Isn't it just like a pageant?"But we both know better than that.Only a fool sees beauty in them.Only a liar sings their praise.
Can a person really be transparentOr a woman turn to stone?When a people are exhaustedAnything is possible.
Watch as one man spontaneously combustsWhile that woman blossoms into allegory.

Girl in a Chocolate Shop

She's unhappyAnd in a chocolate shop, too.Of courseOne shrugs.Irony is pretty much the order of the day.Still one wondersWhy?A broken nail? An impatient customer?Or has she grown bored with chocolateAs one tires of too keen a lover.
She takes a length of ribbon, pulls it as long as her armShe ties a bow.I like to think that when she hands the boxShe smiles.Those expensive chocolates will make someone happy.
This girl could play Leporello to some Don GiovanniCertainly a reward waits in heaven for peopleWho water a budding romanceHasten a reconciliation.
I hope, she doesn't end her day with a piece of toastA bowl of condensed soup.
I watch herStretchAnother length of blue ribbonTie another bow.Still unhappy.
Was another customer rude?Who would blaspheme the GodsBy showing impatience in a chocolate shop?
Then again it's possibleShe's grown to detest the scent of chocolateAs they say prostitutes tire of flesh.Or is it simply that being trapped inside a candy storeIs too unbearable to endureLike having your cake and eating it too.
(Ile Saint Louis, May 2004)

Good Night

To find His light I made my own dark.Although I'd been assuredIt was extinguished some time agoI continue on.
I move through my darkBy touch, by smell, by instinctBy fear, by hurt, by doubtBy bruise, by cry, by blood.I continue on.
The universe expands or contractsExplodes or implodesIts entirety contained on a black boardMarked by white scratches.I continue on.
I am not discouraged that the sun setsOr by that same treacherous sun's return.Light, dark, dark, light, neither illuminesOr conceals my way.I continue on.

How I Know She's Coming Home

For Jodi Lister

Her apricot soapFrench milled and expensiveIs wrapped in violet tissue paperAnd hidden in the medicine cabinet.
In the dish on the sink she left behindA bar of Ivory.Plain and substantial as a baseballThat's for me.
Five thousand miles awayAnd she does not want me to use her soap.
I unwrap it and hold it as carefullyAs an antique netsuke.Its perfumeRises like a summer morningReaching through a screen door.
When she's here I receive strict instructionNot to use her creams, shampoos or powders.Although I may touch any part of her body I pleaseHer beauty products are taboo.
Yesterday, it removed bus exhaust and sweatLeaving her face soft and damp,So when I kissed her it was like touching moss.
Today, I run water, make a lather and inhale.Although it's my face that looks back from the mirrorIt is her scent that slips into the roomLike a secret hushed from the lips that held it.

Winter Walk No. 1, 1995

These trees, stripped bare.I feel so embarrassed for them.Is it because I also know what it's likeTo extend an empty hand?