floetry

8 Jan

I’m usually not a big smoker; we all know i blow enough steam on this blog…haha, I’m so punny! But tonight I did. The night was full of basement and Bullworth. When the debachery ended, I came home and re-read my favorite poem by the fire. It’d been a while since i last read it, and i swear every time is like the first time. It is like respiration for the bohemian soul. For a long time in my young life, i was kinda just like, ‘shit, all of the poetry I’m exposed to is written by hysterical/depressed white women or rich, alcoholic white men who are elite and write angsty and/or depressed and/or melodramatic reflections of blades of grass, ravens and seclusion.’ But then came shakespear. Sorry for insulting any literary egg-heads out there, but even though I respect shakespear, I never really connected to his work…or to THIER work, depending on the conspiracy theory you buy into. Then came some black women poets which were beautiful and got me to rethinking my anti-poetry-for-pleasure stance. Then came some holocaust ghetto poetry and that shit is unreal, like so touching it should be illigal. AND THEN came along my favorite poem, the one i just ate for dessert. It’s lengthy, but compared to Paradise Lost it’s practically a haiku so i DARE you to read the entire thing through. Here are some lines as teasers. MM its 4:32 am and i have to get up for work soon. A suprise shift, hurray! gnight.
the poem–>
http://members.tripod.com/~Sprayberry/poems/howl.txt

“who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the
brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom-
prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons…”

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