sign o' the times

 

poem by jim mccrary

 

SEA

SON

AL

A BRIEF

To catch 

To catch a virus

To catch a cold

To catch a break

To catch a breathe

Cache is what

Something fresh

Something without harm

Something that expands

Something that fills

The air is heavy

The wind is dark

The clouds are dull

The sun is out

The door is closed

Shut

Compressed

Cramped

In the act of trying  to overcome the lack of

The violence of a body action

The need to create a response

Not desire but the need

Thoughtless reaction

No related to thought ful ness

Somewhere read:

Human take 7.5 million breathes a year

Times that by 80

Want to even imagine

Missing just one

Unable to catch just one

Hacking

Gagging

A violent cough

Physical      

Fighting a infection

A virus

Physical reactions to NO BREATH

You know what it is but

There is that

And again

To sit up all night

All the fear of movement

If it starts again

If it stops

If it stops

Stopped

Just long enough

To catch something

To repeat

To expel  (spell?)

Toss out

Retch

Reach again for something

What part of this is becoming

Part II

They say the only drugs

Are the ones in your system

Right now

Anything else is simple

Augmentation

As in 

This prescription

This mix

This dose

This one

Is Just for you

Justt now

I will wake you out of the

Best sleep ever

To give you another

Best sleep ever

Nto that it cures anytthing

But it does build up a desire for

No pain

If that matters

If that is worth staying for

If that is worth paying for

Look I dont mind being here

Now

But just the other day

That was not the best

Way to meet

And leaving is not so sweet

As described by journals from others

Who seem to be able to heal themselves

Quickly

That said

All is well

Which may be just

Another slow slide into

Everyday

One after another

To what and.

end.

this song is for you

whitmanesque in the code

dear comerado, 

look for me under yr bootsoles

then search elsewhere

everywhere

you will find me 

even 

in the pixels 

excerpt from an email to jonathan hayes

mass shooting in TX broke me.  i was alright until i read the dead were 8-10 years old children.  then my eyes experienced a sudden irrigation.  the very fiber of my nerves shredded.  partly because these shooting happen over & over & over again.  like a soundtrack stuck on a loop.  we can't we won't turn it off.  mostly because these are babies, innocent, full of life, waiting for summer vacation.  what kind of nation are we that finds it acceptable - i do mean the word acceptable for we as a polity, as a people, as a culture, as a nation, do nothing to prevent the slaughter of such small children.

 

pic by jonathan hayes

 

lament of the ordinary bodhisattva

goddamn!  fuck it!  again?  aGAIN??  AGain?!

                      &&&&&&&&&

                        AGAIN?!!!!

it's saturday nite & i got the blues!

i love p.i. & cop shows with a troubled antihero obsessed with the truth who owns their own quirks & habits like a love of bebop jazz or model trains but for the love of god montressor can you make a character who loves poetry who is a person of truth & justice who is a poet who reads & writes poetry how cool would it be to watch our antihero lay out the files & photos of their case only for the camera to scroll across their bookshelves & find books like the collected poems of kenneth koch & the letters of arthur rimbaud for i feel that there might be created a  p.i. or cop who might be a good poet too

early summer swim at natomas aquatic center

first swim of summer

treading water

among so many different families 

each different but the same

we are below the flight path of the airport 

another splash 

another plane

holy shit! this performance takes the top of my head off & brings me to tears of happiness

perspective

sometimes all it takes is to cross the street & look up & look around to change yr perspective e.g. walking home yesterday i crossed the street & noticed the windbreak trees illuminated by the lowering sun how the hell did i not know they were to discombobulate what i thought i knew 

correspondences

my brother in rhyme jonathan hayes sent me a link to a zoom reading for the publication of the collected letters by my man thom gunn

gunn's letters are published by FSG

i bought - was it last year? - the Faber edition of gunn's letters

i couldn't wait for FSG or anyone else to publish these gems

i've been slowly slowly slowly reading them because i want to savor these missives by a man who loved life & poetry

surely a writer's letters are as much a biography as they are a literary text for any writer thinks that maybe if the writer is lucky their correspondence might be published & so write letters with an eye & ear to future readers

same goes for email in our 21st C

but what about texts?  

i'm sure texts too 

i sure as hell have become a pretty prolific texter 

even a poet as steadfastly old school as seamus heaney was a prolific texter indeed his last text to his wife right before he passed away read noli timere 'don't be afraid'

be pretty cool to see published in the near future the collected letters, emails, texts nay tweets & blog posts by our favorite writers

i recall in the late 1980s i attended a lecture & reading by the biographers of jackson pollock

they said pollock didn't write many letters & was taciturn as hell so gathering texts from pollock to piece together his inner life was quite the challenge 

& these biographers warned that with the advent & ubiquity of the telephone used instead of writing letters the example of pollock was a harbinger of things to come for most of us don't write letters anymore

same goes for email & texts?  unlikely for in the late 1980s who would have imagined email, texts & social media

but are these digital platforms sufficient for literary matters?  

well, as the old saw has it, does a bear shit in the woods?

a favorite poet

tortillas

i was in the office today.  yes, still working from home mostly but soon to be on a hybrid schedule.  for how long that?  i dunno.  before the pandemic i didn't think i'd dig working from home.  but i'm a late adopter to new technology.  we didn't get broadband until a few years ago at the insistence of nick.  i didn't get a smart phone until i was 50.  we didn't have streaming platforms until they were common as hell.  same goes for telework.  i didn't think it was a big deal.  until i started doing it.  but anyway, i went to one of my very favorite cheap mexican eateries, nena's.  it's been well over two years since i've eaten at nena's.  is that a sign of going back to normal?  well, the menu has changed some.  the building layout & decor have not.  luckily the tortillas have not changed.  they are still delicious made of flour & are the size of a 1970s cadillac tire.  just the kind mom used to make.  i shit you not.  my mother, a small norwegian woman learned to make tortillas when she was just newly married.  man!  they are still the best tortillas.  but nena's come a close second.  i would wear these fucking tortillas as chones they are that large & they are that good!  & i'm glad the restaurant survived the lockdowns.  what happens next?  i sure as hell hope to have a great many more of nena's tortillas.  

who are we why are we here where are we going

 

notes on antipoetry

no theory but in practice 

no practice but in things 

no things without practice 

no practice without theory 

therein lies the contradiction 

of making an art ordinary

of making ordinary an art

happy may day

the world of work has obviously changed these past 40 years.  today the workers of the world are found staring at computer terminals, flipping burgers, sewing clothes, working in hotels, working in data centers, managing a company's IT infrastructure etc etc.  but you get the gist.  & REM remains one of my very favorite bands.  if you don't own the means of production you are a member of the working class.