Sunday, June 17, 2012

art is



first you get the turkey,
 take him for a long walk, shake his hand,
wack  his head off, cook him at three- fifty
or  thereabouts,  bones an’ all
a long, long time.

leave ‘em dry  outside  on the picnic table in the sun,
many suns and moons.
 take notes or will I have to repeat myself?
then  come back in like twelve years
make sure it’s like twelve years, think dozen.

take any bones you find or pieces thereof
and stack it or ‘em.  the process is
kinda like  how you  bake a cake from scratch
only if you pile it nice you call it art.   
pretty slick.  got it?
don ‘t try to eat anything, it’ll make you sick;
art is for looking and to have feelings about.

suffer and benefit



is the name
of my would-be book of poems
not leaves, Walt,
not leave of anything  –  no way.

mine leaves  the hard part
your too is two and to
learn what  is next
do it (i don’t get it)

so there is pain,
what’s new about that?
now let me see
where was I . . . at?

oh, yeah,  been there.
perfect fit,  benefit.
all  life is tinkering:
a work in progress.

in the art museum




had a coffee first thing
are we becoming Italian?
used the bathroom and
got in free  -  cause I’m old

in the great stone  building, the modern art museum 
i met face to face a large metal sculpture by Alberto Giacometti
who i got introduced to metaphorically,  fifty-three years ago
by  my art teacher Dick Foley.

now this day i stand facing  the slick, stick
tall  human image – like a person,  strange for sure.
cast artfully in dark shiny metal; lumpy and smooth.
imposing, patiently poised.

i take a seat and gaze a while,
see other things and come back to it
be nice to have  at home to admire
thoughts can drift with it, but go nowhere in particular
  
more should be said, others have tried
as it looks good. 
it is most interesting to look at
that’s why it’s here in a museum

art open  here - in hours of viewing
witness the work,
 reaching out,   
grasping;

these efforts of art master’s
 unite the environment  in  color and shape,
in style and form;  from the ages,
for now and  all time.

my time to see it all is limited
but I am thankful for what time there is
that is a good reason to come by
into this museum of contemporary art.

on writing a poem



consider what you’ve  been thinking,
 wheel it around;
 sit and think about it more
and then a bit  more, until  it’s okay.

so then you write some parts,
and then add a little more.
do it all in a day
or kick it around for a month, either way,

then it all comes out
like the washing machine when it stops.
open the door and  sort it,
folding and stacking pieces together,

and that’s  why you write a poem.
why?  that’s right, of course.
to put the pieces together
and if you do it right there’s nothing left over,

mostly nothing.  the truth is you’ve got the
rest of you life left over, so it may, more than
likely,  occur to you to do it again.   another day.
don’t ask when,  and if it rhymes, that’s ok.

remember, you need some luck
and if it quacks
you’ve made a duck.
some say – well, Emily Dickenson alluded that way.

message no bottle



hand on my chin, gazing through the window pane
a letter by hand, quill dipped in ink
envelope, delivered via horse
this house to that

pen becomes a throwaway,
then, type written ,  i grew up that way
with letters sped away by aero plane
changes as with spelling

now about to skype call far
face to face we see and chat
imagine that.  we again seem near,
by extension it seems there is  here.

some day you’ll walk through the gate
and be there.
i imagine grandma will be able
to bring some cookies along.

a great pyramid



to construct the  great pyramid in Egypt.
is moving 2.3 million blocks
 weighing  as much as 70 tons
 from  as far as 600 miles South of Cairo,

they did not have the wheel or pulleys.
how many slaves to push one?
and you want them stacked how?
to build the great pyramid it in twenty years
you must move 800 tons a day

feed ‘em well.    what, a million of ‘em?
tell ‘em not to crowd.
are you sure it makes sense? 
 it’s what slaves are for.
wait - can slaves do miracles?