Rodak's Writings: 1970 …the tail off a brass monkey (an epistle to peter)

I.

poor pastoral boys    we

wet behind the chops stumbling

in childish sheep-dreams

of yesterday meadows

america’s fallen fruit

gone deaf

with the voiceless poets

shelleyblakewhitmanginsberg…

eyes gone mad

with chemical litter scowling

guts churn  in the dirty bus

arriving never    never late

transfer useless brass

taste on the tongue

_________________

hustling

down at the baby boom

production line doctors

weary grey forceps shuffling

worn through to brass

caked with afterbirth

and the cycle grinnnnds

through one factory to

the next

and another final

sputter of the lawnboy gravemaster

_________________

city scabs infested with billions

thought sparks drowning

in the pus they

generate generate generate

life clogs naturally

umbilical vessels choke

breakaway flake-off brass

handles of the box

lid slams on yesterday

biting off the universe somewhere

a child learning

to be in time cries out

rush to him don’t let him think

it matters at all    try

but the joy timeless ignorance

wins only pyrrhic

victories and time ties knots

in his nerves knots

that grow

calloused on the pavement

on the vibes of the times

_________________

cosmos?

are you out there and

when i land

i remember myself-child’s first

spring of awareness

red sandbox shovel spring’s

brightest symbol fresh from

kresge’s and blue and buds

and hers and mine dew and

early sun bird song and life

all on one level

_________________

i sit in the sand

toy dump truck half-buried

i drop earthworms snatched

from the black spring earth

through the truck down

the funneling sand they

writhe like fire victims

poet already creating my first

metaphor

cashing in my first intelligence

i am in time i feel

the monster cradled

in my brain teething

out the milk fangs of karmic

suicide    i am in time

i smother

meadows

under

parking lots.

_________________

and back at the lightshow

blake’s gods shelley’s greeks

and whitman’s americans howling

laughter immortal ginsberg’s beat angels

moon the face of time’s grief

alone    poet

slouch in the boneyard gnawing

on the fossil thigh of the great muse

he    the lucky one with the mind    poet

and the mob rush from

factory to factory

to pray for the future they pay

for     watching tv politicians

they pray for    for their lives

rejoicing:  they are adequate

__________________

then show me muse

the american dream:

**yassuh

            a spectre appear to de tv politician

            he jolt up stiff in his bed

            de spectre speak:

            i am nature richard nixon

            let me be your mother

            i know best

            you lie with the whores richard

            it is time you were a family man

            this is disease    i offer you love

  no no scream tv richard

  i in love already

            nevertheless in slink a second spectre:

            i am asia richard

            let me be asia

            i am old yet i grow younger

            my daughters shall be

            the new asia

            that they may live in

            pleasure with your sons

  no no scream tv dick

  i know which commie pervert fathered

  that brood of red witches

  and he settle back pleased

  he done heldthehardline

  den sudden-like:

            i am black Richard

            let me be black

            all the johns in this

            mansion are for white ass

            all the windows are for blue eyes

            i don’t see nothin’ in the mirrors

            but you see me richard

            ain’t black beautiful

            in this light

            let’s git it on dick

  no no scream tricky dicky

  my blood runs pure

  but i do need a maid who does windows

  apply at the guard shack

and he snuggle back chaste in his bed

but all at once a brass band blare

in bop de honky-tonk angel star-spangle

and spread-eagle:

            hiya ricky this is america

            you remember me rick

            the blue of my blood

            the white of my flesh

            my royal purple cunt

            we been down the road rick

            cuz i chose you special

            any way you want it baby

            you fuck me over

            fame on my lips

            milk-n-honey tits

            i piss gasoline

            shit uranium

            and cum gold bricks

            in the grip of my gash is power

  yes yes that’s my baby scream dick

  falling all in a rut

            when in glide a fresh spectre:

           

            i am peace Richard

            a virgin innocent of the power

            of any man

            my breasts are firm and young

            beneath this veil my limbs are soft

            i will mother a sane generation

            you must take and love only me

            for my dark sister awaits my failure

            and no man resists her vamp

  no no no scream poor Richard

  i got me a real gal gonna love her

  till i’m dead

  and he fall back bucking into America

            a dark shadow move

  **dat’s all boss

_________________

poet    back from the brick shop

back to the wholesome smoke

to roll up reality in a metaphor

and slam it on the paper prisoner

of words in time’s dungeon

throw away the key    poet

weary oily and stoned

the sheep the shepherd loves

a strange abortion in the spring-

time could only bring a chuckle

if it didn’t have my own

hysterical eyes

_________________

meadow is a six-letter word

tomorrow is an eight-letter threat

forever is a ten-second rush

may the dreamer forget us

_________________

II.

deep in the heart of

the quiet revolution

lost in the backlash

of another fling at sanity convinced

that i would do better sitting

in my own shit in a nest

in eden than strolling in

the streets of the bronx

i realize that if

i could eat books

i would be a rich man

for many years

_________________

how many universes can one mind contain

how many bodies

contain one mind

one

body

one

mind

one universe

all the time there is

to learn the how of infinity

_________________

i don’t want

yesterday or tomorrow

but yesterday is mine

by right of conquest    tomorrow

by default    guilty time terrifies me

and lures me to the murder scene

just knock me down and stone me

_________________

_*_*_*ssstoooood on zanzibar

set on my head

i proclaim myself

pseudocephalus

conqueror of realities

that would stampede the gods

greasing my limbs

on brass ladies dipping my quill in musk

touch soft breath flowing hair copper

in the sunstone speeding to the outmost

                                                galaxy

eternity yawns….

                               ….sucking a soul into

                                    the vortex

                                    content without form

                                    light without fire

_________________

!!! yet whence this redolent

mush beneath my haunches

as i squat in the brick factory

what this tome on my lap

mote in my eye clot in my brain as

lost in the backlash

of the peoples’ revolution…i remember

what bad luck it is to

leave a hat on a bed

            **but man    you jes’ flopped yo’ fedora

              ovah de bloodstain on dem petah max

              sheets

merde

            **de whole universe done saw dat man

              dose who issue fate dey all leaned over

              de rails o’ dem tall wooden galleries

              and dey knuckles was white with rage

              dey’s wearing dem fine black robes

              an’ dey’s callin’ yo’ ass down man

              an’ here’s de verdik!    mo’ of de same!

just knock me down and stone me

_________________

i can’t dig this weather

this fucking brass scar at the base

of my spine

gives me hell in the winter

the parking lots get slippery

the nights are ghastly long and

time mocks eternally

            **be rough bruthuh    be hip

              git out that brasso and git’cho soul

              ready fo’ easter

              stay off’n de bus wif de brass hubcaps man

              shun dat public transportation

just knock me down and stone me

_________________

III.

lost soul dreaming

back from chicagos of the mind

and cloistered castles crusted

in infinite variations

on each clock-breath of creation

back from endwards of everything

up through formwards of something…i think

i     the lucky one    with the mind

poet    my soul drifts up slowly

on soft wine and a peak-a-boo

i feel fear beaten

to a thin brass blade…i reason

to just such experiences

is great poesy heir…i summon

this muse i used to dig

my subject: the human condition

turn it on    sugar

            **you back at me agin you sonabitch

              ah’ll show you yo’ heart

              ah sees a baby

              fallin’ from de sky

              it hit de pavement at yo’ feet

              haid smashed flat as a cardboard mask

              but moist as a dogpatch

              eyes starin’

              tiny hard-on pointin’ accusingly

              at de world dat stop to gape

              a cabbie run ovah de baby’s haid

              he jump out de cab screamin’

              i’ll lose my welfare dole

              an’ hobble off on one laig

              invokin’ ‘pon the spirit of f.d.r.

              a mother pass wiff her brat

              take one look at de slewn babe an’

              start beatin’ on de kid yowlin’

              i ever catch you doin’ dat Rodney

              an’ it’s yo’ balls unnerstan’

              rodney pee his pantyhose

              cop o’reilly pound his stick bellowin’

              aw-right folks de fun a-aall ovah

              move along please    gethefuckinhellouttahere

              get so excited performin’ his duty

              dat he blow off his great toe wif his

              service revolver for which he receive

              a citation fo’ ‘ceptional brutality

              an’ a scholarship to de harvard school

              o’ law fo’ his son magog

              a passin’ doctor look at de baby an say

              ah think ah’m a-gonna upchuck

              an’ he take hisself suppository form

              outta embarrassment

              in a shabby hotel a nin’ny-year-old pimp

              have a wet dream an’ ‘mediately make

              a decision fo’ jesus

              de empire state buildin’ shiver

              down black soot on de backs of de doves

              dat peck out de eyes of de winos

              in de gutters    whilst

              from de puddle o’ blood

              de baby stare…

             

              how y’all like dis so far

              honey-balls

I protest this trends

away from the poetical

            **y’all would know   collegeboy

_________________

and all around them

the universe twinkled unseen

and the harmony glowed unfelt

_________________

critic

            **idgit

street girl

            **pimp

_________________

and it’s paranoia    fear of (( them ))

the public transportation

the taste of brass in the night

the scar    the brass    the mark

            **fuckin’ nus’ry rhymes    downright biblical

the tail    not the paw

that knocks on the door in the night

bringing down the fear of fate

time and loss of self

            **easter sho’ ain’t gonna be early dis year

_________________

IV.

tired    poet

rising early

watching the snow

watching for the caravan

eyes toward washington

_________________

feeling old    feeling old

at twenty-four (keats dead)

feeling the dirt in my veins feeling

crust on my hands

blood in my eyes   poison i pour

in my blood    poison

my  heart is a sewer    words

my mind is a ragpicker’s hoard

desire    my mind is a thief at your door

murder    i am in time    spirit

my soul is a body    my life is flesh

_________________

book on the Buddha

marked with a trading stamp

snowing    jungle birds shudder

among icy branches of soul

eyes skitter and stare

i ring my arms with copper

to ward off the brass

_________________

god                                         …i say

is an eye

that is all

what does god see

i am                                         …i reflect

the eye

of a mendicant

what shall i want

it snows                                  …i fear

and maybe

my car won’t

start

i am afflicted with a craving

for fruit    perhaps tomorrow…

…more likely i will smoke

contemplating this absurdity

_________________

is grass green    is grass god

maya! my love

what do i see

what do i hear:

motor

one machine

drowns out the music

of the spheres

man

put his ear to the ground

            **anyone a-comin’ kemosabe

_________________

cosmic defeat

the clock

each star fixed in

a groove

            **beware also de full moon

_________________

god stares shitless

from the parking lot    poet

lay down that vehicle

casey jones

muse!

            **yas’suh

i dismiss thee

            **guess ah’ll go niggah-town den

guess we all will

OMmmmm

            **a-a-a-AH-h-mmm hip!

_________________

nature

regarding

the reflection of god

in the mind-pool of

life

man

the muscle-builder

stream of piss at the image

            **’mpreshunism givin’ way

              ‘t s’realism an’ abstrack

critic!

            **ah’m leavin’    ah’m leavin’

_________________

flesh

my life is a murder    spirit    my soul

is a body    is a body

stack them in washington

walk-in Woodstock    die in washington

caravans bite cyanide hack flesh blow mind

jump from the sky   leave your body in hell

leave your body in hell   leave nixon in hell

leave washington in hell     leave your mother

leave your lover leave jehovah in hell leave

jesus in hell leave your money leave your

rhymes leave your music in hell leave your

dope leave your mind leave your body in hell

leave your body in hell leave your body in hell

leave your body in hell

rama

_________________

sick in the city

ennui in the pasture

poet    nib of brass

grooved to the hubs

satori in the factory

glib in the meat-car

clever among the mourners

cinder in the ashes radioactive

brass

sleep with sleep with

            **hey lawdy lawdy

hare rama

exeunt (the gong soundeth)

Rants: The Death of the Left -- Addendum

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Last night the disgraceful corporate media utterly dissed Bernie Sanders by their combined failure to air his speech to his followers following his disastrous showing at the polls. 

 

The corporate media have been in the bag for Hillary Inc. since day one; this was only slightly more blatant. Bernie is finished, so they can ignore him with total impunity. 

 

It is noted that they provided wall-to-wall coverage of Marco Rubio's sad farewell speech.. Marco, you see, is a bench player for their team.

 

What a sorry shadow puppet extravaganza this whole political charade is again shown to be. Somewhere in Hell, old Joe Goebbels is applauding.

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Rants: The Death of the Left -- Super Bluesday

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 8:00 p.m. ET -- 3/15/16

Early as it is, it's already obvious that Democratic voters today have opted to play it safe and just hope to hold onto whatever it is that they have left. This is so disheartening: the Prevent Defense. Hillary Clinton is of the ilk that put those of us in the necrotic middle where we are today. The future is now. And now sucks.

The GOP voters, by contrast, are opting to do-or-die. They've had it with their establishment and are willing to take a chance on change. The disastrous end they will bring about will at least be swift and dramatic; not the slow death the compliant Democrats have opted for.

To the oligarchs go the spoils. Nice going, Sheeple.
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Reflections: The Nature of History

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History is a published selection of partial truths collected by the winners of various local or regional conflicts to justify the continuation of their more or less oppressive regimes.
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Readings: Go Set a Watchman ~ Harper Lee

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I just finished reading Harper Lee's long-suppressed novel, Go Set a Watchman. I found it disturbing. I did not read the novel with the intention of writing about it; the mixed reviews, and the history of its road to publication (with the suggestion that a semi-senile Harper Lee was coerced into allowing it to be published under less than scrupulous circumstances) were off-putting enough that I had pretty much decided to take a pass on it. I don't now recall what changed my mind. It would be dishonest of me to say that there were not parts of it that I very much enjoyed. The novel had moments that brought a lump to my throat. It kept me reading, (although I found it slow to get moving) and I finished it rather quickly.

I suppose Go Set a Watchman would have seemed quite enlightened as the work of a Southern lady in the mid-1950s, when it was written. But having not been published at that time, it probably would have been better to leave it residing quietly, with the rest of Harper Lee's papers, in the archives of a library somewhere. It is a profoundly conservative work, in all the worst ways. Its ideas are paternalistic, segregationist, pro-states' rights in the Dixiecrat sense, and subtly, but unmistakably, racist.

Because I had no intention of writing about Watchman when I picked it up, I was not taking notes as I made my way through it. Its racist elements are for the most part, as I say above, subtle, and it would require quoting long passages with added explication to highlight the underlying bigotry. That said, the first truly cringe-worthy passage that I came across occurs on page 156. Jean Louise Finch (Scout), home on a visit to Maycomb, Alabama from New York City, has gone alone to the house of Calpurnia, the beloved black maid/nanny who helped raise Scout after the death of her mother. As Zeebo, a member of Calpurnia's family, leads Scout into her home, we get this:

"She followed him into a dark parlor to which clung the musky sweet smell of clean Negro, snuff, and Hearts of Love hairdressing." [emphasis added]

The "smell of clean Negro"...Really?

A less blatantly offensive, but still indicative, thing that popped out at me as I read further along, occurs in a flashback.  Here we accompany a nervous fourteen-year-old Scout Finch on her first big date, with Henry, the boy who is to become her presumptive spouse later in the plot::

"She was sensible enough to sit out jitterbug numbers and avoid music with a South American taint, and Henry said when she learned to talk and dance at the same time she'd be a hit." [emphasis added]

Why does something "South American" so immediately possess a "taint" rather than a "flavor" or a "complicated rhythm" or anything else non-pejorative? 

Now for all of you contemporary gals out there who refer frequently to your misogynometers, I will add that what it takes in this book to bring Jean Louise Finch back to her senses concerning all of the above, after having been corrupted by Northern liberals in evil New York City, is a hard backhand to the mouth, delivered by her loving Uncle Jack for all the "right" reasons. And this is the denouement of the novel's plot.

So I found this to be a flawed work; and only partially because it is anachronistic and was left that way by its contemporary editors. Much of the flaw clearly resided in Harper Lee herself. 

There is, however, one other passage of which I made note, and I will close this review by quoting it. The line is delivered by Scout's loving Uncle Jack--the man who popped her a good one in the paragraph above:

"Prejudice, a dirty word, and faith, a clean one, have something in common: they both begin where reason ends."

I like that. 
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Reflections: Why Free College is an Empty Promise

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How stupid I've been. It just this morning occurred to me why neither Bernie, nor anybody else, is ever going to provide a free four-year college education for all.

The reason is that without the promise of free college on the other side of military service, it would be impossible for the military to keep enlistment levels high enough to man the perpetual war and line the pockets of the oligarchs.

It would mean reinstating the draft--this time with girls being taken--and that would mean living the 'sixties all over again, and then some.

Free college: it ain't gonna happen.

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