Monday, May 22, 2017

Four New Poems by Carmine Giordano

Four New Poems by Carmine Giordano


Yeah I'd like to believe that that lady
living up there with an earthly body
jamming hallelujahs with all the off-key saints
might once in awhile want to come down
for the lox and bagel breakfast plate at Flakowitz
schmear some chivey cream cheese on the Nova
then top it with tomato and an onion slice
have her coffee black, talk to Myra and to Sheila
about the mahjong game and other things
how she never saw a joker the entire round
how what a macher her son's become
how where to go to get a change of dress
how much she misses Brooklyn stoops on summer days
how there is no change of death in paradise
how tiresome it is
no evanescent beauty to be longed for
how where she is the ripe fruit never falls
how the seas there never find receding shores
how much she misses earth
how she has to go, how she wants to stay
have one more bite, have one more sip of coffee

*                   *                   *


Here I thought
that the bougainvillea
bush in front
of the house
had dried up
like so much
has parched in here
all those days
without water
the children
not to dance here
the music 
always drifting in 
from somewhere else
and the endless yap
of things already done
and the body tired 
with one more thing
so quiet and dry
I had gone twice
for the pincers
twice for the shovel
to dig the thing up
but oh my goodness
this morning
in the tangle of twigs
a sprig of inflorescence
pink, magenta
paper flower--
so we stay
go on a little longer.

*                   *                   *

The Beginning of an Idea

In the dark
the mind childs itself
pieces of its head
crown start making
their appearance
there's something
you want to see, know,
but you can't until it gathers 
and you get caught
in the push, contract
like a lactose cramp
try to get out its arms
its hands its toes
something about you
about us maybe
the human relay 
soundless in its caul
you pushing
heaving and hurting 
popping it out
its cord still chained
wondering how to
cut it loose is it
breathing why
doesn't it scream what
does it look like
another anybody
vagabond Frankenstein
what does it need what 
does it want from me

*                   *                   *

Sirens' Call

If I were Ulysses
I think I might have had
the crew tie me
to the great mast as we
passed the island of the
sirens one of the desires
on my list of limited final
desires before my skin
turned to paper to 
hear what they could
possibly have to say
or offer--more tits
more ass
more circumstance
more mullah
more pomp
the secrets of Fatima
the place where 
Jesus' body lies
where Ponce's
fountain springs
the peace of nations
how they could 
all be happy
how I might keep
this going for awhile
not sure
what really else
but think 
if they could
tell me how to 
love you more
right now--
they just might 
rip me

from the mast!

No comments:

Post a Comment