read this before you die.

 

 

 

This death poem,

is my small contribution to the tribe of old non-breeding individuals who care for the young

and provide for the group.Like a spent termite perhaps, only taller; my very own harmonious

"Rumble in the Jungle" (thirty-nine years ago this month), dana's  ancestral brance of color and doom.

I Wont bore you with any more details, just shadow box the stale air that even a full half-gallon

of Febreeze cant cure. It's impossible to derive any entomology "for crying out loud", when a

sweaty James Brown would always walk away from the microphone after the last African

had slid down the diamond trail.

I want to be in love again,

like then, when people fought to cure the sickness of class warfare, yeah a death poem, when

George Foreman in Zaire,

"this negritude,

this huge black forest"

towered over Zulu's and folk who looked like those disgusting Pygmy"s who blew poisonous darts

from bamboo blow guns, as they appeared every Saturday morning on Tarzan movies, where

a svelte Johnny Weismuller (and a demure Maureen O'Sullivan) swimming in alligator infested

waters, wearing nothing but a thong to keep his dick from coming loose, and a dagger to stab

the murderous reptiles in the heart. Read this before you die. Before Hart Crane comes along

with his "Repose for Rivers", his fits of creative activity, his original vocabularies, his lilting

without strain, etc. And before his fit subsides, before his cadence drifts off there will be love

again and not the pale stuff that the dryad that lives in the woods brings. If we die making love,

then even sex has an odor.

 

The plastic  euonymus that each month I pretend to water, now makes those Kabbalah emanations

when the wooden door opens. And each time, like a picture falling off a wall, Grandma says

someone close will die. Now how about that for good old Southern existentialism? Thanks Grams!

But

its hard to write poetry when so many things have happened. When the conk I wore then has burned

those cupcake patterns in my hair. When the impersonators that dance at all agricultural ceremonies

now disguise themselves as sparrow's, kicking lint and twig, blown paper and s**t in diaphanous piles,

then offer it to me in coffers of beauty and bliss. It's true, it might not be art or beauty and

although bizarre and nightmarishly complex; if the highest ethical goal is happiness and personal

well being - EUDAEMONISM-,

then what point

the poet?

Reviews

[Corset]

I am ever taken aback by the depth of which you write, how you surround the truth on one beautiful sentence with such color and vibe. "I want to be in love again" not even the gratuitous image of Tarzan in a thong can out shine that line, excellent as always sweet confidant.

[Lydia Shutter]

George Forman, James Brown.....blasts from the past, but ones I remember well. “the stale air that even a full half-gallon of Febreeze cant cure” now there is a descriptive line that is downright brilliant! Eudaemonism....it would seem the world is suffering with this philosophical ailment today. Is happiness and personal well-being necessary for the greater good? Is hoping to make society walk compassionate and intellectual avenues as futile as watering a plastic plant? So much to ponder in your words, Dana. Thought provoking....with a feeling of desperation between the lines. Well written. Lydi**

[Quill~]

Wow. This is mind boggling! Euphemism at it's finest. Yeah, I said it! How can this "not" leave your readers open jawed? Very deep, intentionally hitting right in the gut with this abstract write. I like it!

[TL Boehm]

holy cow. And before his fit subsides, before his cadence drifts off there will be love
again and not the pale stuff that the dryad that lives in the woods brings. If we die making love,
then even sex has an odor.
Amazing. Its been a long time since I've read you - but if I remember - you're not "new" here - perhaps you're returning? And if so that's a very good thing. this is riveting poetry. Heady, deep, earthy poetry to savor....wow.

[SHEEMA HUQ]

Thank you for your anthropological stance which is very well written and a dream to read!

[K. Louis]

just when i think i know, i know nothing..you give me energy...you leave on such sweet notes