Eulogy

for Lawrence Lee.

June 21 and the blood moon will be where we left it last.

And you, quasi guitar player without a pick like Wess. Master

relationship counselor with your black tongue and your prostate

they took out in a jar beneath you. You relished the tall river bloom

of David Ruffin, so much so, that you sat with your legs dangling

over mythical cliffs and your konk parted; I can still see your

amble: Arms thrusting the walker forward then dragging your body

along with that jar of piss and blood, your holy punctuated twin

scimitars. Unloved since the white girl found you laughing at her

thighs and brought you home.

"Cremation is for ignorant folk" you told us. Because what if they

found liberty in the corpse like Lazarus, wrapped and flailing?

What to do if there was no rotted body, or left unattended like the

rose bush Angela let run wild since 07? And all those no-named weeds

the slept in cracks but die in the canonical hour of sunset before the

little child can grab hold? Enter Judgment: There is no more profit

in being against the war. Vietnam is glassed over and restaurants that

serve sweet drinks on the spot where Curtis refused to duck. Twice

the hat sinks lower over your brow and two more times before they

took the guitar you couldn't play and cornered it like a chastised child.

So sir, gone now. Belonging to the framework of days. This rose bush

is for you. This moon too. This smile we shared when the silvered blossom

of you is remembered. I mean the literal jive mistryst of even the vaguest 

of blues we agreed on, ("let her go, you told me) along with these

dim stars. 

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Casualties of war...later in life, the wounds don't leave and we have to try to live with them.
Cremation....that is what I choose...maybe I am ignorant folk, too...but that is okay.
I want to be sure there is nothing left to get claustrophobic in the coffin...I want to be really gone...and my ashes will be swimming in an old pond in Vermont.
David Ruffin was one of my favorites...
and often I do "wish it would rain."

[h d e rushin]

I remain conflicted. Cremation seems so "final" but, I guess, that's the point. Thanks, brother for those kind remarks. dana.

[emmajoygreen]

Sat sitting.. awe-struck, scared witless, amazed, hit by the drama of how to be on two sides through life in the unknown of death. Grief has nothing to do with your words.. is like a shout to sanity and.. living somewhere and never forgetting what you never wanted to remember. Dana, you've reminded me from the way back when you posted more often, what a (apologies for the word) stupendous thinker and poet you are.

'So sir, gone now. Belonging to the framework of days. This rose bush
is for you. This moon too. This smile we shared when the silvered blossom
of you is remembered. I mean the literal jive mistryst of even the vaguest
of blues we agreed on, ("let her go, you told me) along with these
dim stars.'

[h d e rushin]

thank you dearest. Lawrence was a dear friend of the universe we lost almost a year ago. But his final days living with mice and rotting food still sitting in the boxes the church folk had donated, is all I can remember. Isn't it strange how even the most important people among us can still be a flickering of bad images? But he loved poetry. And could recite from memory his favorites. You can measure the value of a person by their short conveniences. Can they stum a guitar? Can they watch the moon fade? Can they recite a poem? Thank you for stopping by my dearest. dana

[emmajoygreen]

True, every word and told me by a special older brother who held faith with certain performers.. read moreTrue, every word and told me by a special older brother who held faith with certain performers..

When it comes to music these days perhaps technology intrudes far far too much? Pure sound in the right circumstances (cathedral/stationary train carriage?) is near sacred.. pun not intended, honestly. Your above response says it all.

[Betta Yetta]

Hi dear, your Eulogy is awesome -especially graphic 1st paragraph! I loved it!

I agree with Jacob. When you experience flood waters float up coffins for miles, you might change your mind about cremation. You're dead so you won't care, right? "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" (:

[h d e rushin]

After Hurricane Katrina the flooded cemeteries in the Fifth Ward, the flood waters would float the coffins down the street. I can't imagine it. Thanks for your warm words.. dana

[Emily B]

It is so good to read your words. I've missed this

[h d e rushin]

Everything I know about poetry. And I mean everything, i've learned from you and Jacob. You are my two living muses. Thanks again. dana

[apennylate]

I accidently found this through the causality of another's visit, and I am glad I did, as this is a rare streak of quality found within the cafes depths.
My writing is about as polar-opposite as this comes, yet some of your lines, the emotional leverage and color they apply to the digestion of the words...
Your writing bolsters my innate need to proliferate rebellion through rhyme.
One does need to feel reasonably solid in their beliefs to "feel" powerful belief, that is the power of your style.

No profit in being against war, when the literality of the silver eyed jaunty officials hyperbole blossoms into a canonical hour of learning the art of refusal to duck...

Powerful, mate.
Powerful...
Exceptionally penned, D'rush.

[h d e rushin]

even though life is en revanche (by way of compensation) for the lives that came before us, we never get too big to question (even without profit) the notion of the grief we sort through. None the less, poetry opens us up. Not like a calm petal in spring but more like a soldier bashing through the walls of an enemy encampment. It's like that part in your poem "Anxiety Attack" when you realize that someone is trying to scream at you, uncastrated, tiger lily serrated yet whole. Thanks for your wonderful words. dana.

[apennylate]

I have a saying that I clam up just to calm down...
your way with words makes me feel slightly illiterate, and that is not something I usually feel.
not in a bad way, or to express desire to compare...
but because you have a voice that any writer should be desperate to attain.
which is to say; your own.
Churchill said it best...
“Now the hour had come for to mobilize the English language, and send it into battle, a spearhead of hope for Britain and the world.
thanks for the time, and look forward to your next poem.

[Robert Trakofler]

Dana your voice hasn’t changed a bit but your sharpness may have grown:) the meaning of loving something in spite of yourself has just been redefined lol:/ I have so many relatives that never left the wars (yes plural) so some of your discourse hits home to me! Some were abusive to themselves others to others but in the rare times I saw them at liberty for a little R&R I try to remember them as they were then and not in the trenches! It dawned on me after reading this a second time you would have made a hell of a great blues singer

[h d e rushin]

I have fallen in love with Robert Johnson's premise that love, somehow, was an admixture of unallowed purity. That, parts of you can love while other parts of you can hate and not be troubled by the contradiction. thanks for your words or comfort my friend. dana.