sorry for the unannounced hiatus. was in Pittsburgh doing a reading and i've been trying
my best to not use technology when away or on the weekend (save when I'm working)
and i forgot to announce the break before i left. that said, for the one or two of you who care
here is the "set list" from said reading. New poems will return tomorrow.
thanks
jg
starting
with the last name, grochalski
starting
with the last name
grochalski
i
could trace my lineage
down
the bar
at
sufak’s round corner
on
saturday afternoons in pittsburgh
planting
roots in the linoleum floor
with
grandfathers and uncles and a stray cousin or two
starting
with their last names
at
the other end
working
my way back down the bar
toward
beer and shots
gambling
pools and stray packs of smokes
tracing
the lineage of everything
that
emptied generations of family fortune
into
the rusty till
of
blue collar weekend genocide.
04.05.13
looking like an artist
i like those earrings you have
she tells me
you look very cool like that
and the long hair and beard
i keep trying to get my son
to grow his hair out
you look like some kind
of an artist, she says
a painter or poet
if only, i say to her
thinking about how
all of the poetry zines have rejected me lately
and the novel
just got sent back with
a letter from some assistant in chicago
who couldn’t even get
the title of the book
or my characters’ names right
i think about the paint dried up in the closet
and the stack of poetry books
that i can’t even give away
yet she stands there and smiles at me
while i’m nursing another
thursday morning wine and beer hangover
maybe the bloodshot eyes
and pale vomitous complexion
are doing something for her as well
to think it was so easy all along
if you can’t be
a decent artist
at least you can look like one. 07.23.10
nothing about the
world and love
i wanted so much love
from everyone
that my feelings always turned
to jealousy and hate
i mean why except the affections of the few anyway
when the whole world waited at my doorstep?
these are the kind of things
that i used to think
alone
inventing and reinventing myself
in that boyhood bedroom
first a painter and then an actor
a musician
finally a writer
who understood nothing about the world and love
or that to get anywhere
with just one person
it would have to be
endless lies
and naked confession
all of the time.
04.09.13/04.10.13
bastille day
then he said
in all seriousness
how do you impress a french girl?
to which i said
a lot of wine
some edith piaf
some serge gainsbourg
a little proust on the couch
and if that doesn’t work
show her your cock
while whistling yankee doodle dandy
reach for the butter
and tell her to bend over
mon cheri
because it’s bastille day
all day
just for her.
07.30.13
my niece in her
thanksgiving dress
looking at the picture of
my niece in her thanksgiving dress
fifteen months old
and smiling without a care
i think she looks
just like my soon-to-be
ex-sister-in-law
which somehow
softens the blow of not seeing my niece
in over a year
but really
only just a little bit
11.26.12
thursday afternoon
there are five of them
waiting on the platform at 20th avenue
two girls and three boys
when they get on the train, loud and vicious
they split up
the girls go toward one end
the boys sit next to me
they give the girls a chance to sit down
and then smallest one
(isn’t it always the smallest one)
starts
he cups his mouth
he shouts, ya’ll a bunch a pussies
ya’ll cunts
lydia….cunt
you too, maria
ya’ll a bunch a pussies, he repeats
so that only the deaf and the dead haven’t heard him
no one responds to the kid
not even the girls
maybe we’ve all grown too accustomed to this shit
or we just want to get the hell home
christ, he’s not even that old
leaning more toward thirteen than a young man
up with fellas
down with ugly bitches, he shouts
and it echoes through the train like a cannon shot
then the boys slap each other five and laugh
they are all dressed the same
in clothing telling them to OBEY
well, i guess they’re off to a great start in this country
i look down toward the girls
they are laughing and playing music
if the boys have gotten to them you’d never know
but girls have to learn early here
they have to learn to scrape indignity off with a smile
bitch whore cunt pussies
at 61st street the little boy rises with me to
leave
but not before getting in one more shot
ya’ll is ugly pussy bitch, he shouts
then he gets off the train laughing
but it doesn’t last too long
his face turns into a permanent smirk
i look at him
i wonder what it would take to grab him in the station
right here
right now
put the fear of god in the little punk
tell him if i ever catch you talking to women like that
again….
this strutting piece of american privilege
on a thursday afternoon
he wouldn’t listen to me anyway
i’d be another pussy
so i let him go toward his connecting train
and i go off toward mine
doing my part to let the misogyny perpetuate
wondering what in the world i’ll say about this
to my wife
our mothers
your sisters
to everyone’s niece.
new colossus
she says, i feel like i live in china now
how’s that? i ask
by way of explanation
she waves her arms around the room
there are chinese people reading books
chinese talking on cell phones
chinese playing on the computer
or engaged in some other activity
somewhere down the block
a chinese family is buying some old italian’s home
it is true
we are the only two white people in the room
i knew i felt good for a reason, i say
i always feel good when whitey isn’t around
she gives me the same dirty look she always gives me
when i tell her i don’t celebrate the fourth of july
yeah, well, it’s the wave of future, she says
bring it on, i say. give me your tired, your poor…
she rolls her eyes
she looks poised to go into one of those rants
about the good old days of america
but she settles for, this ain’t my country no more
then she glares around the room
goes back to video games on facebook
the three cell phones she keeps that beep and chortle
and make the most inane robotic noises
nods at a meme that says
america love it or leave it
as the battle hymn of the republic plays
on and on and on and on. 05.14.14
i’m going to the bar
i’m going to the bar
that’s what i told the eighteen year old clerk
when she asked me what i’m doing tonight
so now i have to go
for her
for you too
i’m going to the bar
to drink beer and eat pretzels and play
loud rock and roll music
at a volume i can’t play at home
i’m going to the bar
for led zeppelin and jim morrison and mick jaggar
so that the bartender can shake my hand
and wish me a happy new year
so that i can wish him one too
i’m going to drink pints of budweiser and love them
i might have a shot or two
i’m going to the bar
to forget about poetry and novels and books i haven’t read
to forget about work and late trains
to forget about prescription pills and divorce
and cancer and death
at least for a little while
i’m going to the bar
to sit there and watch the evening news on mute
and not care what’s happening in syria or iraq or south
sudan
and not care about whiney americans bitching about the
winter cold
and not care about republicans versus democrats
and this celebrity state that we’ve been paralyzed in
since the dawn of the internet age
i’m going to the bar
to get a little drunk and have a good time
to answer jeopardy questions and not care if i’m right or
wrong
i’m going to bitch to the bartender about baseball
about the super bowl about the nets and the knicks
about a-rod and mike piazza getting the shaft from the hall
of fame
and then tip him big for lending me his ear
i’m going to let the racists tell me their racist jokes
and not say a word
i’m not correcting a goddamned soul tonight
i’m just going to order another beer
and let the dim lights and the warmth of this place envelope
me
thank the stars that i’m alive for a change
and at the bar. 01.09.14
No comments:
Post a Comment