Cure

ImmmmmnON small objects

Small objects are precious
they take time to breathe
they contain energy and then they walk
they talk they talk to all sorts of folk
and talk and talk and talk
lland talk

The stairs are there to measure the heartbeat
see how it flutters and then flies away
its rusty colours covered with sand and seaweed
Beckett was surely right
that bun is just a (s)word and man is
not much better

Oh to breathe the loveliness of summer
the precious small objects the sand and lazy seagulls
taking off
the importance of being recycled
the present the future and then the past
a suffocating object placed on
a palm a swing a tinge a happy momentum


Memories come and go in snatches
they do not devour just deflower
a perfect ladylike gown walks through
the garden where the night had said good-bye
to small pebbles lush wisterias
you have to figure out
the exit you
llfigure out
the keys you
lltaking a breath of air
before you
lldescending the staircase
before you
becoming a bride a nightmarish groom
before you
throwing these small pebbles
at other people and yet other people
llcounting them up never playing with them
lltoo tired to play who are these people
lltoo feverish to play
llleft all alone
to the seagulls and to that bright bright sand
unforgivingmmmmlllno rectangular swallows
no feathersmmmnno pompmmmmnno remorse
no swallowsmmmno feathersmmmlno pomp
no remorse






IImmmmmmmmmLOVE IS TRUE

Love is bluemllove is gold llllove is true
stop being childish nwrite that poetry
swallow your medicinemlbrush up your shoes
and go to schoolmland be a fool
get out of your castle and blow it off llOrlando said
noon is humble feeding on crumbs
small objects speak Swahili and retain their post
modern post comatose glamour where night shivers
and closes its shimmering veil
saved from certainty saved from knowledge
saved from the poverty of information
along a shady dock
an object takes its place
llround and wise and nourishing
llit says nothing about its hidden days about its strange taste
about its glorious past
it is extemporal
Motherlllldo you love me?
Motherlllldo you care?
And do I care, for you?
There you will trot
along the tiny pebble path and leave me all alone
in the universe peopled with buns and stars and
shiny trinketsllllstaggering bookslllland loud records
subliminal objectsllllcheerful dictionaries encapsulated in time
with carrotsllllbeetroots thistle remedies
witch’s brews cobblestones agate rings cobalt sunsets

light rain washes awayllllhuge robots impertinent bills
mortgage loans llllstupid yawns hammered in
love comes back to me and is
bluellllgold and true






III mmmmmmmnSEA BED

night will wash away the pebbles
soaked in mudllllexpressionist yearning
sweet sweet smell of amber lllthe odour of amber
llneutral and divine
very French and rigorousllllllllunprotected stern
scared and oblivious
the trucks loaded with words
sentinels of yearningllllministries of waiting
cafes filled with challenge
schools full of undertakersllllnames peppered with history
jokersllllstuffed with science
a blufflllla coughlllla nut
he is a blufflllland you are a nut
and we are riding in a magic shell
covered with ice and legendary silence
come to mellllright now
the eye of my applellllheart of my flower
is trying to keep that promise it
made at the bottom
of the deepest crimson sea






IV PHILOSOPHER’s death

Never did I think of you before you were gone
The table was clean the glass empty the plate
full of my mistakes and you just slid through
the door was closed and someone was knocking at it
Come in I said
The wind pushed it open
That was an old woman with a ragged face
Spitting blood was somewhat lonely was dressed
Like my mother and looked like me
She smiled at me and toothless curse had reached
Me there, I am your death she said, oh I am not ready
Not ready right now have to read a lot of Stoics have to acquire my Buddha hood
Get ready she hissed and I pushed her away, slammed the door and fell down
Woke up covered with Gothic sweat


I turned on the radio and listened to Bach
Lived with some people who hated poetry
Serendipity in fashion stupidity in labour

Speedy fingers of Glen Gould
At one occasion he claimed he encountered God
Counterpoint is everything, like in music like in life
He said while humming along Bach’s exuberant variations
Ironing wrinkles of serenity sprinkling the lawns of domesticity
Feeding house mice thrilling expectations
They were not great they were not solid they were not cold
They were just miniscule whispers of that loud
staccato of her insanitylllllllllthat unbearable arpeggio of his complicity
that bloody counterpoint of his lousy promise






V The Doctors come and go…

The doctor came and saw me and what did he prescribe?
You’ve had too many poems for dinner,
Far too many plays, three bad novels and two borderline novellas
Five doggerels for breakfast and a romance for lunch
Very very bad for your diet very very sad for your brain
WHAT A STRAIN WHAT A STRAINllllWHAT A STRAIN
And the doctors come and go munching seedy sultanas
Wearing dirty bandanas reproducing an everlasting shock
In a life filled with schlock, schlock and sleaze,
llmice and geese
Made at the bottom
of the deepest crimson sea






VI JUST BEFORE

Oh, just before the morning lightllllbefore sunrisellllllbefore dawn
Before it starts gettingllllllllllllllllvery brightlllllllllvery soft
Very charmingllllllllllllllvery roundllllllsmall objects reappear
Before sunsetllllllllllllbefore dusklllllllllllllllafter the storm

Come on right now dance with me
Don’t sit in your giddy corner don’t just smile don’t just cry
Don’t just don’tlllllllllllyou know better you’ve just tried
You’re that herollllyou’ve been working full time
Nine to seven, eight to five, ten to eleven, six to ten
Come on rinse it offlllland wear it outllllllllllllDaytona glow sunsets
Beaches and rusty lightslllllllllllllllshaky movements in the dark
Lousy giggles squashed in rain
You know me so wellllllllltake my umbrellallllltickle my feet
Your sense of humour I will nourishlllllllllllunder the young banana tree
Two slices of hamlllla cherry salad please
I cannot remember my dreamslllllllllllllllllllllalthough I fall asleep
Every evening at the same hour and it is early
To say if the hour is late and happy if it is stubborn and reminiscing
If it is lazy and unforgiving
Filled out with schlock, schlock and sleaze
with a minor breeze on the horizon’s freeze
Fed on mice and geese
Made at the bottom
Of the deepest crimson sea






VII A Frank O’Hara Memorial / July 25 2006

Was Frank O Hara as large as New York City?
Or was New York City as large as Frank O’Hara?
We learnt they both came from Ireland.


Was he carnal was he flippantllllwas he funny?
Was he tragicllllwas he simple was he fragile or
Was he strong was he eclectic or was he
Surrealistically dialectic?
Was he bluellllllllwas he green
Or was he brown?llllWas he a siren a hedgehog
A diamond or a clown? Was he a nurse was he a bottle
Did he dance or did he throttle? Was he into dolls
Dogs or into spiders? Was he high on whisky on beer
On amphetamines or on cider? Was he Jewish
Finish or just outlandish? Was he demanding oblivious
Problematic tenderlllluptightlllor just selfish?
We learnt that he was everything and then some…Irish

And then everyone went out and had some booze
lllllllllllllAnd then everyone went out and had some booze
llllllllllllllllllAnd then everyone went out and had some booze
And then everyone went out and listened to some Scarlatti
llllllllllllllllllllllAnd then everyone went out and listened to some Scarlatti
lllllllllllllllllllAnd then everyone went out and then…






VIII A VISIT TO Blake’s house

They wrote hefty volumes on Allen’s poetry
After all, he took himself quite seriously
Just once, he said, “it’s a shame, they’ve got you”,
But who were “they” he did not say…
He probably meant – the gargoyles of capitalism,

But he said so many things. and sometimes
I would drift away, and sometimes I would fall asleep…
And I would probably always outguess what he meant
llbut it was just “probably” and I was just a “would”
who wanted to change her life, living like
Beckett after Joyce, tinkering with three languages to
Write in, losing the essence biiiig way
Obeying the gargoyles of money and place biiig time,

And it was just “probably” that I would write and earn my credit
Like Gertrude Stein, as I was not
An American in Paris, as I was just- like Allen had mentioned
Before “A crazy Eastern European, in New York, somewhat like
Naomi totally left alone, to her own madness….”

Then Peter, repeating the family pattern, Anne and Steve
And Bob keeping a tiny flame, a hope
Their presence at the wake
And then the vultures, people who never read the Sunflower sutra
The supermarket oracle the Wichita the Vortex, the Sutras
Allen patting my belly 3 months before I delivered my baby
I saw him only once after thatllllwe saw a movie
He regretted for not having children,
Then Peter, repeating the family pattern, Anne and Steve
And Bob keeping a tiny flame, a hope
Their presence at the wake
But he had no children
We, Eastern Europeans understand each other quickly, he said,
We think too fast, of course Allen said minime
But we are on mescaline and we’re supposed to think fast—
Nothing, just nothing is too horrible or too beautiful
Whatever it appears to be, it’s not me, Ginzy said, but
Dudjom Rinpoche, and I kept laughing and laughing
“I don’t want to see you sad face anymore” he added……………….
He loved that old Blake’s “O, Lo’ why did you make
me so different from the rest of the world, good Lo’,
why have I become a poet?”






IX TECHNO BEAT

Once I had a dreamllllor rather a nightmare
I was living in a mad house with people
With no name ; they had neither time
Nor knowledge to face themselves
They were jealous of my daydreaming
They were envious of my looks
They neither read or wrote newspapers and books
They were small time crooks- I say they
And it was silly me, attracted by their energy
Boiling for eternity…

Energyllllenergyllllenergy
That vicious prophecyllllvof the techno beat
When I was up, they were down
When I was sad they took me for a clown

Energyllllenergy energylllllof the techno beat
They catered to a trance and I was a pagoda
They always had to dance, my bygone fashion-moda…

Energy energyllllenergylllllllllllof the techno beat
One is doomed to wriggle while stomping his feet
Microphone is handy and so is my amp
I just want to mingle in a techno trance

Once I had a dream andllllthere is no shame
I was living in a madhouse with people
With no name…






XmmnRIGMAROLE

She was pushing a pushcart
He was blowing his trumpet
A mermaid was making somersaults
And the dolphins were winning gold medals
The seals were eating fish
Tin-Tinllllwas drinking beer
My shoe was making a long squeaking sound
And my son was stuffing himself with carrots
The parrots were screaming OH LA LA
And the karaoke student was yelling OBLADI OBLADA
Jane was smoking a joint and Max
Was playing his blue guitar
And Lateefllllwas thinking of all these things as they
Really are Tin-Tin and Max and Jane and
Dick with his blue guitar
I’ve lost my teeth but
Did not lose all my battles
to sanity and good sense
Rules the world and a bunch
Of flowerslllloh flowers
Flowers and pots
Pots and flowers
Pots and terrorists
This poem could
Do without






XImmmmmmmmmYOU ARE

So funny in your seriousness
Your hesitations keep you awake
This chamber musicllllllllthis shallow mood thisllllapricot sunset
This thunder coming out of your eye


You are so wonderful and simple
Scared and venomousllllllllllllllllyou are dopey
Tired and confusedllllllllllcheerful and analysed
Wakeful and synthesisedllllsunny and advertised
Waiting for a new button to light it up for you
Supreme percussionist you hear your own droning sound
Going from no place onto nowhere
You dance like a concubine with your chin up
You are so dumb you cannot recognize the sound of your mother’s horn
You are the disco king and your music is too loud to be blue
Too bad to be true
Just look at youlllland admit it Darwin was right
We all came from the monkeys
I am your side-effectllllyour true blue
Too good to be blue
Too bad to be true
And now, the hour of Final redemption has come…llllthe Lord of Ignorance
Is knocking at your doorllllllllllllllllllllllltime to smoke your joint
Time to shave your headlllllllllllllllllllllllltime to ruffle up your bed
Wash your feet
And go to sleeplllllllllwith you,
my love, I’ve always been on my own, quite quiet
and all alone……………

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