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Money

30 Oct
neil-young-bw-photo

One of my favorite Carver poems, pictured here with Tess Gallagher

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In order to be able to live
on the right side of the law.
To always use his own name
and phone number. To go bail
for a friend and not give
a damn if the friend skips town.
Hope, in fact, she does.
To give some money
to his mother. And to his
children and their mother.
Not save it. He wants
to use it up before it’s gone.
Buy clothes with it.
Pay the rent and utilities.
Buy food, and then some.
Go out for dinner when he feels like it.
And it’s okay
to order anything off the menu!
Buy drugs when he wants.
Buy a car. If it breaks
down, repair it. Or else
buy another. See that
boat? He might buy one
just like it. And sail it
around the Horn, looking
for company. He knows a
girl in Porto Alegre who’d love
to see him in
his own boat,sails full,
turn into the harbor for her.
A fellow who could afford
to come all this way
to see her. Just because
he liked the sound
of her laughter,
and the way she swings her hair.

~Raymond Carver~

Tags:

Ginsberg

21 Oct
I actually prefer this poem to the more popular "Howl."

I actually prefer this poem to the more popular "Howl."

Hadda Been Playing On The Jukebox
Written by Allen Ginsberg, performed by Rage Against the Machine
It had to be flashin’ like the daily double
It had to be playin’ on TV
It had to be loud mouthed on the comedy hour
It had to be announced over loud speakers

The CIA and the Mafia are in cahoots

It had to be said in old ladies’ language
It had to be said in American headlines
Kennedy stretched and smiled and got double crossed by lowlife goons and agents
Rich bankers with criminal connections
Dope pushers in CIA working with dope pushers from Cuba working with a
big time syndicate from Tampa, Florida
And it had to be said with a big mouth

It had to be moaned over factory foghorns
It had to be chattered on car radio news broadcasts
It had to be screamed in the kitchen
It had to be yelled in the basement where uncles were fighting

It had to be howled on the streets by newsboys to bus conductors
It had to be foghorned into New York harbor
It had to echo onto hard hats
It had to turn up the volume in university ballrooms

It had to be written in library books, footnoted
It had to be in the headlines of the Times and Le Monde
It had to be barked on TV
It had to be heard in alleys through ballroom doors

It had to be played on wire services
It had to be bells ringing
Comedians stopped dead in the middle of a joke in Las Vegas

It had to be FBI chief J. Edgar Hoover and Frank Costello syndicate
mouthpiece meeting in Central Park, New York weekends,
reported Time magazine

It had to be the Mafia and the CIA together starting war on Cuba,
Bay of Pigs and poison assassination headlines

It had to be dope cops in the Mafia
Who sold all their heroin in America

It had to be the FBI and organized crime working together
in cahoots against the commies

It had to be ringing on multinational cash registers
A world-wide laundry for organized criminal money

It had to be the CIA and the Mafia and the FBI together
They were bigger than Nixon
And they were bigger than war

It had to be a large room full of murder
It had to be a mounted ass- a solid mass of rage
A red hot pen
A scream in the back of the throat

It had to be a kid that can breathe
It had to be in Rockefellers’ mouth
It had to be central intelligence, the family, allofthis, the agency Mafia
It had to be organized crime

One big set of gangs working together in cahoots

Hitmen
Murderers everywhere

The secret
The drunk
The brutal
The dirty rich

On top of a slag heap of prisons
Industrial cancer
Plutonium smog
Garbage cities

Grandmas’ bed soft from fathers’ resentment

It had to be the rulers
They wanted law and order
And they got rich on wanting protection for the status quo

They wanted junkies
They wanted Attica
They wanted Kent State
They wanted war in Indochina

It had to be the CIA and the Mafia and the FBI

Multinational capitalists
Strong armed squads
Private detective agencies for the rich
And their armies and navies and their air force bombing planes

It had to be capitalism
The vortex of this rage
This competition
Man to man

The horses head in a capitalists’ bed
The Cuban turf
It rumbles in hitmen
And gang wars across oceans

Bombing Cambodia settled the score when Soviet pilots
manned Egyptian fighter planes

Chiles’ red democracy
Bumped off with White House pots and pans

A warning to Mediterranean governments

The secret police have been embraced for decades

The NKPD and CIA keep each other’s secrets
The OGBU and DIA never hit their own
The KGB and the FBI are one mind

Brute force and full of money
Brute force, world-wide, and full of money
Brute force, world-wide, and full of money
Brute force, world-wide, and full of money
Brute force, world-wide, and full of money

It had to be rich and it had to be powerful
They had to murder in Indonesia 500000
They had to murder in Indochina 2000000
They had to murder in Czechoslovakia
They had to murder in Chile
They had to murder in Russia

And they had to murder in America

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Saturdays were good for

14 Oct

Nursing hangovers and thinking about the night before.
Sitting on the porch with my roommate “Quilty”
Bong hits and watching cartoons in my pajamas
Cleaning house and listening to Flaming Lips
Grateful Dead in the sunroom
Broken Social Scene and good spirits
Cooking lunch to the “Bends” album.

Checking out music from the UNT library
Catching up on emails
College football on the couch.

Beating off and writing poetry
Beating off and watching porn
Beating off.

(Not) catching up on schoolwork
Tecmo bowl at my Dad’s house
X-Box tournaments with the roommates
Sunbathing at Barton Springs Pool
Hiking the Oakland Hills
Strolling Stinson Beach in silence.

Pickup basketball in Berkeley
Whiffle ball in the backyard
Neighborhood football games
Rec-league baseball.

Free shows at J & J’s pizza
Going to the bar in my bathrobe
Dance parties and Fela Kuti.
The likelihood of “Trim.”

Biscuits and eggs with Becki
Pancakes with Margie
Eggs over easy with Terri
Sushi with Sally
Stir fry with Mandy
Ice cream with Kathy.

Sunday

was for
recovering
and dreading
the work week.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

Tags:

Was es ist

7 Oct
I was only hipped to him earlier today, must check out if his other stuff is as good.

I was only hipped to him earlier today, must check out if his other stuff is as good.

Was es ist

Es ist Unsinn
sagt die Vernunft
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

Es ist Unglück
sagt die Berechnung
Es ist nichts als Schmerz
sagt die Angst
Es ist aussichtslos
sagt die Einsicht
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

Es ist lächerlich
sagt der Stolz
Es ist leichtsinnig
sagt die Vorsicht
Es ist unmöglich
sagt die Erfahrung
Es ist was es ist
sagt die Liebe

–Erich Fried

(English translation)

What it is

It is nonsense
says Reason
It is what it is
says love

It is unfortunate
says the calculation
It is nothing but pain
does the anxiety
It is hopeless
says the insight
It is what it is
says love

It is ridiculous
says the proud
It is irresponsible
says the caution
It is impossible
says the experience
It is what it is
says love

– Erich Fried

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Placebo

10 Sep

I don’t want to be a replacement,
merely a stand in.
Someone to physically comfort you
until the real thing shows up.

Getting through the day is easy
it’s not hard to smile
when the sun is out
and the laughter is high
and there are distractions
aplenty.

Its the nights that
are difficult to face, or
at 1:30 in the morning
and there’s nothing
left to do
but sweep
the dark corners
of your mind
for any inkling
of hope to
remedy
your heartbreak,
and rehash every
little detail
wondering
what could have been
done differently.

I could be
that late night distraction
physically healing
mentally soothing
nothing kinky
or dirty
merely
a warm presence
to lay close to
and assuage
those
doubts of
self worth.

Simply put,
a band-aid
and a lollipop.

Edward Austin Robertson

Tags:

Like a Hurricane

10 Aug
I get it Neil. I finally get it.

I get it Neil. I finally get it.

As much as I’ve always loved this song. It’s only been recently that I really felt like I could truly understand what he was saying:

“Like A Hurricane”

Once I thought I saw you
in a crowded hazy bar,
Dancing on the light
from star to star.
Far across the moonbeam
I know that’s who you are,
I saw your brown eyes
turning once to fire.

You are like a hurricane
There’s calm in your eye.
And I’m gettin’ blown away
To somewhere safer
where the feeling stays.
I want to love you but
I’m getting blown away.

I am just a dreamer,
but you are just a dream,
You could have been
anyone to me.
Before that moment
you touched my lips
That perfect feeling
when time just slips
Away between us
on our foggy trip.

You are like a hurricane
There’s calm in your eye.
And I’m gettin’ blown away
To somewhere safer
where the feeling stays.
I want to love you but
I’m getting blown away.

You are just a dreamer,
and I am just a dream.
You could have been
anyone to me.
Before that moment
you touched my lips
That perfect feeling
when time just slips
Away between us
on our foggy trip.

You are like a hurricane
There’s calm in your eye.
And I’m gettin’ blown away
To somewhere safer
where the feeling stays.
I want to love you but
I’m getting blown away.

~Neil Young~

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City Girl

10 Aug

You Narcissistic bitch.

You can’t just play
games with people
like this.

Don’t you
understand that
words are things
you can’t take back?

I think you’re a liar
and a hypocrite
and one of the
most dangerous
types of people
out there.

Self righteous
and self important.

I’d rather
hang out with
the rankest
whore
in Ontario
than
be friends
with
someone like you.

At least
the whore is upfront
about who she is.

As crazy as my
last girlfriend
was. She was at least
honest
and loyal.

But lesson
learned.

I’ll certainly be
more careful
as to
who I offer
my heart
to
the next time.

Thank you
for everything.

I wish
I could take
back all the
lovely things
I said and thought
about you.

All the time
money
and energy
wasted
cultivating this
thing.

In reality
they are still
true,
just like everything
else
in this poem.

I’d be a liar
if I didn’t acknowledge
it all evenly.

Peace.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

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Effortless Reflection

2 Jul

It was unavoidable.
The pain and wonder
weren’t
worth giving
in to
the fear
of attachment.

She and the
city
worked
in tandem
to break
down
all
my defenses,

crumpling
under
her touch
until
I felt
my
whole body alive
with
self
awareness.

So when
I told
her I
loved
her

I couldn’t
have meant
the
accumulation
of all
her experiences
that
made her
who she
was.

I barely knew
her.

I didn’t just
mean
the amazingly
beautiful
woman
she was
becoming
right before
my very eyes.

Nor was I
just talking
about
the
invisible
orb
within her
that held
her
capacity
to empathize
and embrace
everything around her.

I was
also
saying
that I loved
the person
I was
when
I was
with
her.

It was effortless
to become
the person
I wanted
to be.

It finally
caught up
to me
when
the bus left
the downtown
Greyhound
station.

Passing
all
the streets
I’d roamed
just
weeks
and days
earlier.

Rethinking
my feelings
about the week
of rooftop conversations
and backyard
grilling,
and making
salads
from the
greens
in her garden.

Then I felt
myself
crying.

About
leaving her.

Crying about leaving
the city.

And finally
crying
about leaving
behind
the person

I was
going to
be.

~Edward Austin Robertson~

Tags:

Eve of Departure IV

25 Jun

She certainly
made it hard
to leave.

Without a
doubt
she was
girlfriend
material.

Cute.
Lovable
a great set
of legs,

smooth
skin
and warm
thin
wet lips.

The kind of girl
you want
to follow
around with
an 8mm
film camera
and make home
movies
in the backyard.

It tore me
up
that
I had
to leave
remembering
how much
I’d cried
last time
I’d left
Toronto.

This was
proof
that it didn’t
always
feel
good
to do the
right thing.

But I
had to
be true
to myself.

As much
as I loved
the city
and really
dug her

I wasn’t quite
ready to settle
places
to be
things to
see

waterfalls
and the
open
country air.

She’d be
another name
on
a long
list
of girls
who’d
tried
unsuccessfully
to get me
to stay.

Same old
story.

Another city
another poem
another disappointed
woman.

And me
feeling
like a
bastard.

Edward Austin Robertson

Tags:

Straight out of a poem I’d written before

22 Jun

We’d met
at the
market
but
I’d seen her
earlier
at the coffee shop
across the
street from the pub
I was drinking
at.

I’d noticed
her
then
with her
blue top,
white dress
and deliciously
thick thighs.

When I saw her
on the
sidewalk
perusing
the fruit
later
that
day,

I knew
i had
to
talk
to her,
even if
it
was only
for a
minute.

That
minute
turned
into
a
lively
nine
hour
conversation
that
culminated
with
us
dancing
to
Harvest
Moon

in her candlelit
kitchen
with her
peace incense
burning
and her
bangs
rubbing
lightly
against
my forehead.

Sitting on her
deck

in her new
apartment

underneath the
fresh
Toronto
sky
my first
day back
three
years
later,

brought
to mind
how
I’d picked up my
last old lady
in a weirdly
similar
fashion,

and I saw that
it was possible
to still
meet
intelligent
thoughtful
fun,
and best
of all
pretty
young ladies
who’d find me

gregarious,
engaging,
charming
and funny.

It was nice to know
I still had it.

Edward Austin Robertson

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