Civil
Space
I
feel our borrowed car
contact
the car
behind
us
the
slightest bump
a
nearly zero-
impact
collision
surprise,
yes, shock
Mike
believes
the
other driver hit us
as
Mike was shifting
into
reverse
doesn’t
believe
he
backed into him
we
all disembark
look
at the cars
no
damage
to
either car
to
any person
I’m
sorry,
Mike says
the
other driver
raises
his arms, raises
his
voice at Mike
This
is not good
We
have a problem
the
other driver
repeats
himself
pushes
himself
in
Mike’s face
demands
that Mike
repeat
a string of words
the
other invents
I’m
sorry, it was
all
my fault
Mike
says it
the
other slaps
Mike’s
shoulder
we
walk away
 |
| Edwin Denby [pic by Rudy Burckhardt] |
from Edwin Denby's The Complete Poems, ed. Ron Padgett:
The
Subway
The
subway flatters like the dope habit,
For
a nickel extending peculiar space:
You
dive from the street, holing like a rabbit,
Roar
up a sewer with a millionaire’s face.
Squatting
in the full glare of the locked express
Imprisoned,
rocked, like a man by a friend’s death,
O
how the immense investment soothes distress,
Credit
laps you like a huge religious myth.
It’s
a sound effect. The trouble is seeing
(So
anaesthetized) a square of bare throat
Or
the fold at the crotch of a clothed human being:
You’ll
want to nuzzle it, crop at it like a goat.
That’s
not in the buy. The company between stops
Offers
you security, and free rides to cops.
A
Sonnet Sequence: Dishonor
Introduction
Happy
in health not poor and with good friends
On
the bright beach at noon I chanced to meet
The
filthy double of me who attends
To
secret matters I don’t care to treat.
Repulsive
and halfwitted that fine morning
I
started to pretend I didn’t know him
But
he in fury with no word of warning
Stuck
out his tongue to show me what I owe him.
His
tongue licked up the sky that crumbled blackened
Sucked
out my breath and peeled me like a shrimp
It
stood up then majestically fecund
Death’s
own bisexual self-polluting pimp.
To
him, his whore, these little dreams of hate
To
get my honor back I dedicate.
.
. .
5
[excerpt]
A
lover’s home is in the facts of his dreams
Where
he skins his love like a rabbit to his own screams.
it sounds like you guys found every rude Californian in the bunch. Jeez.
ReplyDeleteEdwin Denby is a piece of work!! Thanks for this wonderful blog.