garbage cans of despair flailing wildly at dangling participles who never met a comma he liked
eschewing Fitzgerald chewing on the obtuse spitting out refuse
coy obfuscating in an interview mercurial taking mundane and creating a history lesson
about some damn bridge in NYC
This guy came out of left field as I remember him in Clark, NJ I treaded lightly sizing him up
is he the genuine article will he navigate me through everyone else's bad poetry
including mine
you kidding
this guy didn't even need a compass
I'm really liking this one, even with all the lack of punctuation! Great vocab, great rhythm, great description.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much
ReplyDeleteYou know, Greg, now I've got a real problem on my hands. What does one say to what one reads when it's (surprise!) about oneself and written by another? You wrote a nice piece there, flashy, strong, jammed in, filled with reference. I liked it, but you can't really say that about such a piece. I was conscious it was about me, and that made it weird to read or to judge. Not that I would 'judge' it in that sense. Obfuscate, maybe, in my responses. Use a compass, perhaps, but only to find out what direction was needed to get out from under myself. Say thanks to you, nod and smile, do the entire Chesire Cat thing to make sure you understood me. That was nice, and thanks. But, in your most recent picture, beneath that tie, is there a shirt?
ReplyDeleteBe pals, keep in touch. My office hours are wide open.
Gar
By the way, that fourth line is some major cool shit. (period).
ReplyDeleteYou know the Bible says if a man asks for yur coat give him the shirt off your back also. Actually that was Jesus that said that as you well know. I don't know I got inspired last night. Don't know if you like Fitgerald or not. I know you drove some woman nuts on some radio interview? Usually when I name check a poem it is for or about a woman but usually I keep them out of the title. You can ask Magnolia. Ya don't have to give me the Cheshire grin. Ah we gotta get together. I guess you're still in Metuchen. I believe this poem's mother is Ginsberg's "A Supermarket in California" you know "and what Garcia Lorca were you doing by the watermelons?"
ReplyDelete