JOHN GREY: TWO POEMS
“STATUE AND SHADOW”
Because I’m writing in what has been a genuinely rough time for me.
Because, my evolution has proved unnatural – a disjunction –
I’m still very much in search of my own style
which explains the acrylic irony, the stains of tentative sex,
the playfulness of a tortured past,
and the sight puns of my face in the mirror, channel everyone from
Donald Trump to Dracula
and I have written something stupid, that pretends to be innocent,
something that started out human
but ended on a note of feeding apples with worms to guileless children
Still for many days I worry what people might think
a voice will proclaim how sense must have a budget to work with
Father, the world has no apparent need of my doggedness,
my mental cruelty,
all of these stones – harsh rebellious stones – that are stuck inside my shoe
words intrude
take my head apart
because I am too much on my own
and syphoning from my brain
my neighbors argue fiercely
when they should be singing opera duets
their names are…
no, you don’t need to know their names
Lizzie – I think
and Simon who hates the way she does her hair
no one is hurt not even the dog
and the kid’s at school learning how to be Hitler.
And there is a distant shore that beckons me
like a game between my old alma mater and its most fierce rival
and here, in the room,
statue mocks shadow
“ALL THE CHARACTERS STILL INVOLVED”
The clown, a flighty scarlet tanager drips like blood
along with Bergman, Kurosawa,
even Eisenstein,
(a pompom, big red buttons) –
memories are gauzed by light for good measure
around their soft green banks,
at the bottom of the front steps, where a battered milk can stands guard.
and a stray dog skitters across the front lawn,
Its name is Billy Wilder.
But first of all, no girl is any different
from the taste of cinnamon on the tongue.
Dawn yawns over the lake,
Deer nibble on the lush grass at the forest edge,
Dew sparkles on the grass.
The scattered dandelions don a wispy cloud fedora.
Everywhere I look, objects reclaim their shape from yesterday.
First death, even at close range, barely knew the corpse.
First girlfriend, first death, the one compliant up to a point, her body held back but face up front,
eyes closed, lips pursed. No, that was the corpse, painted for the occasion, blue lips reddened,
hands folded on chest, beads and cross threaded through fingers. Down by the river it happened.
Or was it in that dour funeral home, windows heavily draped, mourners likewise.
First girlfriend, puppy love.
Smelling of fish.
First of all, everyone still living lives.
He who holds the remote controls the world these days. And my favorite, the 'repeat' button.
Can Mozart repeat? No, but I can.
In the rough hands of my father, the newspaper pages slowly turn,
their image trapped inside the television set
Love and death...
My flanks are gold. My sky’s a light blue granary.
The horizon filters out the articles my father’s eyes skim through.
No floods, no droughts here.
No wars, no killings.
Look, reality TV, and our TV, therefore our reality.
Pine Street is clear on the subject.
Here we are again, surrounded by technology, ecstasy at the push of a button, the turn of a dial.
That day, that night, they flash before me, bearers of old news, good and bad. No moment is safe.
Nothing in my head is secure. Firsts capitalize on the ordinary, the mediocre. Kiss my wife
goodbye in the morning. Where’s the tension, the release in that? Line up dutifully at the funeral
of another ancient aunt. Kneel before the coffin, press sympathies into the hands of relatives, and
then move on
red Ruskie showboat.
-
Yonder, the bare skull of the mountain
A barn
like a haggard old woman
Shining water.
Then we kissed. Then she died
We even have a video of the kids, corralled at seven, can never escape.
We’ve dammed up the classics, no Beethoven can run away from these ears
and to a distant shore.
without the clown’s say-so.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Red Weather. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Washington Square Review, Rathalla Review and Open Ceilings.
