Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

to hear an MP3 of this poem in the poet's own voice, go here:

http://www.studioeight.tv/musicpost/biggrandma.mp3


Song for Ancestors and Descendants

Big Grandma was a medium sized woman,
the generations are radiant in their gradations
call it the past or the seeds of the future
it's up to you which dust to trust
which lingual tradition
what grunts and whistles

Somewhere I have an ancestor, his skin is black.
He tramped in Ethiopia, lived on berries and poetry
in grunts and whistles, and straddled the Great Rift.
Big Grandma was a medium sized woman.

Then the family moved north to Germany
which didn't exist then, following the giant sloth
and the saber tooth and we lost the pigment
in our skin due to rugged cold weather
and the angle of the sun. Big Grandma was medium sized.

We were on the run like tangled Hugenaughts
from France to Scotland to Ire
and finally to the colonies with nothing
but a blunt ax and the will to live and fire.

Next we will flee to bubbled houses
on Titan or Europa or some lonely asteroid
and camp on our convictions and science
while we invent new gods and kiss the void.

before I invented fire
I didn't have two sticks to rub together
But Edison was on my shoulder
and I had dreams of a nuclear program

I thumped my drum and drew
right there on the cavern walls
sagas of caribou and gazelle
I wait to rape the moon with my rockets
She was medium sized.

The past, the present and the future collide
as we take the rampant karma ride
just close your eyes to know generations
deoxyribonucleic acid twisted around
a lysergic handbag of memories
Big Grandma was a medium sized woman.

my parents are visiting my children
at the point of laughing at the generations
Janus looking forward, looking back
project the future and remember the past

don't look for the puppets
look for the strings
why do you think they call it string theory?
and chromosomes are little ropes
that tie the ancestors to the descendants.
Big Grandma was a medium sized woman.

Somewhere I have an ancestor, his skin is black.

thanks LR,


random thoughts on reading

Somewhere I have a mother. She was born in Africa. I have no idea what color her skin was.

Grandma loved that Patriarchial god of her mothers. I never could understand her resentment. But she used to give me such wonderful baths in her kitchen sink. I came to embrace her envy.

This kind of poetry blows others away. Thank you LR. Pax