confessional poem #7
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- constantine
- Posts: 2677
- Joined: March 9th, 2008, 9:45 am
confessional poem #7
ding-ding!
lucky seven confessional
you said you wanted honesty
and, by crackers
honesty is what you'll get
but first, let's talk about dodona
if you remember, in confessional poem #1 and #2
i briefly elaborated on the ancient oracle at dodona
with its sacred oak tree and barefooted
priestesses who wouldn't wash their feet
for reasons i already explained
i find this curious though i'm not sure why
and it makes me feel uneasy, like
i'm missing something, something important
something of consequence with ramifications for the future
for such is the nature of oracles, you never
understand them until it's too late
years ago, i saw an old man on the bus
only today did i realize that it was me
imagine how i felt
lucky seven confessional
you said you wanted honesty
and, by crackers
honesty is what you'll get
but first, let's talk about dodona
if you remember, in confessional poem #1 and #2
i briefly elaborated on the ancient oracle at dodona
with its sacred oak tree and barefooted
priestesses who wouldn't wash their feet
for reasons i already explained
i find this curious though i'm not sure why
and it makes me feel uneasy, like
i'm missing something, something important
something of consequence with ramifications for the future
for such is the nature of oracles, you never
understand them until it's too late
years ago, i saw an old man on the bus
only today did i realize that it was me
imagine how i felt
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20607
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: confessional poem #7
thank you for writing —
I read a poem last week that reminded me of you
I read a poem last week that reminded me of you
http://studioeight.tv/phpbb/viewtopic.php?f=12&t=25538"I ask him: How can we go on reading
and make sense out of what we read? —
How can they write and believe what they’re writing,
the young ones across the street,
while you go on pouring grape into ORANGE
and orange into the one marked GRAPE — ?"
- constantine
- Posts: 2677
- Joined: March 9th, 2008, 9:45 am
Re: confessional poem #7
thanks, baltimore jack. is your profile pic one of you when you were doing the circus gig? neat poem by the way.
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20607
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
Re: confessional poem #7
Me standing in front of the double-decker tourist bus I drive.
here is the whole poem
After you finish your work
after you do your day
after you’ve read your reading
after you’ve written your say —
you go down the street to the hot dog stand,
one block down and across the way.
On a blistering afternoon in East Harlem in the twentieth century.
. . .
Frankfurters, frankfurters sizzle on the steel
where the hot-dog-man leans —
nothing else on the counter
but the usual two machines,
the grape one, empty, and the orange one, empty,
I face him in between.
A black boy comes along, looks at the hot dogs, goes on walking.
I watch the man as he stands and pours
in the familiar shape
bright purple in the one marked ORANGE
orange in the one marked GRAPE,
the grape drink in the machine marked ORANGE
and orange drink in the GRAPE.
Just the one word large and clear, unmistakable, on each machine.
I ask him: How can we go on reading
and make sense out of what we read? —
How can they write and believe what they’re writing,
the young ones across the street,
while you go on pouring grape into ORANGE
and orange into the one marked GRAPE — ?
. . .
He looks at the two machines and he smiles
and he shrugs and smiles and pours again.
It could be violence and nonviolence
it could be white and black women and men
it could be war and peace or any
binary system, love and hate, enemy, friend.
Yes and no, be and not-be, what we do and what we don’t do.
On a corner in East Harlem
garbage, reading, a deep smile, rape,
forgetfulness, a hot street of murder,
misery, withered hope,
a man keeps pouring grape into ORANGE
and orange into the one marked GRAPE,
pouring orange into GRAPE and grape into ORANGE forever.
here is the whole poem
After you finish your work
after you do your day
after you’ve read your reading
after you’ve written your say —
you go down the street to the hot dog stand,
one block down and across the way.
On a blistering afternoon in East Harlem in the twentieth century.
. . .
Frankfurters, frankfurters sizzle on the steel
where the hot-dog-man leans —
nothing else on the counter
but the usual two machines,
the grape one, empty, and the orange one, empty,
I face him in between.
A black boy comes along, looks at the hot dogs, goes on walking.
I watch the man as he stands and pours
in the familiar shape
bright purple in the one marked ORANGE
orange in the one marked GRAPE,
the grape drink in the machine marked ORANGE
and orange drink in the GRAPE.
Just the one word large and clear, unmistakable, on each machine.
I ask him: How can we go on reading
and make sense out of what we read? —
How can they write and believe what they’re writing,
the young ones across the street,
while you go on pouring grape into ORANGE
and orange into the one marked GRAPE — ?
. . .
He looks at the two machines and he smiles
and he shrugs and smiles and pours again.
It could be violence and nonviolence
it could be white and black women and men
it could be war and peace or any
binary system, love and hate, enemy, friend.
Yes and no, be and not-be, what we do and what we don’t do.
On a corner in East Harlem
garbage, reading, a deep smile, rape,
forgetfulness, a hot street of murder,
misery, withered hope,
a man keeps pouring grape into ORANGE
and orange into the one marked GRAPE,
pouring orange into GRAPE and grape into ORANGE forever.
Twenty Little Poems That Could Save America
Muriel Rukeyser’s “Ballad of Orange and Grape” can teach us something about the fundamental import of language. Charming and didactic, the poem asks what it means when language is allowed to be unreliable. What, it wonders, happens to culture then?
- constantine
- Posts: 2677
- Joined: March 9th, 2008, 9:45 am
Re: confessional poem #7
thanks for the turn on - i like it. oddly, i don't read much poetry, but it is cool when you read something intelligent without all the intellectual trimmings.
- judih
- Site Admin
- Posts: 13399
- Joined: August 17th, 2004, 7:38 am
- Location: kibbutz nir oz, israel
- Contact:
Re: confessional poem #7
i confess that cool poetry is what makes reading worth doing.
thanks, dino
(&
jack)
thanks, dino
(&
jack)
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