tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84871462024-03-07T19:10:15.879-05:00Almost I rushed from home to tell you thisThis too shall passPaulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.comBlogger1061125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-56152996003602088742013-02-15T14:36:00.001-05:002013-02-15T14:36:55.291-05:00AlsoSOCIAL ELEGY<br />
<br />
I, too, am profoundly connected<br />
to this person who died<br />
way back when. I want you<br />
to really know it. Feel it.<br />
Later remark that your heart<br />
begged, no more, please.<br />
How you ignored it,<br />
punk hunk of meat holding<br />
in gory glamour<br />
your certain death.<br />
Ha! You could entertain then<br />
thoughts of Brazil<br />
and base jumping<br />
and sweaty assignations<br />
with whoever<br />
lives in the apartment upstairs.<br />
Imagine what it would be<br />
to fall into nothing -<br />
the excitement of another's oblivion.<br />
See, I am bound<br />
to that which erases.<br />
To a brick wall. To the weird heat<br />
of a strange bedroom.<br />
Light which is not light.<br />
Her touch will mark you,<br />
you know it, you know it forever.<br />
I think I mentioned<br />
how often I weep.<br />
And the blindness that comes,<br />
then. I'm sure<br />
I have shared this testimony.<br />
It is terrifying<br />
to unhinge my mouth, but I do.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-32590867363535838782012-06-23T12:12:00.000-05:002012-06-23T12:12:03.278-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Rk4gCgF6WE4Ws-9hMnGZi9r-IMTJiDIPDgZsPByXtJYmvemrYCyO891DFlQFyh6qDPI7tt5YdJyz0i9RPbRZXfgObpEbU0IhEEeT4KbboObh_xRm-logGx9W1Xxztlgn2EvZ/s1600/rally.jpg-large" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Rk4gCgF6WE4Ws-9hMnGZi9r-IMTJiDIPDgZsPByXtJYmvemrYCyO891DFlQFyh6qDPI7tt5YdJyz0i9RPbRZXfgObpEbU0IhEEeT4KbboObh_xRm-logGx9W1Xxztlgn2EvZ/s320/rally.jpg-large" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-40644114093267383592012-04-03T20:38:00.001-05:002012-04-03T20:39:31.237-05:00My grandfatherMy grandfather, Paul Fred Bohanon, died Friday in Georgia. Almost eight hours away, I couldn't make it back for his funeral today, and it's depressing. All my childhood, he was a mythic figure, a WWII veteran, a businessman, an alcoholic, a father, and so forth. When I was maybe ten, he allowed me to drive old trucks around Chickamauga, Georgia. Motorcycles, too. The prologue of my memoir is about him, or at least about the very certain odds of danger's lottery: sooner or later our frailty is revealed, often mercilessly. A year after I broke my neck, Rip, my grandfather as he was just about universally known, was found in the floor of his kitchen, a massive stroke having detonated within his brain. He could no longer speak, except to say Goddammit, and for twenty five years that was his word for the world. Along the way, he lost both legs, amputated due to gangrene, stole his son's truck and drove it to Florida - I was living in Tuscaloosa when that news came in, that he'd disappeared, and what could we do but ruefully laugh - and much that there's no need to recount here. This brief note does him an injustice, conveying no real hint of the wildman he had been all his life. But, in many ways I think I became a writer because of him, at least in part. I owe him this mindfulness, tonight, far away.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-70225347990668176962012-02-14T13:35:00.001-05:002012-02-14T13:35:57.782-05:00New<div class="p1"><span class="s1"><b>FOR WHEN YOU ARE DOWN ABOUT VARIOUS IGNOMINIOUS FATES</b></span><br />
<span class="s1"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">O bike thief in Las Vegas run to ground on TV</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">by a one-legged cop, I will tell nobody</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">of the shame which racked you.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Made your mugshot a study</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">of failed ambition aplenty. But,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I should be honest. Whatever you felt,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">however you rawly ached,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">it won’t be found here. Let us be clear:</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I’m making you up. Assigning your heart</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">grand disappointment. Naming you</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Russell, or Leonard, maybe Estus–</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">not all at once, but as my mood goes</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I speak good advice to you with great authority.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">In the moment you’re knocked</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">from the suburban kid’s mountain bike</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">(and how could you take it)</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">you’re clobbered by the young veteran,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">his lungs about to explode into the clip-on microphone.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I’d like to step in</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">with my mouth full of the obvious:</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1"><i>you do not want to be this</i>.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">When I broke my neck,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">fez-capped Shriners came to our house,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">looking old and white and sad.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">They gave me a TV,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">and my brother an orange foam football.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Twenty five years later</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">that set went dark forever,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">and nobody would repair it.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I think of the day I went with my brother</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">in his horrible Camaro</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">to buy a new television.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">He helped me stand,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">bracing my knees against his,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">then we turned to the unfolded wheelchair.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Over my brother’s shoulder,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I could see an old man watching,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">maybe he was a Shriner, too,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">ready to come over, offer his strength–</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">“Can I help you, son?”</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">When I said no, his face was grave;</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">I looked down to see that</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">my jeans had fallen</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">and my legs were white in the sun.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Which is a way of saying</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">that I was half-naked</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">in a Best Buy parking lot,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">once. Don’t forget </span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">the pained old man,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">the crappy Camaro, </span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">the Shriners who occasioned it all.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Well, not all: I, too, was knocked</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">from a bike, from a life,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">once upon a time. Russell, foolish thief, I think of you</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">each time I’m caught.</span></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-4437057633597076292011-11-05T19:21:00.000-05:002011-11-05T19:21:26.057-05:00The thought of the catacombsIs (was?) <i>Reckoning</i> just about the best album R.E.M. ever made? Maybe so.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I find I'm still lagging behind all possible verb tenses, these days. This is not a complaint.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Back from less than twenty four hours in New Jersey. Thank you so much to a truly wonderful host of nice people at Brookdale Community College. I had a wonderful, if frenetic, time there. I spent a few moments on the beach, pleased with the ruckus of the lapping waves - I hadn't expected to stay on the beach. And down the street, old bars where Springsteen came up. We only drove by them. Still, I fancied to feel a little of The Boss.<br />
<br />
And, then there was Tony Soprano. The poster in the lobby for a bus tour. Tempted. No time.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Amtrak never looked at my i.d.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
It is no real secret I love my Kindle. The new model is pretty fantastic - lighter, slimmer, pared back. I often do readings with it. And just read - a lot of that these days.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Charlottesville is wonderful, beautiful in this autumn, a little like a dream.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-76653657250581647642011-06-02T10:48:00.000-05:002011-06-02T10:48:54.395-05:00KJV<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 14px;">The link is for subscribers only, but I'm happy and thrilled to say that my poem "After Damascus" is part of a feature on the King James Bible in the June issue of <a href="http://bit.ly/lz98T5">Harper's</a>.</span>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-87926838922321161902011-04-18T17:43:00.001-05:002011-04-18T17:46:42.508-05:00UVAI'm thrilled and honored to say that this fall I'll be joining the faculty of the Creative Writing Program at the University of Virginia.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-64990624814680399602011-04-07T12:38:00.000-05:002011-04-07T12:38:37.820-05:00Whee<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Great good news: I'm honored to be a 2011 Guggenheim Fellow: <a href="http://bit.ly/g7t1uV">http://bit.ly/g7t1uV</a></span>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-87789768657795004072011-04-06T22:22:00.000-05:002011-04-06T22:22:06.534-05:00Nashville<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">At Centennial Park, <a href="http://www.caneyforkrestaurant.com/CFR/">Caney Fork River Valley Grille</a>, and, yes, Cracker Barrel.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlwI8Y728otFY3Sf6ff2-a_a4Mi4-qOs8vviUbyJ_CuF3fFIqrJhErvbykuNAKFx0oPRSAn-3LZf9ko0aB7t9vbdwU7reFpcg6voBp6q7p4s6sYTa_9mPOp3_abgV64eCoGpF/s1600/100_1142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlwI8Y728otFY3Sf6ff2-a_a4Mi4-qOs8vviUbyJ_CuF3fFIqrJhErvbykuNAKFx0oPRSAn-3LZf9ko0aB7t9vbdwU7reFpcg6voBp6q7p4s6sYTa_9mPOp3_abgV64eCoGpF/s320/100_1142.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwYtS8WX3xHN8VpxcgulrnEEu0Qac-g8kL4Xc7EkANuLvdySdC7icwKR4GXyapvDNgDZ45IEU_pkdOhu_znCA13AqWwBXgOts44kCbL0stMznoD7vatsrwnKJWfHCLovdRcQm/s1600/100_1203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQwYtS8WX3xHN8VpxcgulrnEEu0Qac-g8kL4Xc7EkANuLvdySdC7icwKR4GXyapvDNgDZ45IEU_pkdOhu_znCA13AqWwBXgOts44kCbL0stMznoD7vatsrwnKJWfHCLovdRcQm/s320/100_1203.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpSusg2MRGgH1t0-q-34ttyqzxSPQEwv1aqeak7gEpWPlxbK2V5rkJ1NjYrK3ps1AZQLMB1spJRWEBMutLKnou9sCAkrHK1pX6TFkx15SBAd1z_X_5u5dvebDeweUZQGZpvD-/s1600/100_1215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpSusg2MRGgH1t0-q-34ttyqzxSPQEwv1aqeak7gEpWPlxbK2V5rkJ1NjYrK3ps1AZQLMB1spJRWEBMutLKnou9sCAkrHK1pX6TFkx15SBAd1z_X_5u5dvebDeweUZQGZpvD-/s320/100_1215.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-53719031410932378072011-03-31T16:31:00.000-05:002011-03-31T16:31:45.504-05:00On the roadReading at Austin Peay State University on 3-17-11 with me, my fiancée June, and David Keplinger. Introduced by Blas Falconer.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BvDDMSEf-Ba18JeDbkgXxZJC-Kuqw5NchvVfzXDeVdarfghlNIa9-MdjlLnRhguXL4XOxpfVo6_Q1Yrq_Sq3nYH8x3SrbqBK3FgBrggJbc7qdluXtHLFKAGNmrZId31zh0wS/s1600/100_1106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BvDDMSEf-Ba18JeDbkgXxZJC-Kuqw5NchvVfzXDeVdarfghlNIa9-MdjlLnRhguXL4XOxpfVo6_Q1Yrq_Sq3nYH8x3SrbqBK3FgBrggJbc7qdluXtHLFKAGNmrZId31zh0wS/s320/100_1106.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9tllcULhZD7hykf49qFhyzNMP-DoOFuIpJzK7PWrXdaj7Al9Zau1NndQoTOu5UY0LGgDmQx7g0BuPhhZuUkfEewlK_vC9V7xHyhWhGhyphenhyphenLCnd9kfB9S5sL4vcJEV5C7pUYGxs/s1600/100_1111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9tllcULhZD7hykf49qFhyzNMP-DoOFuIpJzK7PWrXdaj7Al9Zau1NndQoTOu5UY0LGgDmQx7g0BuPhhZuUkfEewlK_vC9V7xHyhWhGhyphenhyphenLCnd9kfB9S5sL4vcJEV5C7pUYGxs/s320/100_1111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjjUijargj_Qbs3Ly5940pAlf9suQIZcxd5MDH19jpXIHuzsg9WIpZZgK9G_81JieqaehFZ3KXC25FUccbqOXPDLoi4gPoCP3p63d1-LPJZlWodRVI53ox-0x70iSzhUZ52VB/s1600/100_1116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGjjUijargj_Qbs3Ly5940pAlf9suQIZcxd5MDH19jpXIHuzsg9WIpZZgK9G_81JieqaehFZ3KXC25FUccbqOXPDLoi4gPoCP3p63d1-LPJZlWodRVI53ox-0x70iSzhUZ52VB/s320/100_1116.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-68001708018458141062011-03-25T15:36:00.001-05:002011-03-25T15:36:56.433-05:00Tag!My memoir, translated into German, now available in Germany: <a href="http://tinyurl.com/4wfljgh">http://tinyurl.com/4wfljgh</a>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-86739671765365047352011-03-15T09:18:00.001-05:002011-03-15T09:19:33.642-05:00The IdesCruddy sheets of rain follow a sunny spring day. My birthday. Thank you to everyone who sent such nice wishes. I'm overwhelmed by your kindness. I know I don't write here very much these days, but I plan to get back to it one of these days. Maybe as spring deepens. Anyway, again, my thanks and love to you all.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-36892682470238507352011-02-23T20:40:00.000-05:002011-02-23T20:40:40.585-05:00ThanksMy thanks to <a href="http://www.harpers.org/">Harper's</a> for publishing my poem "Narrative 6" in their March issue.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-84217943686494230452011-01-18T20:03:00.000-05:002011-01-18T20:03:17.979-05:00Ok<b>NARRATIVE 12</b><br />
<br />
The stealing was inevitable, you told yourself,<br />
hiding beneath your scabby shirt a steak,<br />
frozen hard, marbled with white veins of fat.<br />
Some place, maybe a cruddy gas station<br />
or roadside rest stop, would have a functional microwave.<br />
Else, it was fire again, and still,<br />
your hands burned like waving torches,<br />
awful for anyone to see. Your own dismay was gone.<br />
You thought of all the cartoons<br />
you watched when you were young;<br />
you thought of their representation of starvation:<br />
a man cinching his belt so tight<br />
that his waist vanished, with it immense hunger.<br />
You had no belt. Lost in the woods<br />
weeks ago, when worry for it<br />
didn't seem insane, the belt was cheap, entirely fake.<br />
Snow was falling and you said<br />
to a mute woman beside you<br />
that all this was like a mirage,<br />
as it began to catch and melt in her uncombed hair.<br />
That was real, you tell yourself.<br />
The snow and the woman and her glittering hair were real.<br />
This is not.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-16220868868878329452011-01-17T10:28:00.002-05:002011-01-17T10:28:29.449-05:00Or, maybe notNARRATIVE 11<br />
<br />
The ocean was so near the air<br />
was saline, always cold, and never still:<br />
you waited for the gulls to come<br />
each morning, though they were alien,<br />
ugly, and sounded so sad<br />
you shivered. You bought cheap doughnuts<br />
and tossed torn bits<br />
up to where the birds bobbed.<br />
Once or twice they missed,<br />
but that was all. You were thrilled.<br />
You ignored the water.<br />
The sun had not quite returned.<br />
Along the shore, washed up<br />
jellyfish lay about like weird trash.<br />
Kneeling on the cool grit,<br />
your face low to their almost-shapes,<br />
you tried to stare into<br />
whatever they were, or had been-<br />
clear like glass, or bags of slowly dispensed medicine.<br />
They made you ill.<br />
You took a long stick<br />
and pierced one,<br />
through and through,<br />
though you felt bad about it.<br />
That this was an unknown transgression.<br />
Still, you couldn't help opening it up,<br />
stirring its invisible, inscrutable systems.<br />
Water like jellied tears ran out.<br />
This bothered you most.<br />
You regretted the harm,<br />
completely, though the thing was nerveless, cold.<br />
You walked back.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-33976358950726378302010-12-22T11:01:00.000-05:002010-12-22T11:01:34.586-05:00LastNARRATIVE 10<br />
<br />
You should not feel so fragile, so fated<br />
to be dashed to dust by a strong sneeze.<br />
But, you do: all day long you wait<br />
to fall beside the toilet, or trip on a rug.<br />
To know that inside your body<br />
something has shattered. You're a fool,<br />
you say. Once, your father wept<br />
over a stray cat that had bounded<br />
into the road and under his wheels.<br />
You found him hosing his car,<br />
blood and shit still clinging to its underside.<br />
Go inside, he said. Just go.<br />
A small part of you broke, then.<br />
You tell yourself that. You blame so much<br />
on that sad moment<br />
you have to admit, you have to laugh,<br />
it is absurd. In your hand,<br />
door knobs turn like uncertain declaration.<br />
You are going. You are returning.<br />
You found this thing. You lost another.<br />
You have decided. Summer in the Azores.<br />
Winter in a little German burg,<br />
though there is only old menace<br />
waiting for you. You know the time will come<br />
when you will be unable<br />
to flee. When your blood<br />
will be worthless. You know<br />
you have already been soundly defeated<br />
at chess, in tennis, in the dojo of an inscrutable master.<br />
You smile. Your teeth ache.<br />
You wonder why.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-20836527245003468622010-12-20T09:56:00.000-05:002010-12-20T09:56:56.583-05:00MondayThanks to <a href="http://poems.com/">Poetry Daily</a> for featuring my poem, "<a href="http://poems.com/poem.php?date=14964">Love Song with Ruin</a>," on their website today.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-69108984221790428262010-12-15T21:03:00.000-05:002010-12-15T21:03:48.659-05:00PenNARRATIVE 9<br />
<br />
You never really believed the movies:<br />
a man couldn't slice off his prints<br />
with a razor, couldn't evade apprehension,<br />
forever. You thought about<br />
transgression. You thought about<br />
the candlelight by which<br />
this mutilation was always performed.<br />
The night before a heist,<br />
before the first sickening murder,<br />
the retreat into darkness.<br />
You looked at your own hands.<br />
Almost, you could see<br />
all the blood inside them.<br />
Beside you, an aquarium stank,<br />
thick with green curds of algae,<br />
though nothing in it swam.<br />
With a toy net, with brittle precision,<br />
you'd skimmed the last fish<br />
from the dead water weeks ago,<br />
flushing it like waste.<br />
Your television was a smear of sound.<br />
Your sink made you weep.<br />
Or strain with the sensation,<br />
your lungs filling up with heat.<br />
A child once came to you,<br />
dragging a bucket of cheap chocolates.<br />
Your money went<br />
away to where<br />
good causes originate.<br />
Where swings are made<br />
from limitless concern.<br />
No sharp edges. No lead. No cadmium.<br />
That was her pitch, at least.<br />
Later, the old apologies weren't much good:<br />
<i>I'm sorry, never again, you have to understand</i>.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-29323035940636500652010-12-09T11:54:00.000-05:002010-12-09T11:54:27.552-05:00And runOn my walk to campus Monday morning, I was crossing the street when a woman driving a small SUV sideswiped my wheelchair, spinning me around and scraping down the length of the vehicle. I'm lucky: I'm unhurt, and my wheelchair is undamaged, thank God. I was stunned - I looked up and could see the driver. She was on her cellphone, looking over her shoulder, her lips moving fast. I glared at her, still shocked. She sped off, tearing around a corner. She was gone.<br />
<br />
I looked myself over again to make sure I wasn't injured. I wasn't, so I went on my way. It was the last day of our semester and I didn't want to miss my students.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-46308166942978789982010-11-30T12:10:00.000-05:002010-11-30T12:10:18.838-05:00HathNARRATIVE 8<br />
<br />
You called Senators, manufacturers of hay balers,<br />
and demanded lots of things. Concessions<br />
to your sadness, mainly, which had hung around<br />
since at least the second grade, when<br />
a ball of ice had smacked you in the eye<br />
and turned your face into a curtain of blood.<br />
You never saw it coming. Now, you laugh<br />
when the weather is on, thinking of old winters.<br />
How much made of pain they were.<br />
How you placed your body atop the frozen lake<br />
and waited for the cold to come<br />
through the back of you -<br />
it felt like you were falling<br />
into a brick wall, and all time had slowed.<br />
Now, you make notes about<br />
proper techniques regarding the disposal<br />
of old television sets<br />
and complain to the window<br />
your litany of abuses.<br />
All around is motion:<br />
the scrape of jets in ascent,<br />
and the buses passing by on the hour.<br />
You practice stillness. You fill yourself up with it.<br />
Your muscles mutter. Your bones cannot stop their sighing.<br />
Here you've come. Here you came<br />
with absurd things like tube socks.<br />
Your skin. Your skin<br />
like a sort of faith, you think one night when<br />
outside the world heaves<br />
with rain. When the sky burns in the vague distance.<br />
If you inhale, the air has a taste.<br />
Copper wire. Blood.<br />
You are empty. You are unknown.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-21708111638174875502010-11-17T17:35:00.000-05:002010-11-17T17:35:45.694-05:00TSA PatdownI have no power to convince you to call your Senators, change your travel plans, or engage in light civil disobedience. But, damn it all, I'll try.<br />
<br />
Last week I read at Coastal Carolina University in beautiful Conway, South Carolina. Thanks to Dan Albergotti for inviting me. I had a great time.<br />
<br />
But I didn't enjoy the trip's beginning. At the airport in Atlanta, going through security, I was directed to the space where TSA employees usually work with disabled or elderly travelers. This area is in full sight, between the tandem streams of travelers passing through X-ray machines. So far, no big deal: usually, I'm quickly looked over and waved on. Often, the TSA employees are more concerned with my wheelchair's batteries. Which is understandable: my chair runs on two car batteries. By all means, let's check those out.<br />
<br />
But, we live in an "enhanced" era: enhanced interrogations, enhanced patdowns. The TSA employee, a dour, middle-aged man with thick silver hair, informed me that he would be performing a patdown on me, that I could request a private room if I was uncomfortable receiving this in public. That's not needed, I said, wanting to get going. <br />
<br />
He was wearing blue latex gloves. Several on each hand. He asked me to lean over. I did. He then stuck his left thumb in my pants, between the waistband and my skin, and ran it all the way around. I was shocked.<br />
<br />
"I feel like I have to tell you that is wildly intrusive and offensive."<br />
<br />
He sputtered a bit about the safety of American lives.<br />
<br />
"That's fine," I said, "I understand the concern. That doesn't change the fact that I feel that what you're doing is totally unacceptable."<br />
<br />
He didn't say anything. He crouched in front of me. He asked if any parts of my body were sensitive to pain.<br />
<br />
"They all are, I think," I replied. He thought about that for a moment before continuing.<br />
<br />
"Starting with your ankles, and moving up, I'm going to examine your legs until I feel resistance."<br />
<br />
He began kneading my calves and shins, up over my knees to my thighs, squeezing, until he reached my genitals.<br />
<br />
It was like a bad date. With the US government.<br />
<br />
After he had thoroughly groped me, he sent me on my way.<br />
<br />
This was truly, profoundly egregious and contrary to what we claim are American ideals. In fact, this kind of abuse is corrosive to those ideals. If we accept these practices, then we accept the next wave of violations. We are complicit in the extinguishing of our rights.<br />
<br />
Say no, stop flying, call your Senators - you have a lot of choices.Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-51423543493810020242010-11-09T21:23:00.001-05:002010-11-09T21:23:41.834-05:00The PB cover for OMTAH<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQBDPXPVA73bVKFcnH4qrZGohPMXzYoOgzVCrSQYqb39oROpvPw0rowhWplQLXeuH7I1bSasip5xLhZNx8XSJrF5vQCdHs4oEdmXHw91gt2Cel2ktzOwGjeUTTv0iAFYIa-PR4/s1600/index_pb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img <="" border="0" height="320" img="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQBDPXPVA73bVKFcnH4qrZGohPMXzYoOgzVCrSQYqb39oROpvPw0rowhWplQLXeuH7I1bSasip5xLhZNx8XSJrF5vQCdHs4oEdmXHw91gt2Cel2ktzOwGjeUTTv0iAFYIa-PR4/s320/index_pb.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-39569072207976050192010-11-04T16:30:00.003-05:002010-11-04T16:31:07.809-05:00Free<title></title> <style type="text/css">
p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'}
p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; min-height: 15.0px}
span.s1 {letter-spacing: 0.0px}
span.Apple-tab-span {white-space:pre}
</style> <br />
<div class="p1"><span class="s1"><b>NARRATIVE 5</b></span><br />
<span class="s1"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Your paperback of <i>The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn</i></span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">was ruined when it sank into the motel bathtub,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">fat and seeping when you plucked it back. Outside,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">there were old people screaming for the bus</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">or playing games of chance with bits of bones</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">they’d scooped from the roadkill by the curb.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">You were waiting for darkness. So were they.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">The bus never came. You suspected</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">there was no bus. On dried-up stationery,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">you drew a picture of a square</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">with knobby wheels and a few windows.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Stick people stared out them, at the ceaseless road.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">At you, you thought. You drew a fat mark</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">through them, canceling whatever</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">they had hoped for, and tied it to the soggy book.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">You threw it out the motel door,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">praying they’d shut up or scatter.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Or go to sleep. No one noticed</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">and all night long the hiss of oxygen tanks</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">and the electric clack of wheelchairs</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">and the chirping alarms of all the world’s congestive failures</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">were at your door. You missed</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">the book you’d lifted from a library</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">in the next town over. Why</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">you had picked it made no sense.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Everything was pitiable. Above the bed</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">the room’s sallow light hummed</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">and wouldn’t shut off. The mattress felt like straw.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">You figured it would not be long</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">before you found work again</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">in a mine or as a museum docent.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">Whatever that meant. <i>Docent. </i>You liked the word</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">like the matches you kept</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">in your pocket like identification.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">There was more to your story,</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">you always said if you were asked.</span></div><div class="p1"><span class="s1">You rarely were.</span></div><div class="p2"><span class="s1"></span></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-89011198767318318872010-10-30T21:40:00.002-05:002010-10-30T21:42:07.944-05:00Total<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">WATCHED POT APOSTROPHES</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You will never boil. You’ll go blind</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">not doing that. In space, your blood</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">will also refuse to boil. No surprise</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">all the movies are dead wrong,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">though my nerves aren’t soothed</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">whenever I’m bobbing in the vacuum</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">like an apple in ice water.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You are going to receive money.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And then you’ll spend it</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">on a fiberglass replica</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">of the sports car you wanted</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">when you were thirteen.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or fifteen. You may think this matters,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">this discrepancy fluttering</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">in your face like a rabid moth.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Trust me, you will summer in Ceylon.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When they decide to change</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">that name back. When all</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">the maps at once go a little bad.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I have assumed more</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">than is good for one’s soul.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You’ll inform me you bled out a long time ago.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">In Chicago. In Reading.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Somewhere cold. Winter</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">all the time, where people go</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">down to the frozen water</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">with a rusted crowbar</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">and bash the skin of the ice back to current.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You were one of them,</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">weren’t you, with death</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">itching in the brain like a cloud of midges?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You won’t fall if I let go.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I never held you in my arms.</span></span>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8487146.post-85512998893054123242010-10-28T18:24:00.000-05:002010-10-28T18:24:50.229-05:00MB<div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b>NARRATIVE 6</b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You once dreamed of bedding down in elevators.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maybe your young life had been touched</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">by prolonged contact with suburban commerce.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maybe you had been sexually confounded</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">by the strain of cinnamon in the air,</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">or bleating saxophones beamed from low orbit.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maybe you skipped pennies across</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">the dimpled waters of the fountain</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">and recited under your breath</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">wishes so desperate you recanted in that instant.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Teenagers veered about in misery.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mall-walkers hissed like adders.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">There were grandchildren, there were balloons</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">they had all let go of, screaming,</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">there were anatomically indistinct</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">iterations of the human body</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">wearing suggestions of life behind glass windows.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It should not go unsaid</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">how happy you were.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How free of predatory lending practices.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Your ligaments did creak</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">like ropes in a storm.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You dreamed of dreaming about nothing else.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Only this: rising, descending,</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">over and over until no one would come in,</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">and you were alone in a box.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">You thought of coffins,</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>how complacent a comparison</i>,</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">you said to nobody in particular</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">as you waited for the doors to shut and motion to resume.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 15.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div>Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05607786046959671496noreply@blogger.com0