Kenmore: Poem Unlimited

Kenmore Poem Unlimited Geoffrey Gatza

A Publication of

Bloomington, Illinois Copyright ©2008 Geoffrey Gatza ISBN: 978-1440463112

The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragicalcomical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the liberty, these are the only men. Shakespeare | Hamlet | Act 2, Scene 2

You that look pale and tremble at this chance, That are but mutes or audience to this act, Had I but time--as this fell sergeant, death, Is strict in his arrest--O, I could tell you-But let it be. Horatio, I am dead; Thou livest; report me and my cause aright To the unsatisfied. Shakespeare | Hamlet | Act 5, Scene 2

Kenmore

Note Be ne

On Gwion And The Wisdom Potion Taliesin began his life as boy named Gwion Bach, a servant to the witch Ceridwen. Ceridwen had a beautiful daughter and an ugly son named Morfran, whose appearance no magic could cure. She sought to give him the gift of wisdom as compensation for his ugliness. Using a magical cauldron, Ceridwen cooked a potion granting wisdom and inspiration, which required cooking for a year and a day. The first three drops of liquid from this cauldron gave wisdom; the remaining brew was a fatal poison. A blind man named Morda tended the fire beneath the cauldron, while Gwion Bach stirred the concoction. Three hot drops spilled onto Gwion's thumb as he stirred, burning him. Instinctively he placed his thumb in his mouth, instantly earning great wisdom and magic. It occurred to him that Ceridwen would seek revenge for this transaction. Scared, he ran away, but all too soon her fury unleashed in sounds of her pursuit. As Ceridwen chased Gwion, he used his newly found magic and turned himself into a hare. In response, she became a greyhound. He then became a fish and jumped into a river, she then turned into an otter. He turned into a bird, and in response she became a hawk. Finally, he turned into a single grain of corn. She laughed with pride and changed into a hen and ate him. It was then she realized she was pregnant. She resolved to cut the child’s throat, knowing it was Gwion. Once born the was so beautiful that she couldn't go through with the deed. Instead, she placed the child inside a leather bag and left it by the ocean. The story of Gwion and the wisdom potion resembles the Irish folktale of Finn and the salmon of wisdom. A blending of both is used to form the first half of the poem.

Enoch: Devils, Giants and Dream Visions The second section details the change of Taliesin into Isidore. This is based in part on the apocryphal apocalyptic text, The Book of Enoch. The source translation is taken from the first English translation of the Bodleian/Ethiopic manuscript published in 1821 14

by Professor Richard Laurence, Titled The Book of Enoch, the prophet: an apocryphal production, supposed to have been lost for ages; but discovered at the close of the last century in Abyssinia; now first translated from an Ethiopic MS in the Bodleian Library. Oxford, 1821. The story gives witness to the end of days when two hundred rogue angels leave heaven. They take human wives and teach humans secret arts. In time their children grow to be giants and revolt. For their evil deeds and the taking of human wives who brought forth unholy children, they are sentenced to hell. The angels plead with Isidore to intercede with God on their behalf. And in a dream vision Isidore meets god in heaven and is given a message of doom in a language they will understand is that of god. As a reward for this task, Isidore is granted a walk through the heavens guided by the archangels. He is shown heaven, hell, the tree of knowledge and Eden.

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Ignomi ni ou s “These tales of ratiocination owe most of their popularity to being something in a new key. I do not mean to say that they are not ingenious – but people think them more ingenious than they are – on account of their method and air of method. In the "Murders in the Rue Morgue," for instance, where is the ingenuity in unraveling a web which you yourself... have woven for the express purpose of unraveling?” E.A. POE on inventing the detective genera

So y ou w ould , w oul d y ou? The story begins with the lighting of a candle, the goodbye, Combusting paper, a canvas sky reflecting forty days of toil Souls succor after succumbing, succumbing in a phony song Just as phony as phony can be, swinging softly in an imagined muslin tree Simple story this; it’s me out walking I meet this guy on the road near Failing Cemetery He is fishing in the sewer grate. I know fucking weird, right. He’s got a tackle box and all his bobbles and buckles out on the lawn. So what do I do but talk to the mental bugger, have you caught anything, I say, catch anything but a cold? He doesn’t laugh, I follow up with the old, hot enough for ya? I don't know how to respond to that one either so I sit by this ugly fucker and give him a good stare Trying to judge his sanity by peering eye to eye into his soul.

Fuck all.

So I says to the fucker, what are you after there, jimmy? He says his name’s not jimmy; well no of course it isn’t Jimmy is the name of my penis, and you sitting there dangling … It just seemed natural. Jimmy says his name is Fish And that is what he is after, a fish. Well, at least your father has A sense of humor about him; then I slap on his back, what a hoot!

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It’s the w ay thing s cha nge

the cat peed on my favorite calvin klein t-shirt the maroonish one with ribbing and a slight elasticity so it holds its shape after continued washing but smell is another matter entirely nothing makes one scream and point like urine i started to run, chase the cat she gets out the screen door and she sees a rabbit on the lawn she’s after it in a flash i grab a broom and yell

it bolts into the shrubs i’m not sure if it was hurt so after the cat is back inside i look to see if the bunny is ok the bunny is sitting under the wooden porch the gray paint is chipping in spots and water damage has taken its toll after many years of bbq’s and late nights with dear friends from late spring to early fall i remember exactly the moment i lost my mind it was a beautiful open electric flash of knowing to continue, the bunny was not there under the porch was an emerald green garter snake i thought he would make a great soup and skin belt

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Mund ane E xtr a Mund ane The way to the other Is found in the not other

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Whi te Wi za rd I am watching the television 12/27/07 10:10:50 AM Listening to iTunes on my white MacBook While writing poetry Benazir Bhutto has just been assassinated A remake of REM’s hit song, End Of The World As We Know It, set as a sea shanty begins to play. There is an empty cup waiting. A dark creeping shadow Swinging with the lamp. Tigers trump fires. I feel strange about it but I place Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade In the DVD player and smoke a pipe.

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Th e Mi sfi ts For Michael Kelleher Everyday is just one day for misfits She takes a sip from the boy’s glass Her body flows with the ping-pong Beauty jumps the western bar fight A Stetson swinging full of winnings Her mink wrap at the rodeo screams The broken nosed cowboy in chaps gets back on his horse Only this horse is a bull, he gets thrown but doesn’t get up Well he does get up later Has a beer with Marilyn The golden ladder leads To a haystack of her hips Alpha and omega are in the thorn tree Till Armageddon the wise man will Bow down and they will throw their Golden crowns at his feet when the man comes around Marching to a large kettledrum in the whirlwind Around the thorn tree She will let him lay in her lap Looking down at his buckled Broken body. We’re all horses out on a range, living wide, Wild; to live long enough to outlive our day, our ability to outrun them’s that chase and get caught and canned as dog food

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P ois sonie r So I say to Fish, if you catch a fish out of that sewer grate I’ll cook it. And I’ve cooked up a few fish in my day, I don’t mind telling you. I can tell that he is not too keen on the cooking so I don't force it. He says that his mother assured him a fish is down there. I say something like; maybe she meant that he was in the gutter. No reaction, he keeps bobbing is pole in and out. After a time he says that it is a magic fish he is hunting; magic. It is the fish of wisdom and whoever tastes him first will gain Wisdoms of the first water and vivid topaz thoughts of the past. I laugh at his story. Fish keeps fishing. I’ll cook that fucker. His mother has a plan; he says after fifteen minutes of silence. It is her magic that will solve all things, making amends to me. She was cursed by a crossweaving wizard Old magic from a beloved wizard scorned Dark magic, dark words spoken by candle She was changed as I was changed, to this If I could talk I would tell you, you are far and away my most imaginary friend.

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Vic tory I bought a cap gun from the corner store Walked up on Fish and shot three times He didn’t move But the fish did It jumped up and out of that sewer grate Flipped it’s silver feathered tail, waving I dropped the gun bobbled out for it only to have Fish grasp hold of the silver fish of wisdom

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Silver Fish of Wisdom with Ginger Beurre Blanc - caught fresh from sewer, scaled, cleaned and gutted - de-bone and stuff belly with herbs and fennel greens Magical Court Bouillon 2 Parsnips 2 Carrots 3 cloves of garlic 1 head of fennel 2 leeks, cleaned 1 medium celeriac 1 bottle good white white 2 quarts good fish stock Bring to boil, add ingredients and simmer softly 25 minutes drain and reduce temperature to 175 οF. Carefully place fish into the liquid and poach very, very slowly until just cooked. Remove and serve immediately with Parisian potatoes aromatic vegetable, ginger beurre blanc and plum wine.

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ma ple ke ys The distinctive fruit are called samaras or "maple keys". These seeds occur in distinctive pairs each containing one seed enclosed in a "nutlet" attached to a flattened wing of fibrous, papery tissue. They are shaped to spin as they fall and to carry the seeds a considerable distance on the wind. Seed maturation is usually in a few weeks to six months after flowering, with seed dispersal shortly after maturity. Most species require stratification in order to germinate, and some seeds can remain dormant in the soil for several years before germinating.

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We b ec ome wi ser if n ot s adde r fr om our d isas te rs The rabbit changes into a garter snake The snake changes into a skunk The skunk changes into a squirrel The squirrel changes into a hen The hen changes into a deer The deer changes into a doe The doe changes into a fox The fox changes into a robin The robin changes into a bluejay The bluejay changes into a crow The crow changes into a hawk The hawk changes into an elm The elm changes into a maple The maple changes into a samara and spins away

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It’ s al righ t Ma , I ’ m onl y blee ding I follow the ugly Fish and the silver fish To a cottage at the end of Danbury Lane. A dog on the loose runs past my legs A woman in a yellow slicker sweeps. I say, the Dead End is appropriate. And, that Church looks like a monopoly playing piece. When I saw his face open wide I winced at the repulsive pit that I beheld Eyes with no glint of life, cheeks sallowed Dappled with lice, puss, leprosy and distain

Do not fear if you hear a foreign sound to your ear

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Cottage s , in s hor t

There are few words in Kenmore dirtier than naturalism. Example, The ultimate performance piece was shown at the town gazebo A few years back: a person dying — as part of the art exhibition! He stayed in there for six months Living his last, a finger to the forehead. He died three days into it and decomposed. Poetry has been about empty spaces rather than comedic slices of life ever since. Cottages, in short, are a logistical nightmare, and this is surely the reason that most of them today are located in depersonalized wastelands.

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Dr op th e m r od s and re ac h We speak in hushed tones about the names drawn up for assassination. Guards stand outside their compounds clutching assault rifles. Handguns rest on desks. No one can be trusted. All sides fear the dark times that are coming to Kenmore, our spiritual capital. "The situation is mysterious," said Fish, the son and confidant of the witch. She is one of the four senior most ward clerics in Kenmore, who guide the faith and counsel its peoples. Like elder statesmen, the four have found themselves ensnared in the conflict between the council and an upstart young cleric. The poisonous atmosphere of treachery and paranoia has consequences far beyond the alleyways of this ancient shrine city. Kenmore may hold the key to our stability; if it descends into violence, the entire south will almost certainly follow. Our forces will be stretched, the chances of hope diminished. On Saturday night, the fears of a conflict loomed larger threatened all-out war against the council if it did not halt operations against the witch‘s followers in Kenmore. In charting the future, it is here they come for guidance. It is here they first challenged the conservative council.

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"Mother is the kitchen, where major decisions are cooked," Fish said. Fish works out of a barren room in a closed-down restaurant and hotel. Bodyguards sit in the lobby, decorated with a mural of Keats dancing with Barack Obama as long haired poets gaze austerely down revolution’s roads. Fish confesses he has been in crisis mode lately. "We are afraid the situation from now till October won't be stable for Kenmore." Every year pilgrims come to pray at the grave site of St. John Neuman. Believers bury their dead in Kenmore’s cemetery, nicknamed the Valley of Peace. Aspiring poets flock here to study at the revered site. “There is a tense standoff between the pilgrims and the witch. They both hold power and popularity, and that is what makes the situation so tense and volatile." “They viewed mother as a rabble-rouser, able to mobilize the rural masses for violence. The last battle battered the city's cemetery and neighborhoods." “Even now, shattered buildings dot the landscape."

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