Wednesday, July 17, 2019

Mrs. Bloom’s Hat

Mrs. Bloom’s hat – yes, yes, yes – and a yo!
What other recourse for old Leopold’s Molly?
Get even with Steven! Put Daedalus in a chapeau
No arrow or bow: spill the buffoon with the folly
of making him clown in a crown of subjection.
Looks just as good on a fellow as on a grande dame,
and would soundly forestall his arcane predilection
for folderol Steven thought had more aplomb…
but please end this siege of egregiously terrible crap
in this awful un-ballad, cursed verse, this invalid
excuse for besmirching this Mount Ararat of a cap
in these dunderhead heaps of word salad! –
let’s not be undone by – just done with – all that.
Now close in, surround it. This ain’t for sissies.
Don’t tell me you don’t want your head in that hat:
Has it the key to the lock on the heart of Ulysses?
Or maybe it’s Dolly Bloom’s topper.
Six of one, half a dozen of the other?
Wouldn’t that be a whopper!
Dolly’s first cousin to Leo’s grandmother.

Friday, July 12, 2019

Reason to be Grateful

Another chain of being
rained upon the world today.
It didn’t mind we didn’t notice it.
It whooshed away.
We’ve reason to be
grateful it’s so quickly gone.
Before our tedious predictability
could make it yawn.
Chains of being don’t
much care if you ignore them.
But they become the beasts of hell
if you should bore them.

Oft’ in Soft-Penciled Dickensian Garb

Anthropomorphism stamps at the gate,
oft’ in soft-penciled Dickensian garb:
chafes when it can’t lift the latch to ablate
all the haughty reflexive resistance to it.
It’s a pinch and a sting and a barb
to the arts-savvy tasteful sophisticate
who can’t abide the jejune dunderheaded 
buffoon who believes the best art
is a Disney cartoon. Disney cartoons
have their place in Art’s pantheon’s great
sprawling spaces — but surely none equals
the subversive wit of a Jasper Johns’ target?
Or any perversity learned from his dada, 
the duomo of Dada! — cher Marcel Duchamp.
The further away from the human we get,
the more of the human we learn to forget,
ergo to escape to a space beyond space
in the skies! The more we can banish cliché
from our eyes, the more we’ll make art
the well-bred will not have to despise.

But anthropomorphism still has the edge:
it easily pushes upstarts off the ledge: 
it knows that no human mind ever
stops leaning first into itself to uncover
a meaning. We’re the measure of all we
can see. Being human, how else could it be? 
So anthropomorphism quickens and thickens.
Who best make its point but these
crickety heads, dressed like characters
blessed and unblessed by Charles Dickens?