Herbie Mann Comin' Home

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

A Wake



This might be said about the death

of anyone: that its quick memory springs from live mouths around a table

that someone is always looking at you when you bring it up, your tone forefashioned, grave --

an entourage frail as the body itself nods, and then a matter of drinking and eating

and for some, fucking.  Because when bodies grow cold, the spirit rises and swoops

and while the finally sedate fall into flimsy gravity

others swivel and clutch.  They insist on it.


.

10 comments:

  1. Even before some grow cold, the clutching begins.
    After all, I know: My knuckles are white as stone!

    Rick

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  2. Rick,

    There's still some warmth -- enough to take on the driver's wheel on the way to work.

    And to work the remote.

    Trulyfool

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  3. stunning,

    human minds cold be cruel, humans minds could be strong like stone as well.

    love your words of wisdom.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Okay, TF, this is my favorite piece of yours, to date. I love everything about it. It's perfect. I also like how you found a great contemporary image for the painting. You're brilliant.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Jingle,

    I suppose if this is wisdom, it's a worldly kind. Weakness of people. Needs of people. Don't need reminders of loss, but they get them.

    And need each other the more.

    Trulyfool

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  6. Tess,

    Your generous comments always buoy me. That you find this piece strong is heartening -- I've been off my 'production game' the past two months and felt in a slump. Still do.

    As always, I play 'off' your prompt and substitute an image somehow close. Several were rococo paintings or simply bad contemporary ones.

    This was labeled Cedar Tavern 1953, and I assumed some of the faces were notable 'Pollock-era' artists. You might very well know.

    I've sat around a few tables somewhat like this one.

    My notion of the 50s is such black-and-white.

    Although my parents rarely drank and never smoked, my notion of 'the adult' is of a smoker with a nearby drink, the men with a sport jacket and no tie, the women smelling of cosmetics.

    Not irrelevantly, I'm now 'mixing' some 50s Ellington, Evans, Mulligan, Chico Hamilton, and others to play on I-5 this summer down to California.

    Atomic, man!

    Trulyfool

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  7. Powerful, you dig, part Beat,
    part the Village, with
    smatterings of Burroughs,
    captured in black and white,
    as your poetic shutter
    clicked in this moment,
    we we are told to rejoice
    in the loss, to satiate ourselves
    partly for temporal pleasure,
    partly in tribute. Love it, sir.

    ReplyDelete
  8. As Poets United reaches its first anniversary this coming week we want to thank you for your support. Over the past year we have grown to 250 members plus and are steadily growing.

    Poets United is proud to have you as one of our members and look forward to another successful year.

    Your imagination, creativity and willingness to share with us is what makes our community such a wonderful place. Thank you for beautiful poetry and thank you for being a part of Poets United.

    Poets United

    ReplyDelete