MIPOesias ~ ISSN 1543-6063 Volume 17 ~ Summer 2004

   

NEW COUNTRY

 

The current runs

against the hours, pulls the body

over and over, takes nothing from me

but a sky so black, stars so small, time

holds me and I drift

 

Miami Beach

Mink stoles and pearls

On Collins Avenue

 

Where did you eat?

Fun Fair, Pumpernick’s, Wolfie’s

Were you drunk? Smashed?

 

Really smashed

I fell from my mother

head first. 3 years later landed in a case

of Coca-Cola bottles. 50 stitches

in my cheek. Mother wrapped

my bleeding face, carried me

into the yard yelling,

“Oh, my god!" I wasn't going

to grow up perfect

 

Lawns,

our meadows. Summer

itch. Red bug rash. Mothers

lean over cyclone fences,

call their children home

 

When grandmother

died, no one told me

Mother and aunt sat on the patio

under a large umbrella crying

until the rainy season

Gramps came to live

at our house. Teeth in a glass

of water beside his bed

each night. Morning

teeth back in his mouth,

He didn't say anything

 

3:15, Friday afternoon,

Cadillac towing a deep-sea

fishing boat rolls up to

Nautilus Junior High. My father,

tie loosened, shirtsleeves

rolled up, steering. Mother beside him

We pulled away slowly

Trunk full of fishing tackle

and hors d' ouvres

 

WORMS/BEER

 

SEE REAL INDIANS!

 

AIR BOAT RIDES!

 

ALLIGATOR WRESTLING!

 

I fished for sharks. Buried a steel hook

into catfish head. Cast a leaded line

into the dark waiting for the slow crank

of the reel

 

Broken pottery

on burial mounds

Sand-fleas. Mosquitoes

Green raccoon eyes

Logger head. Mullet Thrash

The current throbs

against a hollow hull, races

toward a full moon

Here

in the thicket, confusion of crickets

High tide. August sloshing between mangrove

roots encrusted with barnacles. Luminescent

splash. Black mullet eye through silver veil

considers me

What does he want

with a small Jewish boy?

I learned

to keep the fat black juice under my lip

Oyster, beer, jokes

about money-lending jews

Mass in my chest. Stones and thunder

Thunder, toads and lice. Snake

from staff. Wheat to dust

carried in the wind

 

At seder, my Catholic Aunt Shirley sings

"When Irish Eyes Are Smiling"

Through loose teeth, my youngest cousin asks The Fourth Question

 

And bread is stone

Herb bitter

Honey is hope

Salt, tears again

Lamb is blood

So The Angel of Death will pass over

 

And a plate for Elijah

 

Tarpon creases, boils

jolts out of the sea

into sunlight. Hangs

A trophy over Florida room sofa

Cinderblock house

in sandy earth. Red

and yellow hibiscus

Orange crotons. Suburban

islands of Miami Beach

 

I was just learning

to speak Spanish when Che Guevara

and Comrade Fidel hacked though

the green undergrowth. No more sapphire

rings and Panama hats

The Golden Years of Havana

end with butchered chickens

in a New York hotel

 

My friend Henry's mom and dad arrived

before the Bay of Pigs

Brought money before the Bay of Pigs

Henry's dad ran off with the money

before the Bay of Pigs

Henry and his mom discovered America

before the Bay of Pigs

Henry and I got into lots of trouble

Floating on my back in a Bay of Pigs

 

New Country

Henry’s Cuban friends

called him Enrique. Kids

from South Beach, North Beach

Fried Bananas, bagels, cream cheese

Cubans were Jews, too

New Country. Kreplach

black beans and rice

Cuban kids played baseball

Cuban kids could swim. Cubans

on the football team. Miami Beach High

might win a game against redneck

Hialeah grit-eaters. Old gold

and pearls. White Cadillac. White

trousers White shoes. Silver-

haired men Silver-haired women. Pink

Flamingos and martinis on red-tiled patio

at noon. Scotch at 5. Splash of Chanel

And before the 6 o'clock news

the accountant calls

 

I watched from a distance

Saturday in The Bingo Bar

"Bums, all of them," grandfather said

Looking through a hole in his office wall

at the bartender serving

a hedge of flowered shirts

"They rob me blind"

 

I go across the street

to the movie theater

Polar bears on soda cups

In December,

when grandfather died

it was 80 degrees

 

7:30 am, Henry, Lindsay and I get into

my green, wood-paneled station wagon

We're not going to school, we're going

to Georgia. Take the turnpike north

Cream on the radio, “W-F-U-N,

“FUN IN THE SUN RADIO”

Henry rocking to the music. Lindsay and I

stoned on each other, 480 miles from

green corridors of Miami Beach High

School’s out in 15 minutes, and

we’re in trouble. On our way to Georgia

Radio cranked up

"The crystal ship is being filled"

FRESH SQUEEZED ORANGE JUICE

We cross the border at 6 p.m.

 

"Hello, mom?"

"Where are you? Come home, dinner’s ready"

"I can't, ma..."

"Why not?"

"I'm in Georgia"

I hear the phone drop

Dad says, "What are you doing son?

"I don't know"

 

This is the sterling silver spoon

This is cocaine

This is Black Beauty

Faster than time

This is the Hypnotic

The Sleeper drops in

This is Window Pane

Window Pane

This is the needle

Tie and flame

Six pack you won't feel a thing

 

Infection spreads through

the body faster than a drug

You tear off pieces

of flesh. Tear at everything tight

around you. Nowhere to go, nothing

to do. A lifetime peels

from your face. The skin

you're left with becomes an addiction

 

The Angel of Death

passes over our house

in the middle of night

Over our house

Toad, Bufus, deep

poisonous song on the lawn

 

New Country

I won't wear a gold necklace

Drive a Cadillac or drink scotch

I'm the Marlboro Man. Drink whiskey

Fuck whomever I like

 

 

New Country

When Lindsay killed herself

I was six thousand miles away

working things out

 

Slowly the poison, the whole bloodstream fills.

It is not the effort nor the failure tires

The waste remains, the waste remains and kills

--William Empson

 

New Country. Ten thousand islands

Endless saw grass strands. Henry

telephones from Cincinnati

"Hey, man, you’re talking to the daddy

of a brand new little girl!"

 

New Country

Enrique lives, Che is dead

 

New Country

I'm working it out

 

Where have you been my darling children

while I have been away in the west...

--John Sebastian

 

Across Pecos River, full moonscape

dark blue body of sleeping woman

Up windblown desert highway

Albuquerque, New Mexico, then west

across Sierras, down through glacial pass

into Sacramento Valley. Eyes open

to a living vision of The West

Golden Gate, Pacific Rim

Deep and breathing fringe

of Asia, Tibet and Mt. Fuji

 

The loose spray, the cold disciplined current.

 

 

Hawk vision. Fish vision. Mother vision

Father vision. Brother and child vision

 

Television

"Mom?"

"Where are you?"

"Home..."

Dad gets on the phone

"How was your dinner last night?"

"Good"

'What did you eat?"

"Brisket, sweet potatoes, matzah"

"Did you say the prayers?"

"I always do"

 

In the heat, palm trees sway

above a street lined with

pink oleander

 

 

Poem © Michael Rothenberg 2004. All rights reserved.


Michael Rothenberg has been editing and publishing Big Bridge for the past 8 years and growing orchids and tropical plants for the past 25 years. He also shares "an erotic fascination with eggplant parmigiana sandwiches". Poetry reminds him that poetry and life cannot be separated; "poetry is life and life is poetry." He says that "online publications allow for a greater community of exchange between writers and artists than print publications". He finds that the internet gives more "space and reach" and that online publications (especially because they are economical to produce) tend to be more experimental and eclectic. Michael believes that internet publications echo the "tradition of 'samisdat' and 'the mimeo revolution' allowing for the reconsideration of what is possible in all art forms". As such, more than being just a "poetry mag", an online magazine reinforces the idea of the arts as an "inclusive reality". Michael's most recent publication is Unhurried Visions  (La Alameda/University of New Mexico Press), "a non-epic odyssey through routes & roots of living & dying" which is (in the words of David Meltzer) "disarming, sly, self-effacing, proclaiming, doubting, affirming."


Portrait of Michael Rothernberg © Henry Denander 2004.

 

Poetry
Michael Rothenberg
Diane Thiel
Nick Carbo
Mia Leonin
Michael Hettich
Campbell McGrath
Kelle Groom
Steve Kronen
Kemel Zaldivar
Pris Campbell
Michael-Earle Carlton
George Murphy
Howard Camner
Geoffrey Philp
Terri Carrion
Nancy Knutson
Jonathan Rose
Barbra Nightingale
Ian Krieger
James Brock
Amy Serrano Zorrilla
Denise Duhamel
Virgil Suarez
Micro-Fiction & Shorts
Terri Carrion
Diane Thiel
Artists
Artist Intro
Ivonne Bess
Diego Quiros
John Canning
Jeff Filipski
Arlene Magloire
Cassandra Gordon-Harris
Holly Picano
TRES
Mia Leonin
Terri Carrion
Richard Blanco
Interviews
Campbell McGrath
Maureen Seaton
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