These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
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CATULLUS POEM 5, An Original Adaptation of an Ancient Roman Love Poem
I am here to repeat ancient wisdom:
What do we care what the joyless say? They should get lost, all of them!
Sun may set then rise again.
Yet once our tiny, brief light is pinched out, We have night, an everlasting night, Nevermore our life under bright blue heaven,
So let’s kiss, and let’s kiss again. Let’s kiss a thousand times, and, then, Let’s do it all over again, those kisses.
How many? How many? How many? How many, you say?
Let’s not number our kisses. There are people with evil eyes, Workers of black magic, They would use their power to hurt us.
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PASSION PLAY
Yeeaaaaaaaoooowwwww!
I seek. I crave the whiff, your body scent, Your fragrance, I remember, it’s as though, You’re in my arms right here at home today.
My resolve, it weakens,
I want you back. I’m lonely, turn the covers, Find only empty bed and heart ache, The awful pain of my regret.
Sadness fouls my face.
Oh, how I hate the resolve, Never to see you, again, Have nothing more to do with you,
No matter how long the length of my days, I swear to it and mean it!
Yet I want you. Wish to see you, once more, Your form behind the shower curtain, Ghost figure in the steam, The water running full throttle, the heat,
The great comfort, I close my eyes, I fall to vision; it’s incredible, beyond belief, How do I describe glory that had come and gone. I fail in my recount, you, you, my darling, And in this, my own confusion
I reduce myself to greeting-card sentiment, I have come to believe you were heaven sent.
Can’t you see I’m at your feet!
I wish to witness your getting dressed, You, in the morning naked in our bedroom, and
Naked in the room whose door opens Opposite to the foot of our bed, Hurrying to get on with the day,
And then the other part, morning, noon, Or night, when you are in our bed, And I hold you open to savor over and over again.
I want to see your smile, and utterly to embrace you. Were I to steal – now and forever – all your pain away!
I would be finished with you, I want you out, But you, devil, trickster, you and your incantations,
You practice arts you learned when young, When you and your mother spent all that time, Back and forth on boat going to the Bahamas, You use high-tech, gigabyte millions, You work a black magic, Have you command of infectious virus?
The computer’s screen beckons me, keeps me awake.
Believe me. I tell you true.. I hear your voice, your whispers, Behind the sounds, behind the hum of the circuitry, Witch! You sit among the cords and the monitor lights,
You befoul my every electronic connection.
Then there are the notes. I have mail. You use email posts. Sometimes you tell of your day, the pleasantries, What you made for dinner, Or how your plants fare in your new garden.
Occasionally you include incidentals about your business, About your family and friends, your recent travels.
Your chief concern you, how you feel,
Hoping to fill, to close up the empty between us, I am compelled to read,
Though the letters do not include me, Of course, not word, nothing, Nothing about how things might be going for me.
Why do I care, why even open your communications?
Hapless, I look to figure how I might fit within your plans,.
Hope somehow that you might write something personal to me. Perhaps how you wish that I were there with you at home. Maybe you might say that you miss our intimacies, Or claim that you would love to hear my voice.
I search out your script, find no satisfaction. I try, and I try to extract some tiny comfort between the lines
Instead the wound reopens, my cut festers, The pain surrounding the punctured, the hot.
The ripped and torn, the awful marks of the lash, There has not been time enough, Will ever there be time enough, My flesh, properly, to heal?
And forgive me the blasphemy, forgive! Lord have mercy, save me!
I am reminded of Jesus after the beating, When the Roman soldiers, who had torn off the purple, Returned Him again to everyday garment, Then at Golgotha where they stripped Him, Before they nailed Him to the cross,
Yea, they stripped him, once more, The pain of those wounds, opened and reopened, Inflicted, over and over, oh the burn, every time, Every time you write me, and I hear from you again.
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CHICAGO THEME Hey! She can't do this to me! I'm an American! I was born and raised in Illinois. History taught me about Lincoln's Volunteers, They were the ones who burned Old Dixie down. I'm the Pepsodent kid, I have hung out on the skin of my teeth.
My uncle was a dog catcher. From him, I learned to capture animals in heat. Where I come from -- there is no foolin' around. Where does she get the nerve? She leaves me home alone for months on end. I've known speeds, man, faster than Flash Gordon, I can fly from planet to planet, Find and live amongst a whole new breed, What do I need her for? Got to be kidding! I mean... she can't do this to me! I have studied how the West was won.
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DENAIN
You were born a Catholic and God cherished you. But your having forgotten His Mercy -- That all outcome of human endeavor, His Will, not your own -- angered the Almighty. He delivered you into the hands of the Heretics. You suffered at Hochstedt and at Ramilles. Yet when you returned to the Lord, Thanking Him for all that He visits upon you, The Lord saw your gratitude, And knew that you had been restored to wisdom. He blessed your courage at Denain.
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SOUR GRAPES, An Original Love Poem after the Verse of Catullus
Understand, I always liked that guy, Herb, Let’s just say, I was fond of him. I respected him as a colleague.
Yet now, it is decades later; My once good feelings for him have nosedived.
Of course, I was attracted to you, Hey, your allure, it tempted me! The way you stood, it complemented your height, Made you demure, such poise, left knee bent forward, You tilted your shoulder from the waist a bit to the right. And that smile of yours, allow me to say it, You were gorgeous, and I always favored a brunet.
Not to forget your intelligence, hands down, You, why you were the smartest woman I had ever met!
Nonetheless, propriety required I not make a move. I was Herb's friend, How would you expect me to behave?
And you must recall. You do remember, don't you, That I had been otherwise engaged! Let's just say, I was a very busy man.
You might not have realized my busyness's full extent; Facts are, I had been occupied on too many fronts.
I know. I know. I missed the bus. The train had left the station. I had my chance. Passed on what very well might have been, What fairness, or hope of just measure might we expect, I lament when think about it, the splendid opportunity, Allowed so much to go by, life and happiness, years of it!
Let’s get it straight. The facts are the facts. It had not been my fault, I swear! It was that Herb, he had blocked my way, He puffed himself up and proudly took the stance, Made it clear that for all intent and purpose you were his.
I do not really care for the fellow anymore, Even the thought of him bothers me. I do not like repeating his name, Yet now it amounts -- how the years progress -- It amounts to more than forty years later!
I want it known, the world to know, Now and forever, my regret, That I had missed, Oh the wonderful chance to have experienced, Love and time with you, please, Understand! Do not blame me!, I swear to it! He stood in my way.
Though once a friend, I do not really care for that guy anymore, no, Not a bit. The thought of him gets my stomach sick.
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RESPOND TO THIS VIDEO, A Poem about Friendship
Respond to this video. Tell me, dear audience, Tell me what to consider, Or tell me what you may believe. How do I handle it? Is there a way? I can not be friends with her; She is no friend to me.
Tell me what to do.
It’s not that she’s bad, Or evil beyond belief; Yet she has broken her every promise, No regard for holy vow, And the real truth behind her lies, And herein some sympathy is required, She has a hard time dealing, Living in the everyday world. She does not feel much in common, Feels she has little to do with all the other girls, Who have a fit in the regular world.
Tell me, dear audience, Tell me what to do! My heart’s been rendered, Seems as though split in two, Torn along the lines, A perpetual refrain:
Nothing to win, and Nothing left to lose.
“Oh, you’re such a pretty girl, Why are you so skinny?” That’s what the ladies ask, When she is just standing there, Standing at a stop waiting for the bus.
Let me tell you what she said, I tell you, dear audience, What she once revealed to me, She said that she’s always starving. Now I know how she got so worn away.
I have seen her get thinner, Thinner by the day. She can not finish her dinner. She imagines cottage cheese; Sees it form on the back of her legs.
Let me whisper a secret. Maybe it will elicit a comment or two. The first appliance I bought for the house. It was a white, electronic scale.
She will not step on the scale. Claims I take the wrong approach.
Her bleeding, it stopped some time ago, But no problem here, when there’s the pill, Tweak the hormone and, anyway, What’s so important? Why the big deal?
Really, I can hear her say it, As if she were present, Right before me and talking into my face. She would be all pretend and diffident, Yet with the skinny sarcasm in her voice. Oh that is she, little miss perfect!
“Come on! I get it; “Don't go worrin' your head. “Relax, no problem! “My blood, it’s flowing! “I’ve got a show right now.”
Respond to this video. Tell me, dear audience, Tell me what you think, Or tell me what you believe. I can’t be friends with her. She can not be a friend to me. She's no friend to anyone; She's no friend even to herself.
Nothing for me, Nothing to win and Nothing left to lose. It’s so awful, very weird, Still I hear me say it. I know she still loves me, Yet how can she love me When she doesn't love herself.
Will she ever live without worry, Might she ever be carefree again?
Can it be she’s really dying? Dear God, I am glad that I can not know... I can not know the truth. She jogs for miles, Goes to the gym every other day, Claims the thing -- she has it, One day she told me, “Down, cold, and under-control!”
My heart is broken, All I can do is pray.
She's runnin', she is running away from me.
I can’t be friends with her, She can not be a friend. She's no friend to anyone, She can not find love for herself.
What else can I do? What am I missing? I’ve never doubted her beauty! Please, tell me, tell me.
Merciful Heaven! Is there any thing, Tell me if there is some thing, Any thing that I might do?
