Stealing stuff again.
YANG CHU'S POEMS 305
It was Wednesday night prayer meetings,
The darkest night of the year.
God walked through the walls,
Entered the church.
God was naked.
The parents quickly put their hands
Over their children's eyes.
The preacher in panic,
Switched off all the lights.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Penhimalaya
It was Wednesday night prayer meetings,
The darkest night of the year.
God walked through the walls,
Entered the church.
God was naked.
The parents quickly put their hands
Over their children's eyes.
The preacher in panic,
Switched off all the lights.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Penhimalaya
posted by Lane Savant at 11:46 PM
9 Comments:
Yea, verily, this poem of Duane Locke's
is worthy of reposting. It says a lot in
just a few words, something I find very
difficult to do, as the hearty FFTL regulars
and less prolific FFTR regulars are
very aware. For those interested in
poetics, there is over 100 more Duane
Locke poems over on FFTR.
I have had a very low key
weekend, not feeling too hot; sometimes
my PT appointments kick up my Process,
and my symptoms spike and flare, as
they did the last couple of days.
I took the time, though to watch
Todd Haynes' film I'M NOT THERE, which
is a Felliniesque version of the life of
Bob Dylan, with five actors playing the
different phases of his life, including
Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, Richard Gere,
and my favorite, Cate Blanchett. This
put me in the mood to rewatch the
Scorsese film biography of Dylan,
NO DIRECTION HOME; which led me
to some of his blues roots, and Odetta
singing STRANGE FRUIT in the style
of Billy Holiday who recorded it first.
It was based on a 1937 poem, which
I posted on FFTR, followed by the
Neil Young lyrics for SOUTHERN MAN,
and putting me in the mood to
post a pictorial of early black cinema
posters, that both fascinate me and
put my teeth on edge to realize how
far the world has progressed from
Paul Robeson to Barack Obama.
I will return to this site, this spot,
tomorrow morning at the office.
Glenn
.
Yes, I did, I am....here.
Warm this morning, like 44
degrees at 4:30am. Hope the
heat wave lasts. Coldness and
I are not bosom buddies.
It is a fabulous Floyd/Stones/
Beatles Monday, and that
ain't too shabby, enit?
Kind of felt like writing
a poem of some kind regarding
Bob Dylan, after immersing
myself so deep into his life
and enigma. Amazes me his
skinny face has become a Mini-
Vincent Price, and his voice
sounds like Tom Waitt on a
low day. Heard a few licks from
Dylan's "Christmas Album" and
it is out there, like a bull
frog croaking Oh Silent Night.
I like the idea that the many
faces of Robert Zimmerman, and
the fabricated personal history
he promulgated, make him a kind
of shape shifter, as he reinvents
himself every few years, always
moving. Great clip in the Scorsese
film where Steve Allen is doing
an introduction of Dylan and
Bob is squirming like a kid
at the principal's office. Maybe
he just never had the same need
for self-confidence, and bravado
that others dip into.
Have to make a dash to the
doctor's this morning, to look
at some minor stuff my Melva
keeps bugging me about. That is
always a treat. My new Group
Health Doc is Chinese; young,
intense, English as a third
language. But hey, this old
equipment has to be checked
on regularly to keep it keeping
on. Went back this morning and
reviewed my Early Black Cinema
posters over on FFTR, and wow,
that is some alternate universe.
Glenn
Actually when you post a poem
or another's interesting bit of
comment or prose, it is just
a compliment, a way to push
the ideas, the sensations, the
information, the data out there
even further into the great
void of Cyberland. I know that
the shape of FFTL is that you
feel obligated to create all
original concept, thoughts,
philosophy, levity, humor,
sarcasm, and self-deprecation,
but when the Muses do not
tickle the creativity out of
you and you post some other
stuff that has caught your
eye--it really is not theft;
nor is it charity, it simply
is raw and logical promulgation.
My Chinese doctor had to
repeat his instructions several
times; had some trouble following
the broken English. But it is
time to look at this shell,
this meat machine that encapsulates
my life force, and get it into
better shape, regardless of the
imbalance, the immune system
disfunctions. I only have 7.5
months until I am granted my
freedom, and I want to be able
to enjoy it, enit?
Glenn
Dat wud be "dysfunctions" dipwad.
Cain't youse speak good English?
.......Vinnie
Hallo, Lane & Glenn!
This drivel does not deservr to be on your high-quality blogsite.
Tschüß,
Anonomann
Anonomann....what drivel are you
referring to, the poem by Duane
Locke, or my copious comments?
Actually the poem is pretty cool,
audacious, existential, rogue,
daring, and sharing a more than
common view of organized religion.
Well, it is Wednesday, and it
feels like Friday, cuz the holiday
follows tomorrow, and I'm taking
Friday off to cap a 4-day
weekend. I know--every day is
a holiday for the retired set.
I had to laugh yesterday.
I found one of Duane's poems
out on a site called FZQ, and
they had a poetry contest on it,
whereby you look at some photos
they had posted, and then create
a poem and send it in, hoping
they would pick it to accompany
the image. I wrote a poem,
BIKER BOY, and sent it in.
Then I noticed that last update
on FZQ was back in 2001.
There was an email address I
sent it off to, and wasn't
refused and sent back, so we
will have to see whatzup.
Actually it doesn't matter.
I just needed an excuse to be
motivated to write a poem;
doesn't take much these days,
a taste, a smell, a line in
a classic rocker song, a trick
of the light, a sunset or rise,
the darkness, a dream, my wife,
or Lane Savant--those words
just keep rolling, enit?
Glenn
Freaking awesome poem!!!!!
Hallo, Y'all!
This poem convinced me all the more that it is better to be unchurched than churched. I suspect sspending Wednesday nights at prayer meetings would be a horrible waste of time!
Tschüß,
Anonomann
Hallo, Glenn!
NO!!! I did not mean your comments were/are drivel (though they could be more succinct!!); I meant the poem was/is drivel; prayer meetings seem also to be not any more worthy of attention, so poem and prayer meetings seem all on the same level. Certainly, however,it is better to spend time writing drivel than wasting time at a prayer meeting!!
Very best wishes to you, Glenn; you are the most loyal correspondent on Lane's blogsite!!!
Tschüß,
Anonomann
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