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Jun. 4th, 2004 12:07 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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greatpoetryLarry Levis
Whitman:
"I say we had better look our nation searchingly in the face, like a physician diagnosing some deep disease" --Democratic Vistas
"Look for me under your bootsoles."
On Long Island, they moved my clapboard house
Across a turnpike, & then felt so guilty they
Named a shopping center after me!
Now that I'm required reading in your high schools
Teenagers call me a fool.
Now what I sang stops breathing.
And yet
It was only when everyone stopped believing in me
That I began to live again --
First in the thin whine of Montana fence wire,
Then in the transparent, cast-off garments hung
In the windows of the poorest families,
Then in the glad music of Charlie Parker.
At times now,
I even come back to watch you
From the eyes of a taciturn boy at Malibu.
Across the counter at the beach concession stand,
I sell you hot dogs, Pepsis, cigarettes --
My blond hair long, greasy & swept back
In a vain old ducktail, deliciously
Out of style.
And no one notices.
Once, I even came back as me,
An aging homosexual who ran the Tilt-a-Whirl
At county fairs, the chilled paint on each gondola
Changing color as it picked up speed,
And a Mardi Gras tattoo on my left shoulder.
A few of you must have seen my photographs,
For when you looked back,
I thought you caught the meaning of my stare:
Still water,
Merciless.
A Kosmos. One of the roughs.
And Charlie Parker's grave outside Kansas City
Covered with weeds.
Leave me alone.
A father who's outlived his only child.
To find me now will cost you everything.
(from Winter Stars, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1985)
Whitman:
"I say we had better look our nation searchingly in the face, like a physician diagnosing some deep disease" --Democratic Vistas
"Look for me under your bootsoles."
On Long Island, they moved my clapboard house
Across a turnpike, & then felt so guilty they
Named a shopping center after me!
Now that I'm required reading in your high schools
Teenagers call me a fool.
Now what I sang stops breathing.
And yet
It was only when everyone stopped believing in me
That I began to live again --
First in the thin whine of Montana fence wire,
Then in the transparent, cast-off garments hung
In the windows of the poorest families,
Then in the glad music of Charlie Parker.
At times now,
I even come back to watch you
From the eyes of a taciturn boy at Malibu.
Across the counter at the beach concession stand,
I sell you hot dogs, Pepsis, cigarettes --
My blond hair long, greasy & swept back
In a vain old ducktail, deliciously
Out of style.
And no one notices.
Once, I even came back as me,
An aging homosexual who ran the Tilt-a-Whirl
At county fairs, the chilled paint on each gondola
Changing color as it picked up speed,
And a Mardi Gras tattoo on my left shoulder.
A few of you must have seen my photographs,
For when you looked back,
I thought you caught the meaning of my stare:
Still water,
Merciless.
A Kosmos. One of the roughs.
And Charlie Parker's grave outside Kansas City
Covered with weeds.
Leave me alone.
A father who's outlived his only child.
To find me now will cost you everything.
(from Winter Stars, University of Pittsburgh Press, 1985)
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Date: 2004-06-04 11:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-05 05:49 am (UTC)