2 poems
Jonathan Williams: Polis is Spies
Eighteen months after you left us,
poetry (that abused & discredited substance;
that refuge of untalented snobs, yobs, and bores)
sinks nearer the bottom of the whirling world.
At Brigflatts Burial Ground—Jonathan Williams (with nods to Olson’s eyes & to Bill Lavender)
Eighteen months after you left us,
full coarse bunting, bambaazled to a fault
& by the sound oop norf, you bet
light airs of music / we are left with [1]
poetry (that abused & discredited substance;
try that bused & credit-edited stance
on someone’s else Try writing a JW poem
Try to imitate one, try to pass one off… [2]
that refuge of untalented snobs, yobs, and bores)
that fugue of lent nobs, juiced gobs w/out scores
blue lives that don’t matter, these eyes on
polis, politeia, la po-lice fook sake
sinks nearer the bottom of the whirling world
down by the docks, polis is spies in lavender ink [3]
only those unborn to the ur-redneck manner would find
this grotesquerie some sort of kicker,[4] nuff at stake
[1] Jonathan Williams, “The Anchorite,” An Ear in Bartram’s Tree
[2] “Can’t be done,” concludes Robert Kelly on JW.
[3] See Bill Lavender’s essay “La Police” (in ID) on the origins of Police as private organisations for property protection on the docks, in factories, etc.
[4] JW, journal entry in Hot What?
Jeffrey Cyphers Wright: Bullet & Proofed
(for Jeff)
The late Jim Brodey once instructed me
on composing a New York School poem:
“Use blue and name a couple friends.”
This off-the-cuff take is on-the-button.
Bare Season—Jeff Wright (with slight nods to Stein & Stones)
The late Jim Brodey once instructed me
always ride the high octane long-haul on an
uncluttered heart, you’ll be bulletproofed
Blue Lyre pants on fire (all the way to Newark) [1]
on composing a New York School poem:
Here’s the deal. Just wow. That’s it.
Ratchet the vernacular like the dickens [2]
this Mayor of East Village digs Reverdy too [3]
“Use blue and name a couple friends”
neither quite Warshed up in PoetryWorld
For Stephen—stay excited… all the way to north-
west, & back as far as Yugen (rimes w/ Dōgen)
This off-the-cuff take is on-the-button
so we’ll be tender between the muttons, sign off
righty, we’re gonna end with a friend
yr northern pal posts at two-gun
[1] Three brief notes: Andre Codrescu: “I emptied two magazines of my .380 PRK at Jeffrey C. Wright’s bulletproof poems, and they didn’t make a dent”; Jeff asked yrs truly to proof ’n prune his Blue Lyre ms; & decades ago, before Jeff’s Hard Press hit hard times (funding), we’d planned on a postcard for my poem “Fire Poem: To Newark,” artwork by Denis Lukas. (LeRoi Jones & Yugen also from Newark.)
[2] One almost feels it’s like quoting Joe Biden (“Here’s the deal” & again “Here’s the deal”), but this time we’re quoting lines from this same JW poem in Blue Lyre, which I said to Jeff is “one of the best books of poetry I’ve read in ages.”
[3] JW, the “Mayor of the East Village” (Richard Hell, quoted in Triple Crown).
Stephen Bett is a widely and internationally published Canadian poet with 24 books in print. His personal papers are archived in the “Contemporary Literature Collection” at Simon Fraser University. The book Broken Glosa will be out with Chax Press before the end of the year. His website is stephenbett.com.