Sunday, April 04, 2010

Red Star: for Robert

Bobby Lee from Abilene, diligent baby boy lost in the swagger of Wall Street, Baylor boy, assiduous little man in big bog clover, the partnerships were beckoning, the caroms were caroming, little between him and God, save for demagoguery, who the more gogue was certainly up for grabs, till night fell on his heart and he were a very lost little lostie all by himself in the little skies of Manhattan, towers towering, but little hearts squeezed into the pasta shells of linguine heartbreak.

Woke one morning in that big West Texas bed on the Upper Westside, Central Park out the windows, Gail-ey Girl down the dark ladders, unswooned by the swagger, unimpeded by all the Barnum and Bailey, slipping down the pikes to parts west and Erie-ward and on into the big heartlands, leaving the edgy edgesters to theyselves. This prissy babe abdicating on the wherewithal of megalomania for Routes 66 and all the other blueberry cobbler burghs down the tubular dreams of those who find bliss in smaller quilted patches, singing a new song, savoring the nothing wrongs with fisheries, Catskills, Samsonite luggage, calculations of the pig, variations on themes of the Woody-mind, not Emerson and his ghastly brood.

Cheryl, bruised apple of his eye after the winds down tornado alley left him gasping in the last pew, theodolite in search of a new day, a topography sans god and all the rest, rogaining his way down a dreamscape that steals the heart before the heart sets her sights on the prevarications and egotisms of righteous despair . . . Cheryl, dabbler in need of rent, takes pens and pastels and renders his lost eyes in all their gaping horror, the emptiness of desolation, you know that desolation, you drove it one gaping-wounded blood-ridden drive through nighttime Lubbock, Buddy's soul in rhapsody but yours gutted on the floor . . . Cheryl, pockets his five Ben Franklins - what is sour Mammon to his pierced soul? - renders him the Pagliacci fool for love, the lost afterbirth of crucified passion, the kiss-off of see-you-on-down-the-highway-fool, these baby boys die hard, fast asleep in their arrogant errors, the miscalculations of skunkweed cul-de-sacs . . .

See the fool, see the agony, see the way out . . .

Walked out, this Bobby boy, walked down the Avenue, Elaine's and all the folderol a foggy mist, walked, Van-Winkled his way to oblivion, sought the solace of the naked head beneath his shaggy pate, dreamed himself a new pelt, rogained apotheosis, hirsute avatar, deranged Adirondack poet of the five and dimes, he could find no other sense to the peepshow distillations of the Big Boy colloquies. The first trail into the first woods, Hudson School painted glory, he shed, not some but all his clothes, right down to the pinstriped satin boxers, his genitals ripening in the glory of a new mown world, new moon blossoms, that formerly shaggy pate did rise like a harvest moon: three days of unshod miles, feet calloused by the footpaths of his ancestral cinnamon bears, bulk returned to his heart, bearing him up for the journey home. He prayed for a new coat and watched as the glossy red sheen filled out arms, legs, back, and face - body and soul melting into his new Easter morn. The Christ of the Holy Bear kindled a torrid forest fire in his lungs and heart, and the missional cries were heard forever in the forever evermore.



Blogger Teresa said...

Well, this is an interesting one. I've read it twice. It does grow on me.

9:52 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Teresa: This was a Muravian translation / tesseraction of one aspect of our priest Robert's Easter sermon.

6:41 AM  
Blogger Teresa said...

Aaah. Then it becomes even clearer.

3:38 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

I have read this several times and will several more I imagine. First paragraph I was thinking of the rich ruler in Matthew 19. I couldn't help but go off on a separate track with that last paragraph - it made me think of John the Baptist - first trail, feet calloused, animal pelt. But I also saw Jesus on the Via Dolorosa, backing up to the see the fool, agony, way out (take this cup?)

2nd paragraph had me. Cheryl = Mary Madalene? ) eyes in all their gaping horror - Along Came Mary)
theodolite - had to look that up lol - measuring the height and width of the cross?

Sing a new song reminded me of this

Worthy is the,
Lamb who was slain
Holy, Holy, is He
Sing a new song, to Him who sits on
Heaven's Mercy Seat

a little confused about the bears - I remembered the story of Elisha and the youths that mocked him and got eaten by bears (called him old bald head) and the bear in Revelation but my cold medicine muffled brain gets lost after that.

A lot to wander around and examine here. I absolutely loved the last lines.

8:13 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: That's some wonderful exegesis there, sister. No surprise that it would have triggered several archetypes, though in truth, there was very little conscious allegorizing going on in the writing.

My starting point was Robert's Easter sermon. I took considerable liberties with his past life, with a few nonfictional strands: his previous life as a Wall Street attorney, the collapse of his first marriage, and his own ensuing collapse, all of which, of course, was part and parcel of meeting the awakening call within.

At one point, Robert mentioned a portrait that a friend of his had done of him back during the avalanche, notable for, among other things, the full head of hair on his now bald pate. Good for some laughs, as he showed it to us. His point, however, was the extent to which his friend captured the desolation in his eyes.

Early on in my own vision of this story, I saw him walking out of the Emerald City of Manhattan, on into the country, back to a simpler self, losing hair, losing pretense, as he morphed into the (wilder) bear that has found his way into our midst.

I love your speculations, your collaboration with the piece.

8:17 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

Maybe all those stories are all of our stories after all ....

11:10 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: Agreed.

1:43 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home