Thursday, June 16, 2011

poem: yes, that is you

[While on the Massachusetts trip, Tina and I wrote a passel of patina poems (paschal + tina = patina). This is one. The Resident Youth also collaborated on three or four of the poems himself.]


rescue damsels & chew bubble gum

put your blue crew on notice

after the barn wobbles, this is

last call of the wild Kahunas,

drinking Kahlua and coffee in

a sacred ritual that warrants remembering

that the last time you left Cambridge

you were bereft of all

but the beach glass in your Tarantelle,

globs of prissy membranes

membraning your velvet receptacles -

traverse down from the North Shore,

a dip in Spy Pond should

refresh any grumblings,

where the overcast color follows

you into a past life you

once lived, where Armenians

walked up and down Watertown,

hands clasped behind backs,

walking toward a Utopia that

only lives in their mind's eye,

an eye bewitching the eye's tumble through

space, portals the size of Wonderbread

capsizing the half-baked yous into

fully-baked raisinettes & Holy Mutton.

Is this the mourning

coffee that dons your present

tomorrow? No, it smacks of

the true ferocity of Life

that ekes out past any small

identification, any moment

of time, and explodes into

the real yes that is.


you can yes that moment into

rhythm and rhyme and you can
the blue sky across your back
, all
the while backpedaling a metronome

in bubonic flood time, a geriatric

impulse to feed the flame, clasp

your Klimt to a vagabond future

anchored at Good Harbor.

Remnants of poppies live

and bend toward that flying

blue sky, a hue of heart

that melts into coronas, amid

solar flares of

passionate connection,

tender webs that light up

when you blink,

knowing without a doubt that

where you are standing

is the vast ineffable place you trace.



Blogger Devil Mood said...

Writing poetry with the family? You are just too poetical :)
I'm clasping my Klimt to a vagabond future - like the sound of that.

4:29 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Clasp away, DM. You might even say that Tina and I courted each other through our collaborative poems. Mr. Baby - the now Resident Youth - is, of course, the very best of our poems.

11:15 AM  
Blogger anno said...

Love the way the closing yes of the first poem hooked right into the opening line of the second; reminds me of the way a place unlocks memories all tangled together. The patina poems are always favorites; hope we get to see one from the patinary someday!

9:55 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Anno: Tangled together feels like an apt description of the patina writing process, whole bunch of swirlin' goin' on. We wrote enough poems on the trip to be chapbook-worthy. We'll see if we can get our acts together enough to do something about it (some day).

4:51 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

This wlll be the first year I haven’t been to Cape Cod for the summer. A family tradition broken. But mmmm the Herbie Hancock is dreamy to read this MA trip by. The barn wobbles to Cambridge with an eye toward the Utopia, toward the flying blue sky you can drag across your back with your Klimt, angling for a vagabond future. Geriatric. Aw, well, somes of us gits it, somes of us don’t, but I do dig this patina and ‘…the vast ineffable place…’ and it’s a good teaming, b’god!

2:09 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

I love hearing the mix of voices. I have been reading you long enough that I can pick out some pieces that I am sure are you, but then I know how years of marriage can blend, softening sharp puzzle piece edges so while they may not fit exactly, they are able to lean comfortable against each other enhancing the whole picture.

Beach glass and shores hooked me a little, I am newly back from Florida with an early morning and a late evening trip to the beach under my belt and plenty of family time (that included far too much eating!)

The bit about Armenians walking with hands clasped behind backs, walking toward Utopia - kind of squenched my heart for some reason.

Favorite line: "Is this the mourning coffee that dons your present tomorrow?"

I liked the yes transition too and dragging the blue sky across your back, and the last line gives a satisfying sigh.

7:58 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Gels (Ladies A and D): Seems like old times, ocean washing us all up on the shore. Time got away from me, too, what with nannying the Resident Youth and his best friend last week. I'd had plans to scribble the whole trip down all Thoreau journal-like, but I'm not sure the gas is in the tank for that, not to mention the other 8 or so poems from the trip that need transcribing. Patina + the RY on a few of them.

After a most satisfying draught of the Coens' True Grit, I've been immersed in Charles Portis, a glowing voice I should have met a long time ago, but hey, that's what dotage is all about: new voices, new vibes.

Your favorite line, Dee, is Tina's, but you knew that already, I'm sure.

Love you both.

10:05 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

Saw true grit at my brothers house, his boys flopped all around like puppies. Loved the movie, may have to hunt up the book...I saw the line you posted on fb - best line in the movie!
I survived a week and a half with no Internet so I have some time to make up. There was very little time to write what with boys, rabbits, chicks, two parrots, a boxer, and a cockatoo...I should be able to get some stories out of all that :)

10:42 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: I was completely spellbound by this TG. Very close to the novel: Portis is a treasure trove.

Welcome back, but glad you had some time to wander away.

11:08 PM  

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