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Old
Dog Pomes
Poetry by Jim McCurry |
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Thursday, February 27, 2003
Title: "ON TOUR, III.8 : ahl tell you whut" Munching tortillas, a Texan grows stentorian, recalling the day he said to his ex-, 'Sit down and work it out. Take more lessons from Ma. I'm down in North Carolina. Went down to Tucson Arizona and sold that gawd damn truck. She knew gawd damn well. U.S. Marshals come down there and arrest me. I want to throw a fist through the backside of her forehead, bring her thimble ful of brains back with me. Sneaky gawd damn son of a bitch. I had some credit down there.' I took a good look. And when I got a good look, he looked no different from anybody else. # then i tried a shorter test poem, from my manic political rant "Dear Alice," which goes thusly-- Artifice of How many tent revivals can Billy Rose utterly pitch on the head of a pin? Unawares, we had trucked to Moab.
posted by Matt
at 3:33 AM
Tuesday, February 25, 2003
Title: "24 Feb 03" Collateral deaths. Infants, corpses. Casual policy decisions, spokesmen, memberless cabals. Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat after me-- Resolve. Toughness. Material breach, says the Ambassador; Determination, George W. Bush, Repeat after me-- The blood. The shit. Coughed up hunks of lung. The language of diplomacy. Empty eye Sockets. # and yesterday's pome-- RED LETTER DAY 24 February 2003 -- Here's that rainy day my first girlfriend in college said , Don’t quote. She also (falsely) accused me (falsely) of false modesty. I put off x-rays, two dates for self-assessment, a jazz talk -- ballads, valentines stand to attention & here’s the young lady I thought to love dancng with a man taller & younger— more clean headed even than I. I smile and nod, lift my 20 year tawny port to the great window. Snowflakes frisk and dance outside. I guess I cannot quote. So--
What’s new?
posted by Matt
at 8:30 PM
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bio |
| jim
mc curry, b. 10-3-43 in hawthorne (los angeles) california,
has taught at carl sandburg college since 1980, in poetry
& philosophy;
since recently going online, his links include Big City Lit,
Cyber Oasis,
Drought, and Snow Monkey—ten poems in all, four of which
now
appear at the websites of the first two zines just named.
His philosophical interests center on nonduality: especially
maha ati,
dzogchen, or madhyamika. (David Loy's recent study, NONDUALITY,
is a convenient handle.) For example, "the man"
includes Huang-po, Yun-men, Dogen. The trouble with What Is
Enlightenment is the
dubious assumption that we can think our way to enlightenment,
or that there is truly conscious evolution, 'progress,' rather
than
recovery of primordial innocence/happiness. In this respect,
contrary to some of his best friends, actually, Jim is somewhat
skeptical of Andrew Cohen's work, and Ken Wilbur's—not
to say the work of Eckhart Tolle, let's say. The literary
interests include V. Woolf, B. Cendrars, Lydia Davis, Knut
Hamsun, Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Casares and Borges, Marquez,
Neruda, William Carlos Williams, Jack Collom. I think that's
enough indication. O yes, Pessoa.
Jim has a granfalloon of masks, some of whom are becoming
heteronyms, mebbe: Baron Axel Angst, Ramadooly Foofoo, H.
Pumphrey Smogrove, and the most fully realized of all, Dogwag
Bummerstead, PhD, aka Old Dog.
email: jmccurry@csc.cc.il.us
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