Wednesday, September 23, 2009

the prisoner of zen

Sheesh. I just received another guest list invitation for an event at the Bowery Poetry Club between Bleecker and Houston Street, NYC. Sadly frustrating when the primary consideration is not whether I can afford the subway ticket but whether they might grant me a visa.

My passport, even, has long expired.

It is my cross to bear that I was born on a more remote - though scarcely smaller - island. Where the winds blow ill and hard. An island creaking under the weight of a snivelling, shortbread making civil service in those 200 years since the Highland Clearances.

I missed the boat. I harvest the scars.

If any Fools are listening in, I am still awaiting a harder copy, though truth be told am in no position to contest the higher ground; negligent and corrupt, I have abseiled my bank account only to squander those remaining coins on counterfeit tobacco and Chilean wines. I sit surrounded by unmailed packages.

I have a weakness especially for Chilean wines.

Hold the sea bass. Or maybe not; I am ensnared in autumn and all out of teeth.

The rains are always just around the next corner, and there is no bomb in Mumbai.

I am unmoved by poetry. Poetry is for assholes. Or rum Canadians walking hammers on rollerskates. I cannot decide. I walked a dog habitually a long time ago. It strained at the leash and I discovered cats; a cruel and dysfunctional punishment with much to recommend it. Connoisseurs of passive smoking and displaced aggression. All claw and stiffened fur.

So. I am no mood to bandy words.

I am knock-kneed and dishevelled, gladly immune to ill-considered thwarts.

I might merely resurrect what has gone before without embellishment or fear of disgrace. And wish all my siblings well.

Charity ? She was a justifiable f@ckin' lay.

illustration by ib.

STEVEN JESSE BERNSTEIN: NO NO MAN (PART I) from "Prison" LP (Sub Pop) 1992 (US)


This comment has been removed by the author.

It was I, the screw up. Just meant to say, Prison...what an album, SJB...what a story.

Also, if you get a chance, check out the Jetty Webb post I did over at Digital Meltd0wn

Your driver said...

I really like poetry.

ib said...


I just read the interview with Brian McKay... Excellent piece.

On a different note, yes, "Prison" reamains possibly the most successful fusion of music sampling and poetry I have ever heard. A great record and wholly unlike anything else on the Sub Pop catalogue.

ib said...

Jon and @eloh:

I was genuinely pissed that I could not simply hop on a subway car and head over to the Bowery. I have never attended a poetry reading. Would that I could eavesdrop on Beer sometime.

Poetry readings are dangerous affairs.

The first time I heard a recording of Bukowski I almost dropped my glass. Strange and oddly disquieting not just to listen to his voice, but to suffer the collective intrusion of an audience.

This post was some necessary fun.

Löst Jimmy said...

If poetry like that is for assholes, my arse cavity has just got a whole lot bigger.

Have a great weekend and lay off (too much) Chilean wine...mind you I have heard the Co-op Fairtrade Chilean Carmenère is quite perfect and thoroughly recommended

ib said...

My head is banging; I think from a cold, which has me sweating and nursing aching joints.

Pig that I am, it might just be swine flu. Or too much Chilean wine.

The Fairtrade Carmenère is duly noted.