Korrektiv: The Early Years
January 15, 2012 by at 3:58 pm
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
JOB
Conflicted in early life between his desire to be a weatherman for local community access cable stations and a man who wears pants in July, JOB took the middle road and now writes poems between every waking moment. [Read More …]
Southern Expat
All you need to know is that I'm a lady, understand?
Behave yourselves accordingly. [Read More …]
Is that Mrs L?
Is that a Mao hat?
Whoever she is, she is smokin’.
She is indeed smoking – probably one of JOB’s. (That’s him on the right.) She is indeed Mrs. L. As for the hat, it’s like I told you – my family are Democrats from way back.
I remember the Morrissey poster pic from way back. There was another pic with you JOB and you are wearing your Mao hat. By any chance is that at a place called the “Living Room?”
well as the kids are saying…
dizaaam!
smokin’s an understatement.
And here’s the bit of poetry I wrote for the occasion (somewhat revised over the 20 years since first penned).
Well, of all the suitors, you know, the czar
Was quite the most bizarre, if you ask me.
Imagine…imagine, not wanting to sleep with
Because of your wife. Why pay suit at all?
Well, it was beyond me….And all that treasure?
No wonder he lost his country. And his palaces.
But I heard from the czar once more after that.
He wrote me, though he’d never slept with me,
The queer man. There’s him in that photograph.
It was taken during a vacation on the Black Sea
In a row boat some peasants had lent him,
Old and worm-eaten. And he…floating there.
Why the Black Sea? and him…floating there?
Then there was the dear old dead archduke,
His pleasant seaside, the palace he had
Was too, too much…And fireworks in the sand
Killed the season in September.
Night was coming on
When we all went indoors.
That was when my husband was away
At another time. And I used to lean
Across his shadow to say in that way,
“See, dukey, the moon is a sliver,
See, a sliver – without a single star to see!”
And the cottage lights
Went out, one by one, along
The curving shore, leaving
Little to be desired.
Little more was ever said.
JOB
After 20 years, we’re all a little revised.
Revised and expanded.
The arm’s too long.