North of the Vortex: April 2007

Friday, April 27, 2007

Poet Ed Dorn sat writing "Abhorrences"
And the bastard persisted despite the assurances
Of posthumous poets who said "We don't like it a bit."
Ed Dorn kept writing. Said, "I don't give a shit."

He pissed off the gnarly and eluded the snobby
And he wittily titled his last book "Chemo Sabe."
And they all got together and demanded an answer.
So Ed Dorn lay down and then died of cancer.

So, farewell and adieu to the poor poet, Ed
Whose poems were better than whatever he said.
And, if he came back, he would wish he were dead.

Podcasts available at http://thejeunessedoree.libsyn.com/

The Diamond at the End of Time

A la carrera on the run again and the Federales
On my tail and I don’t mean the Federales but
True hounds of Hell but I WAS in Mexico.
“Much madness is divinest sense” and it was
Me that said that though Shakespeare would never admit it
Following me around all the fucking time with his little notebook
And the Parker pen I gave him I mean he deserved it
Even though he took what the Hellhounds were after yeah
He had mojo and so there I was outside a little cantina
In Night of the Iguana country Senor Carrera to the Mexicans
And waiting..for what… but when you are looking
For the Diamond at the End of Time it might not matter
That Hellhounds are on your trail you are drunk again.
Rock Drill. It does not cohere. On the third lunation.

They keep watch on the hilltops.
The moon was big and yellow and bleary so I was
Feeling fine and it was Midsummer and I was thinking
About Shakespeare take and take motherfucker
And the moon was big and you think I’m running again
The Black Zorro and then the moon winks at you
And you are someplace else and that’s how it happens
Back in time or somewhen or somewhere. Man, I was
Just back from London 1590 or so I never checked
Exactly and it is so strange everyone you see there
On London bridge as you smell the stench everyone is dead
And you can’t get that experience except by going
To a Republican convention but the stench is from the river.

I never thought Death had undone so many.
Another fine line of mine stolen but here I was
A black man in a white hat with a white feather and a silver suit
But they never gave me a glance onliest thing wrong
Was my bootheels were too low They knew how to dress then
And there it was The Globe Theatre. Show out. Around Five o’clock
In the Afternoon as it always is at time like these
When you are flung backward in time and you know
The little guy with the devil beard the ink stained
Wretch squatting outside the theatre trying to write something
With a goddamn quill as the Producer screams at him and he
Acts like he’s someplace else his lips moving writing writing
Is the Bard himself. Mr William Shakespeare blotting
The Hell out of his lines and there is a tide in the affairs of men.

You got to catch it at the sticking point. It’s like this
And I explained it to Shakespeare after I helped him out
With what to do when the bad guys got the the drop
On the hero. You gotta have a distraction I told him
Christ don’t you know that and the bad guys look away
And the hero grabs the sword and it’s best if you have
A chandelier to swing from as he cries “Sa-thump whoreson
Hound taste cold steel!” and it’s in his plays someplace
So I went right up to him and took his hat.
He jumped up. Shakespeare my man I said. Give me back
My hat and I am not your man he said and then when he looked
At me cried Amoor and I gave him back his hat and smiled
And said Yeah Love gets you into trouble I know
You got Dark Lady problems. But I ain’t here for that!

Then I took out my Parker pen and said This is for you
Yeah it’s a pen try it and he did. Who are you he said
A free black man from the seacoast of Bohemia I told
Him and he didn’t blink geography not being his strong suit
We gotta talk let’s go man and he just nodded We’ll go to the Mermaid
You interest me strangely and I could tell it had happened to him
Before the deer stealing son of a bitch because he had
A little smile as he picked up his quill. You won’t be needing
That anymore I said. You got a Parker pen there with endless ink
So don’t try that shit on me what do you know about the Diamond.
“What Diamond he said. That would be the Diamond at the end of Time.
Rock drill he said. Is Immortal Diamond he said.
Brother I said. He smiled. I said. Let’s be off to the Mermaid!
Fine Canary wine and and the lascivious pleasings of a lute!

Milton stole that line. Shakespeare would have but he was sweating it
Like you do when you meet a free black man from the 20th century
Giving you a fine Parker pen with endless ink and some
Of your best lines. We got drunk first of course. Ben Jonson
Came in. What a damn bore but we didn’t pay him no attention.
Ok I said you always callin people whoresons in your plays, Bill
Why don’t you just say motherfucker means the same thing
And he laughed and wrote it down and he admitted yes
He knew about the diamond and then the shadows seem to
Get more like real fucking scary shadows when he said
Alright I know Ezra Pound sent you he promised to come back
I tried not to act scared. When was this I asked and where.
Hsein he said Nova Vita. The Commonwealth.
That far shore at the Third Lunation. What the fuck does that mean

I asked as I melted into the air.

Fool-begged, foolish-compounded, folly-fallen footlings foison plenty
Of flickering Flibbertigibbets, fluxive flouting-stock flewed as
Flax-wenches, fleering and flap-mouthed flirt gills and flesh mongers
Full-gorged yet frustrate. Pajocks and pantaloons you scream but
No one hears as you melt. The crystal fretting (CF) is fracted.
A certain ontological void is created.The exterior envelope is palpated to
Effect a hiatus in the lattice-work. Dehiscence or fission de facto
Of course always implicated and a liminal porosity but anticipated invagination of light
delayed And the Da of Sa and the
Non-place of Vorstellung
Temporarily inhibited by glissement all glockenspiel causing
The CF to groin glutted by vacuum awaiting glissando. You get pretty fucking tense
So no wonder all you want is a Margarita and then another
And then another as you find yourself of all the Gin joints in the world in a Mexican

Cantina where you have to take your tequila straight and
You know what you have what all hell wants which includes
Mr Ezra Pound so you are outside of that cantina and it happens
Again. We go all darkling. You step out into darkness.
If I didn’t want to die I wouldn’t have lived and you know you are there
The Commonwealth. The far shore of the third lunation so, of course
There are black riders. There’s just about anything in the Commonwealth
All Stories All sweet days. This is where you grew up if you
Were a certain kind of Kid so I knew where I was Midsummer Nights Dream
Woods Near Athens. Musick. Alone of us Ben Jonson said
Shakespeare would put an ass’s head in Fairyland. And my black ass
Was there. Hell as they say could be Ilion Rome or any other town and
Even the woods behind Athens where right then two goblins got me
Ofays with SS insignia dragging me to a Castle a bleak wind rising.

Ah, bitter chill it was. Across the drawbridge. Stone and cold moon. Gargoyles.
And then into a room a lofty chamber triple arched the window
Candlelight, torchlight and they threw me down before the throne. Snarl
Of silver trumpet. They killed Keats! But no I see it is the Bard himself
Two goblin fuckers holding him and before me on the throne and stepping down
Mr Ezra Pound himself. Ezra, you're a scholar, what's the time of day?
I say since it’s important to confuse the motherfucker and maintain a high
And haughty style for that’s the way it’s written. You ready to be put in a cage?
Where is it he says? I want it and I will have it. It does not cohere
Which last I attribute to him being confused that a proud black man
Would have the Mojo. Which I did have which is why the hounds of Hell
Etcetera. Now you have to keep one step ahead of these evildoers so I
Took it out. You looking for this and I laughed to see him. Here’s the Mojo.
Here’s what you lookin for. Fix your poetry right up. Here it is.

Satchel pitching in Ponce de Leon Park against the Birmingham Black Barons
Threw the ball so motherfucking fast that it disappeared. And here it is Pound
But you don’t know nothing about it. Here’s the ball. Here’s the Mojo you want
But you don’t know nothin about it, do you? And Pound jumped back.
And the Nazi goblins jumped back. Whoa! Yes. Here it is and he couldn’t say nothing
But you know it is what it is when you see it. And Shakespeare was getting off of the floor as I told them all and threw the disappeared Satchel Paige ball up just a little
Smiling at them like the devil smiles looking Pound right in the eye thinking get
Up get up Shakespeare. Hsien. Rock Drill! You reading Frobenius, Benton, Del Mar
Aggassiz, Fenelolla knowing nothin about Ruth, Cool Papa Bell, The Splendid Splinter
Or the little guy sweating each pitch against class D minor league semi-pros, thinking
St. Louis Stars, Detroit Wolves, Kansas City Monarchs, Homestead Grays, Pittsburgh Crawfords

Memphis Red Sox, Chicago American Giants, Kansas City Stars, Detroit Senators
Get up Shakespeare . Grover Cleveland Alexander sick and dying at Beaubier's Hotel
Get up your deer stealing fuck . All over all over. You never even went to a Yankees Game and you want the mojo? Here take it and I wound up and threw the ball at Pound
Ran at the goblins, faked, got their swords flipped one to the Swan Of Avon sword glittering in the torchlight cried I was born to this motherfuckers and of course
The torches guttered up with a goblin flame a hot wind from Hell blew into the chamber
And who should leap out from behind the arras but more coldly grinning Nazi shitheels
Saw Shakespeare cut down two of them howling Angels and Ministers of Grace defend Us! Ha Ha I laughed We gotta do it ourselves and the disappeared ball of course back
In my pocket mojo working Shakespeare and I back to back grinning as darkness surrounds us and what should we do against it but leap on the chandelier swing to the
Tower winding stairs kicking Pound on the head rush like happy ghosts up the dark
Stairs making it to the great door and shutting it just in time. All Hell pounding.

Remember this when you write Macbeth I panted. Knock Knock Knock on the gate
A great effect no don’t try to write it down and we were on the ramparts Hell’s Agents
Pounding at the door. That fuckers gonna break I warned him. The clouds blowing Across the moon darkness surrounds us and then I saw it the star the greeny star
Winking in the west low there right over the trees. I pointed to it as the door began breaking We can’t hold em off Shakespeare screamed. I looked round the ramparts Hey a Great place for some Prince’s fathers ghost to walk o nights I told him just trying to calm Him down . Look at that star. That greeny star. We going there. He was too scared. Look up I shouted at him for the wind was blowing now and shadows comin down From the moon. We’re gonna go there and my mojo will get us there. What the fuck are you talking about you crazy black bastard he screamed. I grabbed him took him to the edge of the ramparts 300 feet up and they had broken through the door. Jump I screamed Jump like Butch and Sundance! Whooped grabbed the Bard and we jumped into the dark!

All the Federales say, they could of had him any day.
They only let him slip away, out of kindness I suppose. I’m Pancho
I shouted and you my man are Lefty cause we floated away into that
Dark me waving at the goblins floating towards that greeny star
And I got the ball and threw it right up whoosh felt a little sick and
We were there I looked down the green diamond and of course
Remembering how I first walked into Connie Mack stadium with my Daddy
Seeing the diamond green and eternal always remember my Daddy said
We were at The Diamond at the End of Time! I knew right away.
We stood there in the stands. The Diamond at the End of Time shone below us. It was The fifth inning of the 1932 World Series. Number 3, Babe Ruth, was at bat. Charlie Root was pitching. The Babe pointed to center field. I shouted
That's the Babe and that's the Called Shot. Watch! And we watched as Root
hurled the fastball that Ruth hit high high and out of here to forever!.

The Called Shot -- the immortal moment of baseball. The Diamond at the End of Time.
We were alone in the stands except for a hunched seated figure not far way in a tan Raincoat I recognized him at once. It was God. He was God That’s God I told the
Bard Oh, shit the Bard said Its true. God's a Yankee fan. How the hell did he
Know about baseball The Babe headed for home and there was Lou Gehrig ready to shake his hand. The Iron Horse! Man this is great. I said Cool Papa Bell did that kind Of shit all the time. You never hear about it though. And Gehrig is at bat and hits another Home run! The thunder after the lightning! Then it happened all over again. Again the Babe raised his hand indicating strike two and again he stood out of the batter's box and Pointed a finger at center field and hit a tremendous smash 436 feet over the fence and Into a ticket booth at Waveland and Sheffield Avenues and again he rounded the field Holding up four fingers now and the Iron Horse was up to bat and again smashed the ball into Eternity. And then it all happened again What's s the matter with God I asked
And I knew God is trapped watching beauty over and over and over. It was 1932.

Goddamn it I shouted He’s watching while the Nazis are taken over. Again
It happened. God stood up and looked over at us. He looked sad standing there Surrounded by empty Beer bottles. We went over. Me and Shakespeare.
He looked at me. Gimme the ball he said so I flipped it to him
He flipped it back to Shakespeare standing there grinning with his little devil beard.
God gave me a box of crackerjacks. Nice to have met you Dooley Shakespeare said
Tossed the ball up caught it and disappeared I really didn’t say everything I said
God said and later I remembered Yogi Berra had said that and the next thing
I knew I was outside of Wrigley Field It was 1932. Chicago.
God was not watching here. Hitler and all that and me just standing.
It, of course began to rain.
And I knew why I was the Black Lone Ranger.
Knew again why I was the Black Lone Ranger.
God gone. The Nazis closing in. And the white man had my mojo.

Finis.

Podcasts available at http://thejeunessedoree.libsyn.com/

Sat, 21 April 2007

The Great Train Journey

The Great Train Journey of Rashmi Prakash as told by Sir Douglas Falstaff!

Direct download: TheGreatTrainJourney.mp3
Category: podcasts -- posted at: 6:07 PM

North of the Vortex

Friday, April 27, 2007

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