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Waterways: Poetry in The Mainstream Vol 10 No 3
Waterways: Poetry in The Mainstream Vol 10 No 3
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WATERWAYS: .. Poetry in the Matmstream
March. 1989
II Flung
L'ike an ancient tapestry of motley weave
Up on 't he op en wall of this new land."
WATERWAYS: Poetry in the Mainstream
Volume 10, Number 3 March, 1939
Barbara Fisher & Richard Alan Spiegel/Co-Editors Thomas Perry / Intern
Subscriptions - $20 for 11 issues; Sample copy $2. + .55 postage.
Checks payable to Waterways, 799 Greenwich Street, NYNY 10014-1843 Submissions will be returned only if accompanied by SSAE.
1989 is devoted to "The Ghetto" by Lola Ridge and the responses by other poets to her words.
Contents Vage
4- 6 Susan Luther 7 - 8 Lyn Lifshin
9-10 Albert Huffsticlder 11-12 Sr. Mary Ann Henn 13 Joan Payne Kincaid 14 Hubert E. Hix
G) 1989, Ten Penny Players, Inc.
15-17 Lowery McC.lendon 18-21 John Gorman 22-27 Gertrude Morris 28-29 Ida Fasel
30 Susan Packie
,J
CAVEAT EMPTOR - Susan Lu to er
their passion comes distorted with a greed for everything blest
On the church bus
to Charlton Heston's
Ten Commandments, a child when reading
Anne Frank, the Bible, histories of bodies
sucked & slung
like olive pits
photographs
of bones & rot
& I am still not saved,
guilty, I forget
I see thee not: how
elide not phantom flesh
in telling, frail moon conscience:
4
a blonde moon rises over Rocket City & its projects
e.g. concrete block one-story dirty-putty walls
& rows of sagging stoop-roofs
Binford Court is falling down
like other, newer red-brick edifices uptown, midtown, crosstown sprouting
children who can't read their history
singing it,
maybe,
in the A.M.E. church up-center of town
from First Baptist's half-black-long mosaic
5
of a white-robed sun king centering the galaxies, crown
floating above gravity, embracing cosmos pointing
toward a million-dollar, moonstruck bell-spire pealing
Vorwarts:
& Vorwarts,
downtown East
of Saint John's A.M.E.
Temple B 'nai Sholom's stained glass windows newly wear transparent cold & stone-proof shrouds
beware
garbled majesty
It sells, Jesus,
it sells
6
THE MAD GIIRL THINK~S "SAD" WHEN SOMEONE SAYS FREE FLOW FROM THE WORD MEMORY - Lyn Lifshin
imagines blue eyes upstage slinking away behind bearded up with black cloth glass of her mother ill grey rooms the sister doesn't call
in, waiting she imagines black hair a nest
. she's the amethyst
, buried in jewel he'll slither from darkness in wear in light her shaking her lavenders and lilacs like just washed hair rinsed spitting rhinestones from apricots or polished tables
7
THE MAD GIRL THINKS IV SADU WHIEN SOMEONE SAYS "MEMORY"
- Lyn Lifshin
and loss what's gone
as licorice in her mother's hair when she stood
on bleachers in Maryland with two friends, her pleated skirt held out like
a pale fan f;iggling the way her hair curled blew across her white skin on the way to
buy marzipan she'd never find quite as fresh
up north she imagines her mother in new shoes, blisters close to breaking on a bicycle she'd never learn to ride havin$ a room mate snicker "kike in the next room
her daughter coiled half of her a blackboard waiting to be wntten on safe as
the war grew to a milkweed pod bursting and the
black seeds about
to be grabbed
8
NEW SHOES - Albert Huffstickler
I stayed two days in Shiprock at the Natani Nez Motel, run by Navahos, read Bury My Hear! at Wounded Knee and freaked out,
sat in a bus station restaurant writing in a journal
and watched a beautiful Indian girl serve coffee.
One of my new brogans was cutting my-ankle and I was limping badly. lfinally cut the tops off of both shoes, which solved the problem,
but the sore ankle was my excuse for lingering .
and the room was only six dollars a day so I stayed on.
The jIkehox played country western, Waylon, Willie, et al, The Indians loved it.
I watched her, plunged into a reverie. mourning with the music. The days passed and my ankle healed
and one day I walked out to the highway with my pack on my back and a big truck headed for Gallup picked me up.
"I'm going to sleep," the driver said. "1 need somebody to talk to me." So I said a few words and he started talking
and talked all the way to the Crownpoint turnoff where he let me out and I got another ride in the back of a pickup full of Navahos
and they took me on to Crownpoint and John' s where I was stopping off
before going on to Flagstaff.
And the shoes never gave me any more trouble
except that sometimes, putting them on. I saw brown Indian eyes in my space
and it made me lonely. ~~'~;ii'i.o".;~ .
(appeared first in Bmnel..S!Blk, no.6, 1988)
9
To touch this space
to leave some residue of what I was hovering
between these walls floating
like a ghost above the cigarette machine curled among
the crumpled napkins a fragrance
subtly penetrating the sharp aroma of hamburgers and fries.
We never want
to leave without leaving something. We never want
to stay
but
we never want
to leave without leaving something.
AT 2Js HAMBURGERS - Albert Huffstickler
(first appeared in ConnecticutR;ver Review, v. 10, no. 1, 1988)
IT~S NOT JFUNNY - Sr. Mary Ann Henn
Old paths of lost ambition-why talk about it
when even families
don't always care--
No opportunityno hope even now no
expectations if I'm
in trouble they
won't help to survive I
gotta have money I'm
on my own the only
ones who'll help are those who want money too
found in drugs or prostitution what else can I do
II
5
moves back
and forth weaving threads
into one tapestry as time
weaves us into one hopefully into one tapestry but it takes time it takes effort many threads will only knot otherwise Are we threads or knots or a
tapestry even one of motley
weave flung upon the wall
NEW FRANCIHIISE - ]" oan Payne Kincaid Their luck
's run out
sleeping in a warehouse creates
a coUege course:
SHELTER ARCHITECTURE and
SHELTER THERAPY for those down
there boxed
in cardboard over
hot-air grates
the mental cases
"flung
to cure themselves
in gutters
locked out
of subways in Washington fenced . out of parks
in New York
the HAVES
demand death- no safety net ... the walls
have closed
1.1
THE ANNUNCIAT][ON - D- Edgar Hix Candles are burning here, risking the tree, .
risking the house. Just like in ancient times
when light was hot, when fire trembled and flared.
AU of my ornaments are handcrafted.
My gifts are lead soldiers and paper dolls, small, perhaps, but really made by Santa.
SUMMER MORNING /169th STREET - Lowery McClendon
Rise in clear fury!
Bright against laughter among the legion children warring
against sleep's kingdom.
Invading their nightfilled eyes with your armies of light, you rout them through time-hollowed hallways
as they elude the "Be quiet!" of mothers' harsh whispers and the muttered damns! of fathers turning in grumbled
half-sleep and broken snores.
Bursting through the doorslam days of summer's reckless freedom, they wave their pulled-off shirts,
anarchic flags of a new morning's abandons
out onto the nightcooled, light-blazing streets .. . : ". .
On feet burning and winged they scatter!
.: ~. I
startled birds messengers of yesterday'S vaunts and dreams
casting their hieroglyphic screams
to the still and sleeping wind,
I
I I
15
sparking! broken wires of diminishing stars, webbed nerves skidding shrills and shrieks against sunburned walls,
through cat-haunted alleys and vagrant ways, backs and arms arched against you arced sky,
seething, thudding, barking then brief songs to time's silent beat
(Oh heated warriors consumed in His metronomic flame)
And you, quiet and thunderous Apollo,
spill play into dark eyes that know nothing,
fond of light, weeds, glass and streets
disappearing
bending,
returning
between angles of shadow and light.
16
\ --------
How their skinny bodies blossom in your undeciphered blaze showering under fire-rusted hydrants spurting
magically into the worshipped street wind ...
Through windows as greasy as bacon
mothers with their timebumed bones
watch their glistening sons and daughters splaying light in summer's gusty, de~washed morning.
And they, oblivious to their mothers' wood-brittle warnings, screech defiantly with wave-washed gleaming teeth
and arms unfolded
in daring praise against the sky,
arrogant as Adam's first dream, careless as Icarus' final thrust...
: ..
With wings melting in the sun
they faUlaughing!. '". having forgotten the bell-hollow mornings of yesterday's rough, sky-colored bruises already healing in their miracles
where you gather them in the currents
of your bright and golden arms!
11
but the valley wide and brown between the eastern mountams and the western mountains dust devils
twenty stories
whirling.
No one under me stairs no cabs or that smell from the subway
no one hundred thousand million lights only the stars.
CRAGO CROSSmG JB~WAY,
THINKS OF NUEVO LEON - J ohn Gorman
Pizza Papaya Pizza egg cream
breakfast special hot.
To call it all now m English breakfast/desayuno
papaya squeezed with lime.
My grandmother's adobe house cactus fence dirt yard
down the arroyo goats
like a handful of jiennies
and dimes droppmg
running then we bunched them by the road waiting
trucks, trucks, trucks .
peligroso in flam able corrosive that long noisy line of confusion
ELLIS ISLAND - Gertrude MOJrris
They say it's falling down,
the warehouse you passed through. Whispers still echo along the walls and you among the many ghosts wait on long lines, weary
of steerage for $30, of herring and your bundle of everything, a bed:
samovar, and candlesticks, and quilts.
Freed to slums, a sweatshop
and the first banana you ever ate.
This island, America the Golden Land. ********
19
.................. ------------------~~
20
"Pappa and I went ahead
with Tsivia my oldest sister. Momma came later with Meier. Duvid, Pesha and Ita.
I was young, homesick
for Momma, and the "old home," for my brothers and sisters.
We lived in a little house in Gamel. I cried for the calf when it was sold. For days the cow bellowed,
her udders heavy for the little one.
She was lonely and looked in the window the night we ate in the Succah.
We ran barefoot all day long bathed naked in the Dnieper.
My hair was auburn, thick and wild. Pesha and I climbed trees like boys
we picked wild mushrooms and berries. When Parkven's orchard bloomed
we climbed the fence and stole cherries. He ran out of the house and ,Yelled:
"Jhidl Devils! Out of there!'
When he got drunk, sometimes
he'd slam his fist through pappa's window. Later he cried and tried to hug him,
called him "Beryl, my brother."
One day he put his hand on the sill,the pressers put a hot iron on it. You could hear screams for 20 versts.
21
We kids .slept on a shelf near the stove in winter where it was warm.
There was always another child and another. some died; I recall a tiny baby brother.
When the Czar came through our town
all the houses were freshly painted.
We carried bouquets and lined up.
We had to bow to earth.
Unworthy to look at Nickolai,
Czar, and ruler of all the Russias.
And after all he drove through so fast
what could you see but the Royal Dust?
I cried all the time until Momma came.
I was fourteen when I went to work
in the dress factory In America,"
22
1
GRAFFITI - Ida Fasel
In Pompeii too those fresh scrawls
as the subway screeches to a stop gathers in. slams on
A luxury to write openly: sheer space whose only terms to find a place
driven like hummingbirds that sip their sweet in high deep haste feeding on the run over cliffs of fall
................... --------------
24
a dirty word setting awry to rights an axe of protest
initialed hearts
living tissues and tensions
making stately the moving surfaces they are attached to
with the look of art. art
al ways a possibility
collage that glides together
as parts engage
mosaic of abuse and creation
THE SELlF-EXAMJINJED L1IJFE - ida JFasd
Socrates
you old misleader I shy from
your directed answers
Know thyself
was your joke
that I
should get involved as a mangrove tree arms entangling arms
endlessly
my own
-t-,
'_ \
,
'I, J, '\ '~3:':;'
' .. '~.
, t -\y'!:~~;-:,
<»:
25
26
AHEAD MOST OF THE TKM.E-lida Fasel
I am offered a free issue
of a sleek. slick, sophisticated magazine that tells me "This year King's Road is out"
and I don't need to "dress expensively every day." Panoramas of this moment in history --
celebrities photographed at their best -- or worst depending on the current throw-a ways of fashion. Everything to me is narrative.
including all fme print wherever I see it. I will not send in the "maybe" sticker but renew magazines whose verdigris has a patina of antiquity
that keeps me well ahead most of the time
of tp._e banal.
ANY JFJL.OWJER, THIS FLOWER - Jda Fasel
Beds of phlox, cosmos, verbena, delphinium, beds from every curve and angle .
in movement that delights and calms, ever-living changes ever the same
in the form they had to be,
patterns of repetition, not of passing:
I live close to scarlet, golden yellow, coral,
grape purple, reflected blue of sky.My gardener's eye takes note
of a bitten leaf, a withered blossom. .
My soul answers to any flower, this flower,
seeded or self-returning. Between us,
communion holds, the perfect word,
certain and intense, bright and spare as rainbow.
27
Any flower, this flower never searches for meaning -- it is meaning.
Only a small part of a simple order in an incredibly vast universe,
it intimates the abundance of the whole whose reality is undivided,
infinity conclusive in a small frame.
It speaks for itself more than it can say. More than I can say. I pluck it for you.
THE AMERICAN DREAM - Susan Packie .
Fantasizing
the United States
get a free education
and start up a business, work for a corporation, make a success of yourself
Back home
Puerto Rico
the mother working nights in a dress factory,
the sister soliciting
Africa
an uncle heading
the military,
expecting you to learn enough to take over some day
Nights Spent in remedial classes, days in front of a typewriter, failing at both
The resigned snicker behind hands Dreams die hard when they
have no roots
29
[I
30
SOUR DREAMS - Susan Packie
What do you do When you work All your life
To buy a dream And it crumbles In your hands?
Where do you go When you leave Your homeland For a land
Of future promise And it rejects you?
When will you learn That nothing in life Comes free,
That liberty
For all to see
Is only surface deep?
How can you live
As a poverty statistic, And unwanted element, A voice without hope Crying out
In the wilderness?
The dream makers knew, The dream breakers drew From their own banks And deposited
For the late arrivals Sour dreams
July (due June 1) --
Themes for Forthcoming Issues:
September --
(due August 1)
October
(due Sept. 1)
"They find no peg to hang
'.,: their taunts upon.
His soul is like a rock That bears a front worn smooth
To the coarse friction of the sea,
And, unperturbed, he keeps his bitter peace."
"All gutters are as one
To that old race that has been thrust From off the curbstone of the world ... "
"And he--appraising
All who come and go,
With his amazing
Sleight-of-mind and glance
And nimble thought
And nature balanced like the scale at nought-Looks Westward, where the trade-lights glow And sees his vision rise -- "
Coming June 1 & 2 ... The New York City High Schooi
Literary Arts Fair
Two days of poetry readin. gs and writing workshops For and by NYC Hi~ School students
Sponsored by the DIvision of Alternative Hizh Schools, tile Bayard Rustin H.s. for the Humanities &. Waterways