the diminishing tingle of nerve endings

4 May

a pick up truck once fell from a tree and i spent hours deciphering the hidden meaning
but nowadays when the same thing happens,
the same pick up truck too,
it means nothing
or not nothing.
but i can’t figure it out anymore
or can’t afford to try,
not psychologically anyway,
don’t want to drive myself crazy
so i just get the hell out of the pick up truck’s way and
leave it at that
a psychological evacuation measure procedure

kerouac

2 May

Jack Kerouac’s mother tongue was quebec french, in the ”le petit canada” town of Lowell, Massachusetts, brought to life gloom in Doctor Sax.

The first versions of what eventually became On The Road were also written in Quebec French and so is La vie est d’hommage, recently published by les editions boreale.

Kerouac writing in Quebec French, at least in Visions of Gerard and Doctor Sax, was words on paper as spoken on the street, a habit skill genius of getting sound reality down as opposed to the more typical proper dictionary style,
the two a sort of visceral to brain seesaw,
back and forth,
gush of an actor being / contrive of a director thinking.

le monde,
une jardin crève
Kerouac funambule
entre 
le ciel et la terre
toujours        

the world,
a starving garden
kerouac tightrope walker
between heaven and earth
always

this poem is part of my longer tribute to Jack Kerouac,
posted on my other blog, here

 

une autre marée

30 Apr

i made québec my home over 10 years ago. i love québec french and french in general, québec french in particular because i am here. i love its sound and rhythm and expressions.

i used the word convinced – convaincu in a sentence for the first time in my life yesterday and well, i like logging my own first word usages.

une autre marée                                another tide
convaincu encore                                              convinced again
goéland le génie                                                 seagull the genius
joue dans la brise                                              plays in the breeze

 

squeezing into small spaces

23 Apr

i was walking back from the grocery store,
having just completed the ancient act of
hunting and gathering
up and down the aisles of time,
playing soft tribute to my elders when
out of now….here
this guy tells me he carried a gong and a mallet into his mind.

i said, “how’d you do that?”

he said he wasn’t sure, but that it was probably a miracle since that gong was two times bigger than his head. he thinks it might have been one of those fortunate turns down a sudden alleyway when wonderful drip puddle reflection spice smells make ya go,

“vrooooom,” he said, “and then you’re in, inside your mind.”

someone or some thing apparently then offered him a gong and a mallet.

“Had to,” he told me, “Because i don’t have a gong and a mallet.”

well, he decided to hit the gong with the mallet and shortly thereafter, found an old persian hat and a pair of sunglasses so he put them on and walked east instead of his normal route west and felt good about the change.

i stopped for a second that turned to a minute, put myself in his shoes and wondered what I would do if inside my head with a gong and a mallet and I had to agree that i would do the same as he. i’d swing mallet into gong and enjoy the ba-boom and sound waves rippling and shortly thereafter something would probably happen…..

not so evil inner machinations made visible

22 Apr

there’s a bird,
maybe a sparrow,
maybe a robin,
i’m not sure,
but I’d like to know
its genus and species,
its genius and hobbies too,
but for now,
i’ll just listen to its 2 note whistle song,
high chirp
low chirp
pause
high chirp
low chirp
pause
all of the notes
swooping melancholic over 
tombstones
so still and silent,
enjoying the show.

the curly cues of roots intersecting under the soil

21 Apr

vinca owes a lot to the spanish verb vincular,
to connect or to come together
and
choca owes a lot to the spanish verb chocar,
to crash or to collide
and so
one day,
like an innocent pant leg lifted,
vinca and choca came together and crashed
or crashed and came together
potato patata,
as long as they end up in each other’s arms.

 

simple pleasure of an otherwise highly disturbed mind

11 Apr

the subway car’s walls were once orange, she thought,
the floors sparkled sequins,
but now,
it all seems so dull.
she scratched her head,
not sure when she last washed her hair.
she never wore sun glasses.
she squinted instead.
there were no halos around her eyes,
only a genesis,
of wrinkles forming,
but she still woke up,
cut up newspapers and knew something was coming,
never knowing what that something was,
but then suddenly it was here,
The Great Demise,
but she dresses anyway and walks outside,
forgetting she even has eyes until
she sees a bench under a tree,
one she’s never seen before.
city musta planted it there, she thinks,
the bench that is
because the tree’s been there as long as she can remember
and then she suddenly remembers something else,
that she has legs,
but she decides to not use them.
she sits down on the bench instead
and smells the pine needles above her.

 

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