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James Unger Poem
Glimpses I caught between the swishing traffic
on that sidewalk in cold rain and colder wind
and a cast-off Cleveland Browns windbreaker: a man
tottering a mime of an off-center grandfather clock,
and, oh yes, in a dirty orange unrav'ling
woolen cap with flopping pom-pom.
Then he caught himself, a sudden vision
in that plate glass, and froze as one struck,
arms spread, splayed fingers for balance,
gaping at himself and his wobbling pom-pom.
And I too caught him, uncanny in the black
glass beyond a CLOSED sign, among
the white tablecloths.
And then, my god, he started to dance.
Well... Okay, more of a gaucherie than dancing.
Shuffling, spread-legged tottering (he'd a clubfoot, I noticed)
interspersed (and this is the point) with little
leaps; but now without progressing as
before (if progress is the right word
for going nowhere) along the wet sidewalk.
Minutes — or was it seconds? — he gaped and leapt
and danced while busy folk eddied round him.
Then a rain-beaded bus of limp-faced,
stippled tourists stopped right there,
and I lost him, the pom-pom man, who danced among
the tables of the Café Boulevard.
Well, it was for him, you see, a vision
(for me a far feebler thing, a philosophy)
grand as Milton, Dante, St. John the Divine,
oh, even St. Simeon in the Temple. The ecstasy
of an achieved leap ignores how high you rise
(pace Nijinsky, Nureyev, Barishnykov).
It's how low you started.
Copyright © James Unger | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
James Unger Poem
America heard you singing, Walt,
And stopped to listen. That's our fault.
Now our "poets" ever since
Have written stuff that makes one wince.
They say you've been our nation's bard;
We should have been more on our guard.
Now our narcissistic screeds
Blight the land like noxious weeds.
Self-absorption is the tool
That makes a poet a goddam fool.
You should be made to pay a fee
For setting such a poor e.g..
Poetry should reach our minds
But your stuff's just a rant in lines.
You've dragged us back. We have no hope
Of catching up with Donne or Pope.
As for your democratic bearing,
I didn't see you greatly caring
When your Captain's lust to ravage
Gave the world collateral damage.
Even fig leaves teach us something.
But leaves of grass cover nothing.
I wish you were at least a clown,
So we could laugh you out of town.
Copyright © James Unger | Year Posted 2011
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