Poetry Slam between Maria Jacketti and Klaus J. Gerken September/October 2007 * Maria Jacketti Tue 18/09/07 3:03 PM Klaus: Would you like to poetry slam with me for a month? Maria * Klaus Gerken Tue 18/09/07 3:41 PM Sounds interesting. Is that something like Lydia, Rachel and Samantha wanting to move in to spend the winter with me? But beware, I might only be up to one word poems these days. k * Maria Jacketti Tue 18/09/07 5:28 PM I suppose it is rather like asking someone to make love furiously for a month. Anyway, I was hoping you were game. Short poems are fine with me. (Just don't call them "quickies!") You, Sir, will have to suggest the first topic. We will then have one day to respond to each other. (Heavens!) * Klaus Gerken Wed 19/09/07 5:01 PM The sounds of winter smiling in a silver silence through a crystal sky. Arch thy back oh human, and paint a vision no one else would ever try. k * Maria Jacketti Wed 19/09/07 8:10 PM Iced ~~~~ Hazleton, 2007 This August winter came to us in four tornadoes that never actually touched down but opened fire with hail, shredded the backyard to coleslaw only the most stubborn peppers and tomatoes commando blossoms endured an hour later white gases rising instantaneous snow-folk in terminal heat I walked through the steam with my daughter, gathering vegetal cadavers raking floral ghosts their memory now brief to evaporate green-blooded perfume oh when winter wakes in August, and ice balls fall from weaponized space the Earth speaks in storms reinventing mother again of saber-tooth meteorology * Klaus Gerken Thu 20/09/07 1:56 AM Winter Walk Down Gladstone Avenue ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Arcturus looms high above a swirling infrared sky long empty midnight street with only a slight chill for company and foot prints...a reminder of earlier activity Spent condom where a car had stopped I approach an old elm bare branches cast an arachnid shadow on the snow this is limbo no sound penetrates around this tree I see a ghost car gliding past the unreal grips my mind and binds it to the universe beyond my comprehension dark facades across the street as if a barricade beyond here is nothing this is the end of the earth this is where life stops farther down in a doorway a huddled figure appears whenever something moves a headlight approaches I walk past her eyes meeting briefly despairing hunger glazed emptiness a chill invades my bones time I tell myself go home warm yourself where winter does not penetrate and life is not a hollow log that will not burn 20 September 2007 1:53 A.M. * Maria Jacketti Thu 20/09/07 3:54 PM Fallen ~~~~~~ I walk these eons in winter - the kind familiar to stone, yggdrasil rooted in caves, stalactite wounded: roots make tentacles, rescuer and miner. Maria Jacketti * Klaus Gerken Thu 20/09/07 4:27 PM Rebirth ~~~~~~~ Crystal trees dripping precious fluid onto earth refracted sunlight prism dancing in the morning sunrise risen like the bodhisattva spirit glides into the crevices and shadows where might we wander without guidance and slowly evolve into a race of gods nourished by the cool black earth until emergence give us ground to once more share the spring with creatures great and small equally with only hope between our ears and compassion in our hears in the glory of our eyes upon these winters' traces soon to blossom under one great sun common in a galaxy of stars but knowingly acknowledged by the small reality we have amassed. 4:21 PM 20 Sep 2007 * Maria Jacketti Fri 21/09/07 6:30 PM Portrait of My Derriere ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Jambalaya butt abracabrabra ass too hip too cool this hind end sing glory to my bottom, oh ye lookers behind, keepers of the past-- Oh I never posed for Playboy nor mooned this asteroid, nor streaked, nor stripped aloha, nor boomed flatulent for the masses, though I have squatted like a grizzly in the ancient Pennsylvania woods, when two brats who called out to me, "Grandma," my knickers, too bright, a flag, primeval. M. Jacketti * Klaus Gerken Fri 21/09/07 10:34 PM one ass like another graces every moon... * Maria Jacketti Sat 22/09/07 8:38 PM Hot, Hotter, Hottest ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hot flashes spike for three days now global warming for me on every frontier -- bet I could have another baby if I really put my mind and body to the task, but I need to get cool with myself- someone fill the tub with something glacial, please. In this house now, two women go wild with premenstrual lamentations, my daughter is becoming a teenager - she has my temper, my hormones, today, she blurted, "fuck!" (no doubt she said it before) claiming that she was only modeling my behavior. Piles of essays to score, high as the space elevator - I'm a red giant star now, lunar-rojo, I daydream about abundant money far more than good, great, or even mediocre sex: my husband is off at the fishing club, for tonight is farewell to summer's prize night. And I thought he always hated fishing! Now he's the old man and the sea. Wayne is the luckiest man I have ever met; there is a good chance he will come home with Moby Dick, which for me would be first prize in some gonzo lottery- Last night I dreamed he told me that we were not really married - the entire ceremony, even the certificate were counterfeits, and the preacher had gotten his divinity from a diploma mill, thus, we had to redo it, all. And he took it for granted I would. I decided to wake up. Could I go through all this again? Is it not better to be born an insect that lives, eats, mates, and dies, all in one splendid day? I have heard that perpetual pregnancy is the only cure for hot flashes. Is this nature's way of taking revenge on me for not popping out a baby every year? And today, boiling my way through Indian summer, it seems quite likely that I will never stop working. I will never stop cursing. My daughter is off again, brooding in her room, unwilling to face her dear, private school homework, the harvest of my endless overtime. The old man will playing his version of piscine bingo, around an enchanted lake, mountains and valleys down the road. Another flash is coming, as sure as a solar flare, melting all but my adipose grief; this uterus is cramping, hello. Let's open another ruby floodgate and pay tax to the moon. Maybe I am just having a depressive reaction to all the Chinese food I craved today, in a restaurant, where a waiter, no doubt illegal of Beijing -- stared at me through the entire meal, as if were not on the brink of fifty - sending me wishes like hot mustard, telepathic wontons. Here I steam not wanting to menstruate any more... not wanting to let it stop, to become just another helmet-haired hag, consumed by grandchildren. Oh, fuck. * Klaus Gerken Sun 23/09/07 1:54 PM The Rachel Poems I Rachel and the night of a thousand deaths ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I met Rachel several months ago sitting in the doorway of a shop I had just come back from the Hill where I fed the cats she noticed my camera asking me to take her photograph I did lovely blond strands of hair streamed upon her denim jacket she laughed and blew a kiss to me I pressed a ten into her hand cool she said and I walked on - didn't think of her until I saw her a week later - buy me a coffee she said and so I did - the girl at the counter smiled at me as to suggest... well, Rachel all of 22 and I an old man imagination grows...give me a hug she said when I continued on my morning walk such a sweet angel of the morning I held no negating thoughts of her - In fact, how can anyone so young and fresh and beautiful be on the street? * The weeks passed and whenever we met she would have hug and a kiss for me and when I had a few dollars to spare they would go to her...I forget how many coffees I bought for her and which she sugared ravenously...(didn't know why then- know why now - unfortunately) *** Insomnia has made me privy to a lot of darkness on the streets at night...I have seen open drug deals...come-ons...fights... police insensibility...how do we solve homeless people on the streets? Take them to jail...then throw them on the street again with nothing...so the waterless well get deeper and the opening gets smaller and it's like a fishing trip in Hell...cats a homeless person throw her back again and then go after her again... *** Lydia is young and once was beautiful and pregnant. She sleeps beneath the display window of a Quickie store. She can't get public housing because she has a record, and she can't stay at a government funded shelter because she's pregnant. So she sleeps on the dirty street with pedestrians stepping over her, and the police arresting her and the police releasing her and...what is she to do? she does not beg...just either sits alone or sleeps. "I have to watch my health" she says, "I worry about my baby." Obviously no one else does...I give her something when I can. *** Someone told me Rachel is an intravenous drug user: I couldn't believe that. I didn't want to believe that. I checked her photographs and cringed at the many needle marks. How can one so beautiful I asked do such horrible damage to herself? The next time I saw her I didn't bring it up but since it was pay day gave her a substantial amount and she thanked me with a hug and said "Cool, I don't have to be out here today..." An hour later she was still there..."There's got to be someone out here...I need my drugs..." She pleaded with a toothless pimp and seeing me said he couldn't help her - I left and she went with him Next time I went back for more groceries she was gone. *** I've known Samantha for 3 years and she's a con. She's a beautiful woman, but even talking to her comes with a price...buy me this and buy me that and give her five and she wants 20...and if you don't have it she will throw a temper tantrum. In her thirties, it isn't pretty. She's happy when she sees me - hugs and kissed and she plans to spend the day with me...yet she always has another errand and disappears. I even dreamt that she might live with me one day...blast that day away. Samantha is in Samantha's world...I can't be there and she can't be in mine...It takes a long time to learn this when you fall in love on the cold cold streets. *** 3am. Bank Street. September. Rachel crossed the street with a guitar slung over her shoulder. Have you seen Harry? No I haven't. I need to see him really bad... there he is. He crossed the street, took the guitar from her...and walked away. She ran after him and they argues. She a golden youthful vibrant blond, and he a toothless beggar who knows nothing but the dirt upon the street -and accordingly treats all as such. Returning from my walk, I saw Rachel get into a red van and it drove a few feet and then she got out still carrying the guitar and sobbing uncontrollably. She smashed the guitar and trampled on it cursing..."Fuck, fuck them all! - He stole everything I had and took off with some one else! I should kill myself. Fuck! nothing turns out right. They get everything and I get nothing! All they want is to see me naked...I suck the cock of some cab drive and he kicks me out of his cab and drives off with all my stuff." She was choking on her tears, and wiped her face. I tried to comfort her but nothing I could say would appease her. Some other guy came up and asked her what was going on, and she told that Harry had stolen all her money and went off with some other girl. She picked up and smashed the guitar again. "He took all your money?" "Yeah, some 60 bucks." "What's that in your hand?" Noticing the 40 I had pressed into her hand. "My friend gave me that." He looked at me. "Good for you," he said. Just then some car parked beside her and she went over and asked "Can you spare some change." The guy in the car said something to her and she got the guitar and threw it into the back of the car and then started to climb into the front seat - I just stood there stunned. Then she got out again and ran over to me and gave me a hug and a kiss and looking deep into my eyes said "Thank you." "You have my number," I said, " call me if you need to talk - I'll be there for you." "I have your number" she said. "I will." and got into the car. They drove down the street. I said to the other guy, "I wish I could get her off the street." I didn't listen but thought I heard him say, "Good luck". I walked a bit down that road hoping she would get out of the car, but it turned the corner and disappeared. As my heart sank into an abyss the night got colder and empty. I just walked displaced and hollow down some empty streets. I passed emaciated hookers, girls sleeping in doorways, drug dealers and vagrants. The only think that I could think about is "How do I get Rachel off the street?" But I knew that she would have to make the first move...that by listening I did all that I could. And how little that would seem to be. After walking aimlessly for about half an hour I spotted Rachel on the sidewalk where she first got in the car waving her arms frantically. She didn't see me as I walked toward her, but walked away down the dark street, hopefully home. I followed for a block or so but lost her on the block where I knew pimps and prostitutes and drug dealers lived. At that point I had had enough and my mind couldn't take any more, so I slowly made my way home. * The next morning after feeding the cats, I neither saw Rachel, Lydia or Samantha. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe not. Neither Rachel or Lydia phoned me as they said they would. But one thing that I have learned is that you cannot help those who do not want to help themselves. But how can they even begin to help themselves when all the odds are stacked against them? And no one cares enough to taken them under wing and protect their precious lives? Rachel wants to be a poet - who is there to teach her? Lydia wants to be a mother, but who is there to allow her to keep her child? Samantha wants to be loved, but cannot return that love - Once raped you forever have a gun in your vagina. * As I finish this I watch TV...read some emails and drink a lot of wine. I'm glad I have tomorrow off. So if I run into Rachel, what do I say to her? Or Lydia, or Samantha. This has been such a strange weekend I do not know what I can say to them, or what I can say to myself to deal with these revelations? I think I have done whatever I could do. If they do not return to me I think I should no longer go to them. I am sad this had to be...but it had to be. What happens to everyone seems to be fated and what is fated for me is the next step. What is fated for them... I don't know. I wish I could. I really do... Klaus J. Gerken 23 Sep 2007 * Maria Jacketti Sun 23/09/07 6:15 PM Spicy Chinese Food ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lover boy Chinese waiter, used to a clientele of sky-blued ladies, the Social Security crowd, stares at me as I t-rex a Buddha's delight, sends wishes, wanton, like hot mustard, telepathic wontons, inside small chile flecks: my tongue burns. Maria * Maria Jacketti Sun 23/09/07 6:26 PM Fisherman Funk ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wayne always told me that fishing was a dreary hobby. But this year he has become the old man and sea, dashing off to fishing clubs, enchanted lakes, catching nothing much. Recently, his buddy snared a trout, and when he went to gut it found that the creature had poached itself in the shallows. I take note of this fishing news. Fish people are telling their stories, in distress and utter absence. Tonight Wayne travels off to the end of summer fisherman's prize night, a kind of piscine bingo. What will he bring home? Perhaps, Nessie. Perhaps, Moby Dick. Maria * Klaus Gerken Mon 24/09/07 6:45 AM A Nun touched my arm today While I was leaving the cat colony Our eyes met in an explosion of wonder A gentle duty and pervasive quest Vibrated through me in an effusion of love All the while Brunette, tortoise shell, purring In harmony with any god out there who doesn't promise hail and brimstone violence and segregation This gentle Nun knew what was happening We were on Holy Ground And the cats themselves are Holy In a world that has forgotten how to care We care, the Nun's eyes told me, we care. Klaus Gerken 24 September 2007 6:42 am * Maria Jacketti Mon 24/09/07 6:50 AM Well, I think that she recognized you as the saint you are. I loved going through the cat blog. Heather looks so happy, too. The poems you have been sending me are brilliant; this is the best one yet, my favorite. You are right: the cats are holy. * Klaus Gerken Mon 24/09/07 7:29 AM I wouldn't say 'brilliant', but it's the best I can do these days. Your poems are much more refined. As to the Nun...she was a sweet old lady...you are right...she did touch me as if she had to...but then I'm no Saint...never could be... k * Maria Jacketti Mon 24/09/07 7:42 AM Well, it struck a chord in me, and I can't even articulate the music. * Maria Jacketti Mon 24/09/07 4:55 PM My Grandmother, Maria Jacketti ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Whoever invented the tradition of passing on the names of the dead to new children, really got it all wrong. While it is true that genes live on in the new one, the new one is in fact, quite new, another step in evolution, not a repetition, not a clone of destiny, not a billboard for extinct egos. We have the same rare name, Maria Jacketti: hers engraved pseudo-everlasting in pink marble, Grandmother, who could not write her name, who bore more than ten children, I guess she would not understand me - the exotic woman I have become - This funny name: I have had it so long now, it's too much like a linguistic tattoo, a hard trade-in, a trademark, in fact. I cling to its story: not even marriage could strip it away from me. Despite this, in my next incarnation, I want to pick my own name, as we all should when we can, if tradition might finally face evolution, language's new inventions will win. Your name was a compromise anyway, Granny: an Ellis Island fabrication: half Irish, half Italian, perfect for the new world. Indeed, if my grandmother were alive, and witnessed me, a fusion of times, cities, languages, civilizations: confusion could only ensue. I don't speak Italian. I teach English! Sometimes I even teach English to English people. Thus it is likely that she would ask that I return her name for safe-keeping; However, I would fight for it. * Klaus Gerken Tue 25/09/07 4:48 PM The Rachel Poems II Pepper I was walking with Rachel up and down Bank Street when I asked her to show me where she lived To my surprise she was delighted I should ask So we passed by Lydia who didn't say a thing I thought we would turn to go down the street I had seen her walk down the other night - but she walked on down to three story building above a shop I had pass a thousand times always wondering who lived there Several times I had seem prostitutes huddle in the glass doorway in the winter waiting for someone to come by "This is where you live?" "Yes the second floor." She pushed the door open: "The door with no lock." I said - "Always open." She said. "Don't worry about stepping on things." Unfortunately I couldn't avoid it if I could. I passed the bathroom - or was it the kitchen? There was so much refuse and discarded rags that one couldn't tell - just like the rest of the apartment. A sofa on one side, a table and a soft chair. And that was all - the rest a jumble of whatever refuse you could imagine. And in the middle of it all - Pepper, a beautiful long haired black and white half obscured sleeping under some paper and a plastic bag. "Sit there," Rachel pointed to the couch - it's safe but watch yourself anywhere else as she picked up discarded syringes most with broken and bent needles. I caught a glimpse of the bedroom which was covered in discarded clothes. The walls were painted with graffiti - and as Randy finished smoking her cigarette she tossed it burning to the floor, charcoal black. Of course I asked why she would want to live like this. But she just looked around and said, "This how I feel about myself." - Somehow it all came together then. This exceptionally beautiful young woman, with so much going for her - down to this. She read me one of her poems, while Pepper lay ay my feet getting her tummy rubbed and softly purring. In the corner a large open bag of dry cat food I guess the cat would nibble on when hungry. I didn't see a litter box and didn't want to ask. Rachel lit another cigarette and tossed the burning match in the a pile of filthy clothes. The match went out. Probably because everything on the floor was damp. "Do you want to see some of my boyfriend's drawings?" She picked up a twisted discarded book of drawings - all precisely some and classical in their execution. I marveled at the talent these two people had. I couldn't understand who such talented could destroy themselves, but then thought of Modigliani and Jeannie Hebuterne in Paris - poverty and drugs and so much self destruction. I asked if I could have the book but she held it back - as she does with her poetry. I found the book I had given her with my card in the rubble, so I put it on the table and she picked it up and caressed the cover and made sure the card was still there. Call me if you need to talk, I said. She smiled - "I'll call you soon. But first I have to find my boyfriend. I haven't seen in days. And fuck he said he'd be here today." At that I got up and said I had to leave. Noticing two small paintings on the mantle, I asked if her boyfriend did those, and she said she found them in the garbage. "Take one," she said, "A souvenir from Rachel's lair." I took one, and we both walked down the stairs and down Bank street in the evening sun. She went over to give Lydia some cigarettes and then saw her boyfriend about a block away in an altercation with someone else. She spoke to him a bit and then came over to my street by the Pizza joint, to make a phone call. "What was that all about?" I asked. "Wasn't about me," she said, and after giving me a hug and a kiss made that call. When I looked back she had gone. I put the painting on my wall - something salvaged from garbage to garbage to who knows what? I have little more to add. Klaus J. Gerken 25 September 2007 * Maria Jacketti Tue 25/09/07 8:26 PM Oh, Klaus, this is extraordinary. Literarily, it made me cry. You have recorded the truth and the poetry needs no gussying up. It is just as life is. I am speechless. Maria * Maria Jacketti Tue 25/09/07 8:53 PM Klaus ~~~~~ Guardian angel on the streets of Ottawa, an old nun recognizes you: the Pope probably wouldn't, though you share an accent, a homeland, the cats on Parliament Hill, canonize you every day, their purrs, your aloes, when you bring them their kibble, when you bring them your incessant love. * Klaus Gerken Wed 26/09/07 12:38 AM You know I can't accept this...write one with some sense to it: But then...I absolve you of your indiscretion. Here is a coda to the last... The Rachel Poems III Coda At one point in our conversation she said: You know I honestly thought about Marrying you But there's the age thing We'd might have another 20 years Together and then I'd be Alone again And I just couldn't handle that... I didn't know what to say - Among all this poverty and chaos There was a bloom of hope - A red red rose in Harlem - As fast appeared, and snuffed away - But I belong here don't you think? 26 September 2007 * Maria Jacketti Wed 26/09/07 1:54 PM Blank Document ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ If we were all born blank documents, the world would only have to write on us: but who might be the editor? While it is true that the world writes on me every day; it posts new texts atop layers of the older ones. In the wonderland of Catholics where I grew up, all babies were such souls: snow white cellular conglomerations , bags of innocence waiting to serve the king. But my brain always had an Eastern back-door: trouble is, it takes great pie chunks of life to learn to open it. I am still opening it with the bow, the cobra, the cow, the triangle. We come into this life from others: baby blankets, karmic webs have solution, if we are born onto the right game board, in time. I give my physical prayer on a yoga mat. "Dear God, I would be pleased it you make me the hundredth monkey." * Klaus Gerken 26 Sept 07 One Hundred Monkeys ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "The monkeys liked the taste of the raw sweet potatoes, but they found the dirt unpleasant. Only the adults who imitated their children learned this social improvement. Other adults kept eating the dirty sweet potatoes." Ken Keyes, jr. Then humans appeared filtered spite through gifts through salient solutions blood and war justified the lot with lies and verbal ingenuity baked the cake so to say with sweet-ass dreams and the undergrowth bowed to the sweet insecticide capturing spider web across a continent "those we do not trust" 100 monkeys; I wd say 6 billion humans and a myriad of uncountable entities...most who live with nature the goddess Gaia the others who do not pretend in global warming kyoto accord because they do not want to succumb to what they have subjected other entities on this fragile planet to not that they feel guilty they just feel panic at their own solvency I won't be here to see it But what a day... Klaus J. Gerken 26 Sept 07 * Maria Jacketti Fri 28/09/07 4:43 PM It's About Time ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ kinda sorta wanna mañana bananas ripen too quickly Maria Jacketti * Klaus Gerken Fri 28/09/07 8:48 PM They would take us all away if they could ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I am sullen and abortive tonight There is a moment where the sun and shadows merge And Limbo cracks into the realm Of possibilities Where nothing is nothing shows Hidden in a cycle of indifference They manipulate language and they fish For sport - they have no regrets In fact they have no soul, no mind No anything - nothing a person needs to be a person - They simply follow orders Never questioning Never questioning themselves. Klaus J. Gerken 28 Sep 2007 * Klaus Gerken Fri 28/09/07 8:34 PM 2 Poems by Rachel (2007) Undated I never [thought] that I'd get it. I can't believe I tried We have so many issues, everybody cries He dies because of hate, She died because of love Some can be so far down And some so high above Missions from our youth, that we've held so dear Still running from the things, that we'll always fear I need to be happy, They try to be amused They've left me all alone again, Feeling broke and used. I know that everyday I sit, [in a] corner or a cave These nights I lead a bliss undone And days I've come to loathe. So see it clearly in the glass, Swallow it like pride Leave me be alone tonight, I've crawled in here to die. Rachel * Mixed Wrong ~~~~~~~~~~~ written July 2/07 Mixed up 'n mangled inside your private home Feeling desolately that you are not alone Picking random numbers that bring you down so low Thinking of the past fast times. Slow Nobody remembers just who you used to be Not even you can handle the thought that u can't c Something deep inside u feel is very strong Sometimes you need sleep Like sometimes You are Wrong Rachel Transcribed by Rachel at her place 28 September 2007 * Klaus Gerken Fri 28/09/07 9:58 PM How the smug forget ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Someone said to me: Klaus, why are you digging dirt? What do you mean, I said? These people you hang out with... dregs... I smile... I see nothing but potential... They are scum... If that is so they give us what you haven't got... Integrity Life is not about oppression; Life is what we give to others... * Maria Jacketti Sat 29/09/07 6:48 PM Bloody Little Poem ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Pomegranate, pomegranate, these ovaries, still heavy with seeds - lunar uterus, Vesuvius, at home betwixt my legs, ambulant, fainting me, drawing energy from x marks the spot of the spring siphoning energy from my legs and brain, life force staining layers of cotton, perimenopause, like climbing the Himalayas, dropping rubies behind me. * Maria Jacketti Sat 29/09/07 7:34 PM I thought I'd send you the 2nd draft of this one, Klaus. Spicy Chinese Food ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Lover boy Chinese waiter, used to a clientele of sky- blue-haired ladies, the Social Security crowd, stares at me as I t-rex a Buddha's delight, sends wishes, wanton, like hot mustard, telepathic wontons, not that I want him - he's not my type: middle-aged, former Red Army, inside dumplings chile flecks like confetti in search of a bastard holiday: my tongue burns for lakes of green tea. * Maria Jacketti Sat 29/09/07 9:14 PM From Cuba (After the Carter flotilla, 1980) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to the lap of Three Mile Island, I translated for five dollars an hour, a fortune! just months after near meltdown, into the gut of Pennsylvania, a city of Cuba arrived, not minding the cattle mutations, installed in the abandoned military barracks, self-abducted, they composed letters of marriage, passed to workers, in hair-nets, fish-nets, moo-moos --- I held onto my collection briefly, mostly half-steamed letters rhyming comparisons to the Virgin Mary - all with the same thesis sentence: "Get me out of here - save me!" And who could blame them? Given their destinies and the law, surely I would have hunted a quickie disposable spouse, too. A wife like instant soup. A portable Statue of Liberty. Perhaps a noble libertarian floozy. In fact, all souls in the jive of Yankee urban legend appropriate love and freedom, along with T-bone steaks and infinite beer, courtesy of grateful sugarplum mamacitas who hide Corvette keys in tender places. Who wouldn't buy a ticket for this? Driving the hours of miles from the refugee camp at Indiantown Gap home to my eagle's turret in Hazleton, conspicuously boyfriend-less, and twenty, men I didn't want, a sudden storm around me, I relished returning to college, and wondered if I would ever find love on my own terms, a broken mold of amour like coconuts in the coal mines. * Klaus Gerken Sun 30/09/07 1:44 PM Why do we have wars? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Easy. Big money. Don't ever think governments care about humanity... Klaus Gerken 30 Sep 2007 * Maria Jacketti Sun 30/09/07 5:43 PM Pinocchio's Starship ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On a toy earth, we are action figures, demolishing the game board, rubbery murmur of the puppeteer, hot air jewels rising to some place like a pyramid in the sky. * Maria Jacketti Mon 01/10/07 1:20 PM Schoolteacher, Still ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Another day in the brain mines, cracking walnuts for lunch, steaming noodles, grooming coconuts - I imagine them inside, split, divulging nectarous solutions --- enlightenment somewhere stewing in the pit of my gut. * Klaus Gerken Mon 01/10/07 7:04 PM Can this be a "found poem"? I found it on the internet - Rachel 2001 - such insights Melody_that_Rocks ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ID: ***** **** **** Real Name: Rachel Location: Vancouver Canada Age: 16 Marital Status: Single and Looking Sex: Female Occupation: High School Hobbies: shittin around***makin out*** ***singing***hangin out with my friends*** Latest News: i am totally in love with a guy...his nickname is spot Favourite Quote: thats mad crazy** thats hurting** thats harsh** your sexi** Added: 2001 *** And six year later... needles - chaos - loss and one old guy who cares k * Maria Jacketti Tue 02/10/07 12:11 PM Yes. It is a found poem, indeed. * Klaus Gerken Mon 01/10/07 7:12 PM Dunderass ~~~~~~ Frozen in time We may once in a while Melt. k (I'm inclined to answer...who froze them anyway)...hey I'm watching a Britney thing on Entertainment tonight...how stupid can I get? * Maria Jacketti Tue 02/10/07 12:10 PM She is a sad example for all of us. * Klaus Gerken Tue 02/10/07 9:23 PM I spent the evening with Rachel at her place. Pepper is fine. I'll send a photo tomorrow. I tried to focus her on the poetry...but I think I'm losing her... Don't know what to do... k * Maria Jacketti Wed 03/10/07 8:22 AM I'm glad Pepper is okay. * Maria Jacketti Wed 03/10/07 7:46 PM My poem for today is here, Klaus. It has been amazing slamming with you. Maria Descending to Ascend: A Hometown Song ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sube conmigo, amor americano. (Ascend with me, American Love. --- Pablo Neruda, Las Alturas de Macchu Pichu) Baja conmigo, amor americano, into the mines, where you will never go: I nested inside them, before I was body-born, something of my soul waited in the underground tunnels of Hazleton, the labyrinths where the early men of my life dynamited birth canals for energy to feed world wars, where some died, gouging out terrestrial flesh and bone, engorging the Earth with their blood, perhaps paying her back for the eons of work so quickly plundered. Into the early sixties I landed; a city of lights flourished here. We sipped cherry and lemon cokes, thick with bygone syrups, in the Leader Store, the streets crowded with people, effervescent with the future safe in their pockets: great finned cars looking like Flash Gordon's most recent rides, gliding up and down Broad Street, every moment a parade, and gas, just pennies a gallon. From under the earth, into a world of electric radiance, from other lives, lived and buried, I climbed into my cradle, into my car, up mountains, closer to the moon, no pyramids here, just hills, fat with coal, and sharp pencils points for spears, for digging, for clambering, my only way to get higher, to ascend to that great promise, a haven of higher ground. * Klaus Gerken Wed 03/10/07 9:28 PM Hi Maria, Same here...wish we cd make this a life time experience (and perhaps in some ways we already have). I'm thru part 2 of Streets and part 3 will be a description of the actual (some harrowing) photographs Rachel let me take yesterday. Not yet quite sure if I have the poetry in me to describe what transpired...all I know is she must trust me an awful lot to allow me into her life like this... Anyway, here's a photo of Pepper...(Rachel promised me that I could take her if she couldn't care for her anymore)...she gave me 4 more poems... Searching Stun 'Dope Shit' ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ August 23 /07 Searching for those who will teach what's to learn Wisdom to gain and knowledge to earn I' craving those thats that help me to see And ignoring paranoia, expanding possibility I've dreamed every time of a heart beating fast The passion of torture and Love doesn't last The frightful, I took it, along stepped for step Quietly hidden, those nightmares you kept Yes they all were imperative, They told of their lives I've my own now, Motivational drive Cramped up inside, Sleeping from toe to head Complaints? Not a one, Rather be shitfaced than dead Heaping with Sadness, tied up, thrown in Gently evolved into a lifetime of sin - But no matter, who asked, will this game ever end No address, no number, Know message to send Forget all that was and be ready to run So the lost, all are angry, no care for who are one Elected to die like the dogs that are there Walls do not talk, into mind did they stare So I read what was red, blood ceasing to be Used it all up, Felt their need below the sea Confused now, you are, Like I was, pawn of time Conflicted inside, but yes, commit me to crime Now @ an end, now end what was done And before, like eyes said, Stupid, foul, evil, stun Rachel * Crying Rhyme ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mon, Sept 10 / 07 I cried this morning because I failed Desperate for something I cannot feel Knowing it's missing, My hearts been impaled. Noing that this Shit really makes it less real I tried yesterday to keep it together But as always it's pieces fall away. I'll talk of my pain like I'll talk of the weather. As always, barely getting myself thru the day. I relied this weekend on someone I that I loved. Who keeps me from that place where I cannot smile I can hear silent laughter from far up above. Yet always, the same number I'll dial I pretend today that this didn't hrt I grinned and nodded my hear @ it all I think of the past and put on my shirt Forgetting myself, Cuz I'm feeling so small I heard once or twice I was a pretty smart girl I heard people complimenting and smile I ignored it, and felt down, giving the mainline a whirl I've been ignored now for such a lng while I'm mixed up about everything here I'll look left if I know just use right I try to pretend when I look in the mirror That I've won, or there isn't a fight So I'll end these thoughts now cuz theres too much to say I can't deal with it all @ one time Yes know that my aura is still dull or Grey I'm still stuck Treading thru Memories Rhyme Rachel * Twice the Trust ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ If I could trust you as much as myself Then I'd have left, you and never returned, I've broken rules as well as my heart Even laughing at my soul being burned If I cold love you as much as myself then I wouldn't have this heavy feelng inside I've killed myself off knowing that it was wrong because I wasn't the only one they that died. If I cold laugh at you like I can laugh at myself Then I'd fall for you al over again I do, get to laugh, though mostly with you And crying alone not letting you see when If you could trust me as much as yourself I be I'd be at the top of your list I'd tell you the things that the other w [ith] held You'd protect me w [ith] an iron fist If you could love me as much as yourself Then the equality wouldn't falter or die I'll always see your face atop of the shelf Always looking up, towards the clear blue sky when we look deeply into our eyes when the secrets melt, then freeze into ice I'll shed no tear, I'll break no shys So, much good in us, Ill right it twice... Rl (sing about it) * Burned by Greed ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Blazing up and burning down Bringing the universe closer together Time means a lot if you gotta watch Technical faul, recording the weather Speech impediments glued to your throats Stuttering words they cannot understand Nodding you out of the days from that cage Little did they know, you had this planned Energy shocked by the solidity you own Free from your plugs once again Packed up your shocks, took to the road Anger, frstration, counting on ten Searching and scrounging, finding controls Your emotions are running right through Teach me the way, I'll plead once again Sick of all facts, I've gotta count on you Leading the way, Naturally faking the steps Towards who and what makes us real Taking a break, catching our breath My hands running down skin to feel Holding on tight to the memories Copying down the dues angels left Demons tricked us with their smiles So briht we couldn't see the theft Now we're tightly enclosed Locking us up they succeed Noone who hears us knows Ignored, left to die, this is greed. Rachel All poems copyright (c) RLL 2007 * Maria Jacketti Thu 04/10/07 10:22 PM Temporal Fandango in Babel ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Riding home from language class, I am too tense driving over these voluptuous mountain ranges, my stomach plummeting to roller coaster depths near Weatherly, in half asleep valleys, somewhere between Indian summer, and the jaws of el invierno, home not far, but not nearly close enough tonight. Near Beaver Meadows, dual fawns cross my road, fluid and amber, smudged outlines, only a heart's leap away. Lord, I need more light. Ou se trouve ma lumiere? Earlier, I tried to illuminate the subjunctive mood for my class, Nearly extinct in English, it vivifies the unknown and its possibilities. Tonight the deer and I grooved synchronous. I cannot name the prayer that saved us. Soy un ciervo herido de donde crece el pino. Perhaps the ultimate prayer has no words, no due brittle due date, no translation. Its sacred time looks like a reclining figure eight, like a woman on a golden couch exhaling les jolies paroles that can morph this past, present, and future, decompose like this autumn into sultry compost, hibernate for ages, live half lives, or say all the right things but no one listens. Tenses birth pure and naked time. I want to manufacture it. Reinvent the hourglass. Time is a loop, not a noose, right, amigo? * Klaus Gerken Sat 06/10/07 5:54 AM Lifelines ~~~~~~~~~ for Rachel Your life is the moment with perhaps a scattered memory flashed by here or there My life is my History to which the present adds... 6 Oct 2007 * Maria Jacketti Sun 07/10/07 6:23 PM Seybert Street Archeology ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Falling down the steps, was I one, two or three? Before baby gates, I walked over the edge of the second floor, as if off the end of the Earth, turning into a ball of flesh to make it to the landing, in a house that no longer stands, I survived with just screams and bruises, where purple and grey foundation stones remain now, remembering the way only stone can that once three stories high on Seybert Street hill, a child fell but climbed and climbed back to an attic of spectacular altitude, where a city spoke warnings in a wind's brogue, ancient and purple, where the land quaffed desire, burgeoning draughts, gift of one aquamarine water tower, a tall thimble on Roosevelent Street and another red and black checkered reservoir, beyond Arthur Street, and the cemetery. That one expanded and rolled out side-wise and squat, like the game board, wide, a tin of Danish sugar cookies, made jumbo through the looking-glass, monolithic containers of life, they poured colors into my head, marking two distinct edges of town, filling the thermoses of miners- and sometimes o'er-brimming spendthrift bubble baths, smelling pink, no doubt because of Avon, we harnessed water within these mountains, far away from the oceans and their devouring, these towers, I clambered to gaze upon became the borders of world of almost certain safety, through bleak winters now extinct, replaced by tepid seasons, uncertain harvests, staircases that burned away, in a neighborhood where my welcome mat is no longer a flying carpet, just the backyard of new people, who look at me with eyes I can't memorize * Klaus Gerken Wed 10/10/07 8:01 PM The Street ~~~~~~~~~~ I The street is dark and moody the street is empty after all the bars close the street is like a wake for all the fallen junkies the street is a graveyard of lost prostitutes all children of someone all reaching out all neglected all clamouring for affection they can't get except for the drugs the tainted money buys a quick blow job in a car an alley strewn with garbage spent condoms and needles and the young ones are so pretty shivering for want of lost indifference thrown to the dogs they do anything to escape reality And the cops don't help Pick them up Throw them in jail Let them go And then go fishing again Laughing at the "scum" they've caught Refusing to acknowledge them as human beings All just sport to them Sick sport I don't judge I can't But I can condemn Indifference Abuse Slander Hate I've seen too much of that I want a world Where compassion rules I want a world where each individual Has the right to choose And not be condemned when that choice If for oneself and doesn't hurt others In a violent way I have friends who abuse themselves With alcohol Drugs (legal or not) But they play a vital role in their community And one slip will condemn them forever Why? Why does an indiscretion of the law Out-weigh their contribution to society? And how does it benefit society To take these people out of circulation? Put them behind bars where one snort of white powder Negates all the knowledge, education and benefit? The law must be a moron to thing it's better Or more rational than them... Let people make their own choice... Police should only be there to keep us safe From others... Violent others... Violence to others... Rape... Slavery... But never what one digests... Let private matters be private... Today the law's the peeping Tom And we can't even put up curtains... To the police I say get a life... You are the perverts... Some of you are truly heroes Most of you are not... Freud has killed whatever hope Humanity has had for a rational natural life I think Freud should be condemned Beside Himmler on the gallows He's that despicable to me II I am not sure of anything I am in a room somewhere A pretty face A mattress Tumble Light dark flesh upon flesh Muscle brushes past cervix Cervix slurps up whatever Sperm services The greater salmon journey To the gathering of energy Merging into life Gathering That is how a woman builds life She is a gatherer A gatherer of atoms Elements She is a builder She builds the temple of life Constructs every crevice Every stone And hold it all together In the water of her womb Woman is a miracle Man is just an animal The street doesn't believe that Cops don't believe that Social services doesn't believe that Passers by don't believe that Tossing pennies to feel good About themselves And really doing nothing Because no one wants to get involved No one wants to tarnish their marble Pedicure - no one wants that responsibility On the street a woman's a slave A blown up sex toy Used and thrown away A reusable commodity Refuse And they believe it themselves And they act it Because they can't see beyond the lies And the control The poverty The humiliation So they get tough Street tough like a prize fighter In the ring too long And the drugs just numb them One blow job And the drugs just numb them Another And the drugs keep numbing them Until the wake in a jail cell And then get tossed again Reeled in again No hope left no future No one gives them that No one cares because they cannot Help themselves But read their poetry Listen to their thoughts Their stories They want to be whole They are a complete human being With feelings like me and you Dreams of a future Yet the burden on them is the moment This terrible moment They cannot get beyond Because no one treats them like the persons They are III I was a bit drunk After a difficult and scattered day At work But still went over to Rachel's place Although I felt more like passing out In bed I stayed off the main drag Until I got there I buzzed the apartment I saw someone in jeans at the top Of the stairs Then nothing (as if Someone was hiding) and then Rachel came down Smiling happy to see me Come up she said Dressed in short jeans and a chemise Exposing beautiful cleavage It was like I always had been there Part of her environment Since I had my camera I began taking photographs As soon as I got in the door Take 1. Pepper looking up at me No meow But fluffy head and bright eyes I wasn't sure he'd still be there After Rachel's "boyfriend" said "She was such nuisance - I got rid of her" But Pepper seemed fine Went to me and Cuddled up by the couch Among the piled up garbage bags And refuse on the floor And straddled for a tummy rub The cat gives love Wants love I asked Rachel if I could have her A smirk on her face said no She's mine... You don't ask after that... (229) Take 2. I don't remember when I saw the needle I was just taking photographs And Rachel didn't seem to mind In fact she seemed happy about it So I kept on snapping what I could When it dawned on me she was shooting up I didn't really know what to do Disturbing her would hinder our Relationship and it wouldn't make her stop Only maybe evict me from the premises And tossed out of her life forever So I spoke to her but she was busy With her trip Take 3. I turned my camera away and took some Photographs of Pepper negotiating The garbage bags and rotting food and Other elements...But Pepper purred demurely At my feet...although filth for human beings - Cats seem to be right at home... Take 4. Blood spurts Drug plunges Deep into her arm She is adamant She smiles No euphoria No ease of flesh or anything Just as if life were normal And I the observer were never there She puts on her jacket Let's go out she says * I take one last photograph On her wall Photographs of long ago (for her) A young Rachel One sitting on a sidewalk in Vancouver Another spread legs nude Crack pipe in her mouth A third on the street A fourth devastatingly beautiful With an article next to it Did someone sometime prop her up In model fashion And then drag her down With drugs and promise of a better life How she came to Ottawa I'll never know 3 years ago Jeff said I followed you She won't follow me back he said to me Sitting on the chair With Pepper next to me Purring in the hour of our wonder Knowing time for all of us Is at a premium She had the photo I took of her Pasted on the TV screen (doesn't work) and both were very stoned I even wonder if they knew I was a person Not just a shadow or a dream But I'm mixing visitations Was it yesterday Or a week ago The final moment I remember that night A kiss on the cheek at the phone booth By the dollar store...the drug dealer's centre Of the world... Why is it so hard to equate love with reason? Sex is like a wasp Love is like a dragon fly There's a mushroom over there Eat it The blindfold is substantial IV The mushroom cloud is billowing Well maybe only in our heads But the designers were well prepared Knowing panic separates resources And kids in a cold cellar huddling Huddling against a rough wall Could never organize a rebellion Against the status quo The 60's changed all that And once we challenged The government grew tougher Panicked at first but then Ever slowly tightened the Psychological news And one we were exploited We were in their grasp And in the last century it started The nineteen eighties to be precise That's when the police began to say "Leave things up to us..." and "Neighbourhood watch is important." And slowly human self worth eroded Are the watching me? Why are they Watching me? And if you ask, they say "Why should you worry if you have nothing to hide" - It's a rot upon society...The law is meant to keep the "public Peace", not to snoop and find not to be a peeping tom...not to be the criminal to catch a potential criminal...the law is now what Hitler and Stalin made it. And we are so insecure as to fall into its trap. Lydia sleeps on the street of Ottawa. She once sold illegal drugs to get by In a rebellious kinda mood...she was a kid Rebellious and hanging with a crowd she Hardly knew. Convicted she became a criminal, Branded with the mark of Cain forever... After a time in a cold bare barred cell She was tossed back on the street with Nothing, but some stringent conditions And to report to her parole officer Once a month. To be blunt, she was on The street - With nothing. So she did what Any person would, panhandled and snuggled up To the wrong crowd she should have left behind - There was no support and soon she found herself Pregnant. When I met her she was sleeping By a Quickie store while people who should Have cared stepped over her. Some threw he A dollar, some even approached and propositioned her... "No thank you," she said politely. But then poverty can so much harm and I never asked... Whenever I saw her I gave a few dollars.. Sometimes she would be sleeping on the sidewalk And at other times just sitting pensively Before grocery store...one of those day the cops came And roughed her up...handcuffed her...pulled her Like slave into the back seat and tore through Her possessions scattering them all over the place.. Then they let her go...laughing like hyenas On the hunt...nothing to be proud of I though... And in a way nothing to be proud of that I stayed A block away and watched it all without walking up To protest this act of cruelty...Once it all was over Walking down Bank Street on my way home, Lydia came Across the street crying and I held her in my arms Giving whatever comfort I could..."Look what the Fucking assholes did to me? ... Look what they did to My wrists? Look at the burn marks?" I took her aside And gave her a twenty..."Come back to my place.." I said Hoping she could get some comfort there and be away From the street awhile...but she said "I have to meet A friend." And left after giving me a hug and a kiss. I bonded with her that day... So the weeks went on And we met whenever I was there, and sometime when She wasn't I would search for her in despair wondering Where she was. And one day I bought her some cigarettes And wrote my address down on the carton, and that night She came over...she was ill...but soon she was over daily And after some spats, and anger and confusion we will Work it out...I just tell her, let this be a sanctuary. It's not perfect...but it's better than the street... Let's see how she responds. 756pm 10 Oct 2007 * Maria Jacketti Thu 11/10/07 9:13 PM Well, Klaus, there is much tragic beauty here. I never imagined Canada as such a place. How we are fooled by stereotypes and images. I am speechless, really. You put your heart in the meat-grinder, Klaus. * Klaus Gerken Fri 12/10/07 3:21 PM Isn't that what poetry is all about - or should be? One of the most respected professors of poetry sent me this as a submission to Ygdrasil - I have not responded yet: (deleted) Any major literary journal would jump at this...I can't even find words to respond. Sometimes you have to get out there to write real poetry...you and I have had a bond in that from the beginning... k * Klaus Gerken Fri 12/10/07 3:21 PM So with this done, and it being the 12th of October, do you want to end the slam, or continue for a few days? And...what do we do with this? I have saved it all in a word file I will send when we are done. I can post it on the Ygdrasil site...but of course will have to change some names in my poems... But then, once I publish those, is there any reason to withhold HUREN? k PS. beautiful autumn day here...haven't heard from Lydia in two days.. * Maria Jacketti Fri 12/10/07 4:43 PM Klaus: I want to thank you for being my partner during this slam. I hope we can do it again. Perhaps we can give a roll again during the winter, December perhaps???? No doubt I will immediately miss the company and inspiration. Maria * Maria Jacketti Sat 13/10/07 10:08 PM Choosing Spanish made ordinary sense like rock and roll when I was fourteen, and I carried choices like the latest lip gloss in my pocket, one day outrageously artificial raspberry, the next another equally specious tutti-fruit -- choices never anything I I could not spit out and trash like worn out Chiclets. Casually, the first day of high school, I picked the language of hot pepper sauce, over crépes or weiner schnitzel; life became a hologram of overlapping paths. No road could not be taken if one could read the signs. Italian? American? Italian-American? Pizza? Hot dogs? Tacos? In the lunch room of the Americas, we have come to serve fusion food, a sacramental hash. Ruby and purple language invaded my head, crossed frontiers, over-populated lexicons, seduced, verb by incandescent verb, spelling bees swarming spices: no azure age of Aquarius, hippy-promised, instead, man-eating 2012, when el calendario maya opens its mouth, all runic smiles, all Venus fly-trap, yes, five minutes from now, (unless the Mayans flunked math -) an apocalypse of shoofly pie, chalupas and chichimangas. * Published by Ygdrasil Press 2007 All poems copyright (c) by their respective authors.