Plan A
i
I used to be of the night
Never ate, drunk at dawn
Gods be damned, laughter so bright
Not knowing only slaves write songs
ii
Ahab’s lovely light landed on me
On summer staircases, tenement eaves
Below winter stars in wrong skies crossing
Greedy time knew nothing of me
iii
The devil clock chimed one morn’ at three
The deathnight spoke the mind of the Boar
‘Stupid girl, the master marked the cards before you were born,
Innocence is over, come now, find an oar.’
iv
No more nights of putting the wrong key in the lock
Nor philosophies over blasphemy and cigarettes
Nor scorning those who have children as a form or revenge
A strange method of payback for having been born
v
Then comes nothing, and nothing echoing more
‘T is nothing that makes only more
Of its stern self perpetual, redundant, sane
The ugly thing that happens when time remembers your name
Plan B
Re-read Plan A over a good snort of Methadone
Then snarl snarl at the dying of the light
Give your deepest weakness the finger and rise like Lazarus
People were made because the beasts won’t laugh at us
Saragun Springs 
Hi Leila
This poem takes me back to my days and nights of hard drinking and whatever drugs came with it.
“Never ate, drunk at dawn” This line captures an entire lifestyle.
There is a lovely elegance to this poem. So many great lines!
“Below winter stars in wrong skies crossing” Things are off but there is beauty.
Great title too!
I think you have an absolute winner here!
CJA
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Hi CJA
Oh yes indeed. It’s like that song “Those Were the Days My Friend.” But, really, those days would not have been worth a dime if they were to last forever.
Thank you for stopping by–have an “!” as well.
Leila
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Intense and with effective use of literary references. I especially like the Dylan Thomas one.
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Thank you David
I had to do something to keep up with the fine materials that you and the other writers have been filling the days with!
Thanks again
Leila
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LA
What a lovely, gorgeous, beautiful, haunting, and consoling piece of writing this is!
This poem is what Wallace Stevens called “pure poetry.” “Pure poetry,” in other words, means poetry where words are untainted by any kind of merely functional activity. Instead, in pure poetry, the poetry, and only the poetry, is what’s at stake.
For Stevens, pure poetry only comes into being when it arises directly from a life, and directly from life itself.
I will be returning to, rereading, and carrying around this poem in my mind and heart all day today. Nor will it soon be forgotten!
Another aspect of “pure poetry” is its TIMELESSNESS. It could have been written centuries ago, or far into the future, even tho’ it’s also firmly grounded in its own place (and person). THIS poem is THAT kind of poem.
Work like this is written for itself, and itself alone, and THAT makes it a gift, a true (and blessed) gift, to the world at large.
So good, in all the best senses of that word, that it literally gives me the chills!
Dale
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Dale
First, thank you for your lovely comments. No one in the world can surpass you there; some, like the fellows who have been by so far can meet you, but no one surpasses.
This was written in an hour, with a light revision about an hour before it appeared. I cannot say whether something is “good” or “bad”–mainly I go by feel and this felt right as I was doing it. Now, the actual composition time was about an hour, but a lot of years went into it, which makes such stuff more like dictation than anything else.
Whenever I write poetry, or whatever this is, I find that Bukowski gets even “righter” all the time. “Don’t try.” I’ve always believed that Nike stole their marketing ideas from his honesty, which makes sense. Tempted to pun on soleless/soulless with the shoes–but I bet too many people would see that acomin’ –although, as we can see, I did not entirely abandon the idea.
Looking forward to what the Drifter brings in tomorrow!
Leila
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I’m not inclined to give folk a suffix but the spiky elegance is positively Leilaesque. Was reminded somehow of Villon & his “at break of day I say goodnight.” A world of nights & morns in these 24 lines; they hit the senses & that last line fabulous.
Geraint
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Hi Geraint
Acquiring “esque” (even burlesque) is a high compliment that I do not take lightly!
Thank you!
Leila
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Oddly enough – & in case I’ve not said so already – “visionary burlesque” is exactly the name I’d give to some of your more fantastical tales from the Springs.
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Thank you Geraint.
I do love that term.
Leila
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Leila
I just want to add (crucially) that a FUNCTIONAL poem, as opposed to “pure poetry,” is something like a politically-correct identity-politics poem which is written in order to toe the party line and often as a means of various forms of advancement, including tenure at university. These are the writers and poets who will use their pronouns in their bios when it is fashionable, trendy, and advantageous to do so; and they are the exact same writers and poets who will quietly remove their pronouns from their bios when that too has become the fashionable trend. Their poems, like their opinions, disappear with every societal wind. “GROUPTHINK” is ALL among them. Moral (and physical) cowardice is lauded as bravery (most of these people can frequently be seen working out at the gym, but never walking down an alleyway), and these are our so-called intellectuals (but they are very far from our best minds).
Even a “Save the Whales” kind of poem, which is written for a good cause, is a FUNCTIONAL poem, and NOT PURE POETRY.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, was capable of both kinds, but he vastly favored Pure Poetry, and hung his head in shame when he occasionally tossed off a functional poem in order to please the Queen. Because he favored pure poetry over propaganda poetry, we still know (very much) who he is almost a century and a half after his death. If all he had ever done was pen verses praising England’s military and the Queen, he would not even be a footnote. Many who sling mud at him for his Queen poems are guilty of the exact same thing in different form! Their true religion is Consumerism Reinforced by Political Correctness. Merry Christmas!
D
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Dale
You make several great points. What you said abiut Tennyson reminds me of Shakespear dashing off The Merry Wives of Windsor to please the Queen, a Jack Falstaff fan. I dunno how much of that story is true, four hundred years has a way of getting between, but at least he was able to produce something that is still pretty good if not quite up to his remarkable standard.
Thanks again!
Leila
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