Joseph Semenovich, “self-pity deserves an elegy”

A poem by Joseph Semenovich (March 18, 1935 to 1998) from the back cover of Brass City no. 3 (May/June 1996). More by and about Joe appeared at Issa’s Untidy Hut.

self-pity deserves an elegy

let me die
with my eyes wide awake
a friend, even if it be a stranger
to shut them for good
the two pennies in my pocket
put them on my lids
carfare enough
to pay charon, the ferryman
to row me across the styx
tell him, for me, thank you
and be you friend or stranger
or just the wind or the silence
of my apartment: thank you

The Most Mysterious Arrival of a Most Unusual Letter

             after Mark Strand

I woke at 3:37 a.m. with an envelope slipped between my lips. I was in my bed in my apartment alone as I often was. I pulled the envelope from my mouth and got up to look around. No lights were on. The doors were both still locked. All was quiet on Highland Ave. I sat at my desk in the living room, switched on the lamp, and opened the envelope. “Dear Cicada,” it read, “Your receipt.”

The Even More Mysterious Arrival of an Even More Unusual Letter

             after Mark Strand

It was a long drive home, up 6, down 25, through the summer Friday traffic. When I pulled onto Elm Drive I could finally breathe easy. I pushed the black button on the Craftsman opener clipped to my sun visor and the garage door lurched and lifted, but the overhead light didn’t go on as it usually did. Where was my wife’s car? Where was the recyclable bin? I picked up an unaddressed white envelope from the garage floor and pulled the lone sheet of paper out. The words were in crayon, in a child’s hand, but we didn’t have children or friends with children. “Dear Kimosabe” was all it said.

Five poems in BlazeVOX12

Five poems in the giant new issue of BlazeVOX.

September*

I will sleep
in my little cup.

*I like to get a head start. Cf. Padgett, Ron.

Trochees To God

                Variation on an old saw I first read in an interview with Jack Gilbert in the journal New Letters circa 1993 in which he was quoting Allen Ginsberg from many years earlier.

Poetry is lies,
painful truths and lies.

Happy truths, too. Mainly
when you close your eyes.

Concupiscent Fire in The Boiler

Thanks to Sebastian for including Concupiscent Fire in the latest issue of The Boiler.

Hoax

Pussy Riot
it turns out

was Kent Johnson
all along—



he has Russian
friends you know—

it’s just three of
his twenty-

seven selves now
behind bars.
__________________________________


Rough draft???

Two in the Truck

Thanks to Elizabeth Kate Switaj who was the guest editor over at Truck last month and included two works of mine: “It was going on five in the morning” (after André Breton) and Monster Gardens.

And to The New Verse News for posting a short one.

The Blue Heron, Or Why I’m No Good at Haiku

   after Bill Killen

By the frothy green
and fetid pond
in the morning sun
the blue heron
standing so still
is probably pooping.

UCity Review #4

Three poems just posted in UCity Review. Others recently in print here and here. More links to online works here.

The Complication

He was right
but he was dead.

Botswana

or something jotted down [meaning typed up] after reading America Po Biz

Bots wanna
cats wanna
guys in shaving cream wanna
dogs wanna
parrots wanna
poets kinda think they wanna
crackheads wanna
peaceniks wanna
goddam anglo-saxons wanna
sharks wanna
pandas wanna
spooky druids used to wanna
birds wanna
blues wanna
cars especially convertibles wanna
spirits wanna
top hats wanna
latent psychic abilities wanna
“be still” (mumble, mumble)
pencils wanna
padres wanna
freaking mice and squirrels wanna
bells wanna
belladonnas wanna
primadonnas in their jewelry wanna
cells wanna
sailors wanna
debutantes and showboats wanna
urchins wanna
curtains wanna
dicks with higher purposes
really really wanna

fb sonnet 6

Inception, The Social Network, or I’m Still Here?
Woke up humming this, wonder what I was
dreaming about? Video Games brought me
here. New ink. We conquered the thunderstorms!
The pilot was fantastic! Who wants to come
with me? That is the question. Canfield’s diet
black cherry fudge soda, heavy on the ice,
splash of vodka. Summer awesomeness. Cake
Is Just A Four-Letter Word. Always wanted
the General Lee with the welded doors and the horn.
Baseball on the radio. Classic everything
turns to candy Americana. I thought
they were going to take my new candidate
for dumbest movie ever away. Salad’s made.

Reconfiguration

Satellite pots and pans
you don't own the DNA
nail in my charms

The heart is the future
if-she-do road
starts slow, a beating drum

Wild coffin baby
the last damned goodbye
says

Status

Loading . . .

fb sonnet 5

Linguini, fettuccine, martini, bikini!
What is this rapture shit? Fun times tomorrow!
Come to downtown Danbury and write and color
all over the sidewalks! Party like a rock
in front of our beautifully restored fountain
in front of City Hall. Stop licking the cat,
baby, put on heart shaped sunglasses. Make
sense? The backyard trees are on a hawk path.
You follow me, I follow you. Black Lips
Voice of a Generation. This huge spider
was in my house! I love the iPhone! Classic
Americana. Kinda see-through and totally
Who wants to come? Volcano erupts in Iceland—
I guess I should go to the liquor store now.

fb sonnet 4

Gonna blow this thing up! 150th
anniversary of the Civil War
= just another excuse for the town
of Litchfield to fire cannons near my house
during naptime. I can't count how many times
the money from the tooth fairy was found
on the floor. Baby, put on heart shaped sun-
glasses. This is my jobhunting look. Going
out to dinner wearing a top that's way
too low, kinda see-through and totally
inappropriate! Who wants to come with me?
Where Rocky stood! And I am still listening
to Under the Boardwalk in my mind. A new
fortune cookie has been delivered to you.

from The Secret Truths

Lovers who whisper together . . .
wake up violets . . . [commented out!]

from The Secret Truths

The light in the room shifts
the first time a child
beats his dad at Madden.