Disreputable

Only those who are lost in error follow the poets

Quran 26:224, trans. M. A. S. Abdel Haleem

Poets are followed by reckless erring men,
By rascally uncouth wayfaring men.

They sing of exploits brave, of valiant deeds,
But poets shrink--they are not daring men.

Great champions of whiskey, slaves of wine,
They're vain, promiscuous, drunken, leering men!

They jump a mile when they see their shadow:
Such cowering timorous easily-scaring men!

They'll spill the beans about their private lives
To anybody:--strange, soul-baring men.

They don't work nine to five, or nine to noon:
Stubble-faced scruffs, torn-T-shirt-wearing men.

Philanthropic--what, these nightingales?
Soft hands and callous hearts, uncaring men.

Some have blue hair, Mohawks, body piercings--
O, bless these leather-clad silver-earring men!

Disreputable louts, these bardic types--
Sots and lushes.  Not God-fearing men.

Observe this delicate pale lutanist,
One of a host of "sweet endearing men."

Daydreamers, airheads, gauche, impractical:
Who needs these mystical blankly-staring men?

Never trust these two-faced versifiers:
These rumor-mongering secret-sharing men.

Thank Heaven, Thomas, that you're not one of those
Messed-up misters, those balladeering men.

The Chester Plate Quatrains

1.  Invictus

I sniffle and I sneeze so loud,
It almost wakes the graveyard's dead.
My head is stuffy but unbowed.
Is that what Ernest Henley said?

2.  Humid

The humming fan cools off the room.
Such humid weather!  Hard to take.
Rain adds an element of gloom.
O weather-god, we need a break!

3.  The Misanthrope's Kumbaya

I love black people, brown and white,
Yellow and red, the whole nine yards:
They're such a joy, such a delight;
Please give them my kindest regards.

4.  Dyssomnia

Three hours till breakfast.  I'm awake.
The apneatic brevity
Of nighttime sleep, for goodness' sake,
Does not conduce to levity.

5.  Theology

Evdokimov and George Tavard
Wrote about women, men, and Christ.
Theology's abstruse and hard --
And gosh, those books are overpriced!

6.  Quoth the Raven

Deborah and I in Harvard Square
Delight at browsing used bookstores.
The treasured tomes show signs of wear --
We are such literary bores!

7.  La Musique

Newbury Comics sells CDs,
Jazz, classical, pop, rock, and rap:
Oh, the long lost days of LPs!
And good music.  The new stuff's crap.

8.  Coffee

Coffee is able to turn a beast
Into a functioning human being.
I need four cups -- well, three at least --
But such consumption keeps me peeing.

9.  Chester Plate

Recalling that old sitcom Soap,
Mom calls a dish a "chester plate."
Do people understand her?  Nope.
They might have, back in '78.

10.  The Renewal

Theodore Roethke walked the night
(He said) to keep his five wits warm.
And then he'd come back home and write
Impeccable rhymes in elegant form.

11.  Round the Glory Manger

Sister Thea sang, danced, and hymned:
A honeyed voice, a sweet Franciscan!
She shone a light that's still undimmed
Despite her early passing.  Listen.

12.  Les Fleurs du Mal

Baudelaire wrote of dark delight,
Of luxury, forbidden bliss,
In verses sleek and black as night,
And heavy as a lustful kiss.

13.  Ariel

Sylvia Plath's untimely death
Was one of poetry's great losses.
Her late verse, frantic, out of breath,
Cannot compare to The Colossus.

14.  Envoi

A joyful sound, a happy noise --
That's what I hope I can achieve!
I pray my audience enjoys
The stuff I pull out of my sleeve!

Tanqueray

I dream of women, of the gin martini:
a twist of lemon
in my gin martini.

Do not, brash barkeep, ruin my drink with ice.
It's far too common
for my gin martini.

Between verses of Faust, Wolfgang von Goethe
would sing in German
to the gin martini.

Father Brennan, kindly old Franciscan,
once preached a sermon
on the gin martini.

It is rumored that a Roman exorcist
rebuked a demon
with a gin martini.

Diplomats, ambassadors, and princes
enjoy smoked salmon
and a gin martini.

Teetotallers are admirable souls.
Whatever.  I see no harm in
the gin martini.

During Act IV, scene 5, the dapper butler
will knock and come in
with a gin martini.

European tourists take the bullet-train
from Zürich to Bremen
over gin martinis.

The babysitter drinks and recites to the child,
saying "Simple Simon"
on a gin martini.

O Thomas Edward, tippler of Tanqueray,
don't combine your rhyming
with a gin martini.

And flowers

May brings baseball, "Sweet Caroline," and flowers.
June gets drunk on the purple wine of flowers.

Springtime opens its parcel of blossoms and gifts:
Praise God for breezes, warmth divine, and flowers!

Thoroughfares are blithe with daffodils!
Violets, pansies, roses combine, O flowers!

We practice nepsis, eager expectation --
Waiting for rain, the first sweet sign of flowers.

"Keep off the grass," admonishes a placard;
Are there dogs and cats who like to dine on flowers?

Christ's footsteps bless the humble meadow-grass.
He holds the modest columbine, blue flowers.

A ladybug, that spotted token of luck,
Creeps meekly among the green spines of flowers.

Oscar Wilde, esthete extraordinaire,
Often sought the anodyne of flowers.

When can we forsake our occupations,
Roll in the lush green grass, recline in flowers?

The trellis outside her suburban demesne
Is graced with a long bright trailing vine of flowers.

Georgia O'Keeffe lived in New Mexico,
Bold colorist.  Who can malign her flowers?

Romantic swain, and damsel dreaming dreams:
Amid the city's rust, you pine for flowers.

Haters will hate, and lovers will love, 'tis true:
Bury this happy androgyne in flowers.

The sacristan adorns the orient chapel
With incense, icons Byzantine, and flowers.

O Thomas Edward, ample waist, thin wit,
Surprise your buxom valentine with flowers!

After midnight

Old friends become estranged after midnight;
Five senses grow deranged after midnight.

It's summer, but I wake up with a chill.
Arlington's weather has changed after midnight.

Star-crossed sweethearts sneak past scowling kin:
A desperate tryst arranged after midnight.

Forgetfulness, brute lust, the pride of life:
Clear and present dangers after midnight.

Pay no attention to parental admonitions:
Speak to kindly strangers after midnight.

Bethlehem is the House of Bread. A babe
Rests in the hay of the manger after midnight.

Pagan damsels, sky-clad at the solstice,
Dance at bone-cold Stonehenge after midnight.

Silence, truly benedight! Upon thee
A loutish knave impinges after midnight.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Can get slightly unhinged after midnight.

Sage, theorist, uncover a new conundrum
Whereby great minds are challenged after midnight.

Though your soul bear a dark and scarlet blotch,
Your sins shall be expunged after midnight.

Hans Himmel, golden-throated Salzburg tenor,
Explores his eight-octave range after midnight.

Johnny Heaven, '50s crooner, teen idol,
Wears a black hat like Dillinger's after midnight.

Dalí's tableaux of Gala, of clocks, of Christ:
Ils deviennent plus étranges après minuit.

The wakeful child, afraid of his bedroom's shadows,
Prays to his guardian angel after midnight.

O Thomas of Menotomy, imbibe
The juice of a blood-red orange after midnight.

Three Poets

I placed a Kenneth Koch in Massachusetts,
And tall was he, as Wallace Stevens' jar:
He filled the sky--such a gigantic nuisance!--
Drove me to drink my gin at the Bowdoin Bar.
He gave me problems that had no solutions,
And strummed a chord on a bizarre guitar.
His strawberry-and-blazing-yellow tie
Made saints in heaven laugh, and sinners cry.


I placed a Frank O'Hara in Vermont,
Like handsome starlight on the hilltops green;
Knowledge of art and music did he flaunt,
Abstract expressions both elate and mean.
Beside him, how the pine-trees look so gaunt!
Even the oaks seem shrivelled, bent, and lean.
I write this poem at 3:31,
And hope to greet the talkative brilliant sun.


John Ashbery I placed in northern Maine
Among the frost-glazed grass of Caribou.
His apothegms unsettled my thick brain,
And made me think the false just might be true.
I wish his pantoums were a bit more plain;
I wish my oranges were round and blue!
Write poems, sir, that fracture every rule,
And clap erasers in the New York School.

Before Dawn

Heaven is dark with splendor before dawn;
Hope whispers--subtle, tender--before dawn.

My sweet one sleeps a thousand miles away:
Unfading flowers I'll send her before dawn!

Armies of love clash by the turbulent sea:
Which side shall surrender before dawn?

Sleeplessly seeking rhymes, the feverish poet
Goes on a rotgut bender before dawn.

The fires in my antiquated hearth
Burn to a cold, gray cinder before dawn.

Bravo, progressive mystic! Will you decide
The Holy Spirit's gender before dawn?

O troubled women of the Boston streets,
Commit no reckless blunder before dawn.

Relentless rains drench this northern suburb,
Forsooth!  It just might thunder before dawn.

I plagiarize the sixteenth century,
More borrower than lender before dawn.

Yesterday's warmth is a thing of the distant past:
It will be freezing (or under) before dawn.

Diana, goddess of priceless silver light--
The lunatic will find her before dawn.

Cistercian sages, eloquent and holy,
Your hallowed words I ponder before dawn.

Thomas, you're singing a wonderful dithyramb.
Don't stop, dear sir--extend her until dawn!