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to the spirit of stephen crane

in the dream a younger, troubled-days

robert downey jr

was auditioning for director

paul verhoeven

and the scene was going well

but then downey jr stopped,

overwhelmed,

and wept blood onto his bare chest.

verhoeven gently strolled over

and sat beside him,

and with a razor-sharp index fingernail

incised a design of a thorned heart

over downey jr’s real heart

with downey jr’s blood.

the tear-blood mixed

with the incision-blood.

verhoeven delicately put his hand

on downey jr’s shoulder

and downey jr looked up at verhoeven

with his wet, red-streaked face.

they were both weeping.

verhoeven so softly said,

“get your immaculate heart restored,

and we’ll talk.”

****

Afterword: This afternoon I came home from work exhausted, probably more due to sleep-deprivation the night before than from the rigors of work. I woke feeling refreshed and, still in bed, started to browse the Internet with my phone–but soon found the phone falling out of my hands as I nodded off. “Well, let’s take another nap.” In my second nap I had a dream substantially like the poem I have just written. I wrote a draft and was struck by the dream’s kinship to “In the Desert” by Stephen Crane. I then slightly rewrote the poem to make the cadence and language more Cranelike, more starkly descriptive; and I dedicated the poem to the spirit of Stephen Crane, one of my literary heroes.

The Asymmetrical Heart

We have romanticized the heart/Reduced it to a simple shape/Made myth of its emotive core/Denied our kinship with the ape

Its septa, chambers, valves and pipes/Tell of a greater life-romance/Of oxygen exchange, the more/Essential to Survival’s dance

In comes corpuscular starvation/Sent to the lungs; enriched; engorged; To function make and flush restore/And thus is our Existence forged

The Heart at heart is like a bellows/A squeezebox never on the shelf/So have respect, ye Ladies, Fellows:/It yields not love but Life Itself.

 

chamber-music-20161103_0001

Inktober is over, but it would be a mistake to get out of inking practice. Thus this trifle, a semi-obvious pun with a little serendipity in that an anatomical drawing and a bit of faked musical notation counterpoint each other harmoniously.

It is good to learn the heart. Like a city, the heart does not make sense without its inlets and outlets. That goes for the metaphorical heart as well. ❤

matters of the cardiac muscle
inspired and influenced by Shawn L. Bird

humans have three kinds of muscle:
smooth,
skeletal,
and cardiac.

special striation
keeps us alive.

we have attributed more
to this squeeze&release
than the scalpel reveals.

it reacts
to our emotions
and our vitality.
it is only natural
that our predecessors
put the “heart”
before the “course”
and gave it our souls.

it is also convenient
for us to reposit
all our emotional chickens
into this pulsemaking
latticed
basket.

when will we grow up?

when will we accurately
reflect reality
with our semisensical
words
and fairy-tale
phrases?

a search of the non-heart
reveals
no answers there.

we cannot but conclude
that we are
all
heart.

Image

SYNOPSIS: Your narrator began composing a sonnet that had the further restriction of the double acrostic QUINTESSENTIAL BREATHLESSNESS. Four lines into the sonnet he questioned the wisdom of continuing, citing “wonkiness.”

Fourteen lines into the sonnet, it is finished, and I am glad I saw it through, though seeing it through involved a partial de-wonkitization of the fourth line. Nor am I at all certain that this is the final version; but there is enough good in it as is to make me proud and happy: it makes ultimate sense, it all ties together with the final couplet, and it tells my peculiar truth.

Again and again I learn that to see an attempt through to a state of completion is valuable and important. Why do I keep UNlearning it? Probably because it is so often easier to quit than to continue. “Who needs THIS [stuff]?” we are so prone to ask, and it is important to ask; but this time the answer was, “I do.”

Here is a transcription of the words:

Quick learner, thou art never long a newb
Upscaler, we must bid thee au revoir
Inamorata, neither time nor tube
Needs mention when you meet a partner’s Ma
There’s more to life than having needs be met
Encyclicals have ne’er made turmoil smooth
Strife’s ruled the rooster; Inquisition, shtetl
Some hurts may take a Miracle to soothe
Ephemeral events may carve out basins
NOW is YOUR time, you whose desire grows
The chest of hope has room, so put your lace in
It’s HEART that puts the Romance in the rose
As Living teaches, we’re conferred degrees
Lush vistas will reward the one who Sees

Image

This has been a week of doing several things at once, as are all weeks, for all of us. But when a few things forestalled my journal paging, the word Multitasking sprang to mind, and solved my daily problem of what to journal-page about.

David and Bathsheba are mentioned, as they were, sort of, in Leonard Cohen’s melancholy anthem “Hallelujah.” (I have listened to one of k.d. lang’s versions on YouTube approximately three dozen times.) My new avatar reminds me of Cohen, and the paleness of my face thus makes me a pale imitation. I wasn’t trying to imitate him, though: that pesky software Gravatar kept bugging me for a picture. The hat was purchased on the Redondo Beach pier last spring by my girlfriend, who gave it to me; it was the Performing Poet’s Fedora I always wanted. I have only worn it in public performance a handful of times, but many people have said it looks good, so here it is.

As for the heart of the matter, it is, as always, the human heart. May yours be full and fresh.