Li Po, who went by other names, was a Chinese poet who died by drowning in the Yangtze River. He was drunk and was trying to grab the reflection of the moon. He did not have the ponytail I have drawn here, but I mean no disrespect.
First let me hasten to say I am not suicidal. The title derives partly from Ben Franklin’s POOR RICHARD’S ALMANACK aphorism that “Nine of ten men are suicides.” And Ben is one of those proverbial People At The Dinner Table that I would have if I could have six of anyone who ever lived over for dinner and conversation. (Other possible candidates are Dorothy Parker, Li Po, Texas Guinan, Rex Stout, Maya Angelou, Sally Rand, Groucho Marx, Nick Drake, Isaac Asimov, Jean Toomer…it’s going to be hard to narrow it down!)
Though I’m not suicidal, I’m not taking reasonable steps to extend my life. Currently I’m about 70 pounds overweight. I don’t smoke or drink or drug or gamble, but I’m a man with a past. So by Ben Franklin’s yardstick, unless I drop a few dozen pounds and some of my less life-enhancing proclivities (recreational sleep deprivation, for instance), I will be one of the nine out of ten.
But I so long to live! But it must be a life whose quality includes full mental faculties and not too much pain!
Last night at Balboa House, a monthly East Valley poetry event hosted by my friends Debra Berman and Joe Montaño, I performed the following poem, which I will submit as fulfillment of the title of this post as my Suicide Note, Draft #817:
the old and the lonesome
November 15, 2013 at 11:59pm
less than fifty years ago people cared what she thought
commented when she changed her hairstyle
speculated excitedly when she made a vague and coy remark
about a fellow thespian of the opposite sex
now she sneaks a cigarette in her room at the independent living home
and waits for a phone call from a son or a friend
as tears slide here and there and sighs abound
she hasn’t changed much on the inside
but people care so much about the outside
slowly she acquires citizenship with this community of castoffs
the old and the lonesome whose dreams were realized but never replenished
one morning she canes her way to the lobby
scans the sign with the changeable type
9:30 TRIVIA TIME
10:00 FITNESS
11:30 LET’S CROCHET
1:00 PET VISIT WITH GILDA & NAT
2:30 VAN TO DOLLAR STORE
3:00 AA MEETING – UPSTIRS GREATROOM
she feels mild contempt for the sign’s update person and his “UPSTIRS”
she feels bereft of meaning
she goes back to her room and looks for the remote
Readers of the last blog post will recall that I tried, and did not quite succeed, to capture my friend and fellow poet Bob Kabchef’s visage on paper. As a portraitist, when I misfire I have a choice: move on, or get back on the horse and try again. It is ALWAYS better to try again, though fear of repeated failure hangs like a wet-sodden cloud over the fragile-egoed creator’s head.
Here is my second try, with a double acrostic inspired by something Bob posted, seeing an early draft of it: “Speaking of chefs….. A lot of folks hesitate when confronted with the challenge of saying my last name – Kabchef. It’s not really that tough. Just think “Cab” and “Chef” Now say them together and you’ve got it. I sometimes tell folks that if TaxiCook is any easier for them, I’ll answer to that too. When my grandad came here to escape WWI, immigration whittled down Kabachieff to Kabchef. We Kabchefs don’t have a fancy Coat of Arms. We’re so poor, our coats don’t even HAVE arms.” That gave me a grin, and “Taxi Cook” it was. The words:
The nations are assembled choc-a-bloc
And Poets wrestle with the Despot–so
Xerography’s recorded–ONE Li Po
Is worth a thousand Xerxes who would mock
One with Clay, Image and Text 