Poems and Stuff
by
, 04-19-2010 at 03:40 AM (1052 Views)
An elegy to the suffering peoples of North Korea.
Pyongyang/Hamgyong
Oh dear Eternal Leader, feed us as well as you do, with a bowl of rice
With famine in my stomach, my eyes, my mind.
My Pyongyang, my Great Eternal Leader. Where
The night disconnects the day with a snap of electricity,
Dark city. My burden, my Eternal Leader, in fear that I may displease you
That I may make your weather angry and that you may
Inhale your wrath with your nostrils, we fear and love thee
Eternal Leader, for you will let us live eternally in our cubical paradise.
Eternal Leader, omnipitent, omniscent, all-knowing,
Eternal Leader, our culture, our past, ourselves,
Eternal Leader, our food, our freedom, our death.
Sing the song of Korea and the working loads that we the farmers carry against our backs
Steady bark, spindly stick
I know, I know all, I see all, I been all. 그러나 나는 아닙니다.
We sick, poor souls. We speak and sell and read nothing.
I am sick at heart, not from the lack of aestivation
But from sick sick cycle
Like crops in summer
winter
autumn
spring
Great Eternal Leader brings all
We stand all, and stand still, and stand well.
We stand against you and stand against them.
Eternal Leader, such good eternal leader,
How good you are to our people, how great.
I know not what is good or great, or bad or evil.
I know not what is America or the South.
Dare I say that I cannot move?
Dare I say that I hold my knees?
Dare I say that the lice has touched my scalp?
Do I talk to not one, but only the wall?
OUR WE POWER, WE ORDER THINGS IN ORDER
PEOPLE STATE LEADER, GREAT AND ETERNAL.
fetish for feeling water, sweet water, on hands, on feet, on face, from fountain
we emulate all, i am the dao and we are all out from its source which is a non-source
we cannot eat any more
i feel as if i need not starve
for i enjoy my poverty my famine
i love my stairs my hut my box
our infinite emptiness
the sky at night in pyongyang
when nothing is distingushable from itself
and everything is everything
in darkness
the sky, i cannot see between the sky and the street
the city does not exist, i do not exist at night
at night in pyongyang we both do not exist, You and I
no no not anymore my friend my friend
my field my field
i stopped killing myself
i am become good
we are Korea
and we kiss your feet
we love our Eternal Leader.
Before this next poem I will warn you that it is cold and graphic in some ways. Also, as a word of notice; I am NOT feeling suicidal. This arises out of my recent obsession with death and famous deaths (yes, and I'm still NOT suicidal in any way).
Suicide
I once killed myself under an agrarian oak tree and bled to death as I cut open my wrists and fed the earth with my blood.
I once killed myself with a bottle of pills while I was on a webcam
because the chat-room had egged me on. I swallowed the whole bottle
and police found me, with the camera still on.
I once killed myself after wrapping a cord around my wife's neck
and left a Bible by her side for her travel into purgatory. I waited
for a while and then went into my son's room and suffocated him
while he was asleep. And I left a Bible by his side for his travel
into pugatory. I then tied a cord to 240 lbs. and put it around my neck.
I once killed myself by jumping off of the letter H.
My body lay in an one-hundred foot ravine below.
And no one recognized me.
I once killed myself by surrounding myself with pictures and press-clips,
each one from when I was in any of the six movies I had done in the past
fifty-one years. I ignited a fire which then consumed me.
I once killed myself after lashing out at my wife
with a poker stick, stricking her in the arm.
I then removed the air conditioner from the window
of my thirteenth floor apartment
and jumped.
I once killed myself by flying a plane into a building
and I cried out Allah's name as the plane hit the tower's steel surface.
I once killed myself after opening an art exhibidition where people wore loaves of bread for shoes
I then shot myself on Whit Monday.
I once killed myself after turning one-hundred years old.
I fasted for eighteen days and died on the twenty-fourth.
I once killed myself after I confessed
the sin of my uncle.
I once killed myself after filling my head with electric shocks
and my body with phelenzine.
I once killed myself after bringing a shotgun to my work
and sticking it to the back of my head while on-air.
I once killed myself after recording myself sending an acid bomb to my fantasy ex-lover
and then shot myself whilst her music played.
I once killed myself by taking a walk into the fields
and seeing the revolving waves of grass.
I walked back to the Inn after the impact of the revolver
and died two days later.
I once killed myself by taking prussiac acid while in my bunker
and then inflicted my head with a gunshot wound as blood began dripping out of my right temple.
I once killed myself after sitting in lotus position in the middle of the road as I poured five gallons of gasoline over my head.
I once killed myself after telling my children "goodnight" and barracading their doors with wet cloths and towels as I walked into the kitchen and stuck my head into the oven.
I once killed myself after telling my children to "take mommy's pills" and then barracading the door with a mattress
I took a few sleeping pills with a cup of whisky as the fire in the kitchen oven consumed us.
I once killed myself after leaving a note to my imaginary childhood friend
and then pulled a shotgun on myself after taking usual doses of valium and herion.
I once killed myself with my wife and sister-in-law after we were piled up like animals
in barracks,
I once killed myself with my favorite shotgun.
I once killed myself to avoid the burning steel.
I once killed myself among 500.
I once killed myself after an overdose and a stab at my girlfriend.
I once killed myself after I had betrayed.
I once killed myself after me and my friend shot up a school.
I once killed myself after the verdict.
I once killed myself after walking into the river with rocks in my pockets.
I once killed myself on under an agrarian oak tree and bled to death as I cut open my wrists and fed the earth with my blood.
Night Plane
Where art thou gone in the night?
The carriage leaves
Where art thou gone in the night?
The crickets click
Where art thou gone in the night?
Black robes swirl with winds
Where art thou gone in the night?
My paper saturates with the riverboat song
Where art thou gone in the night?
The blue guitar is plucked all day long
Where art thou gone in the night?
Nocturnal attention span lasts at rates of seconds
Where art thou gone in the night?
"I hath gone to make love to the moon."
And now, some prose poems:
I molfed and loled for a time until I realized how screwed I was that I couldn't tell ymbe from æfter and that all time seemed to seduce me in a sweet scented rose of temporality in which I could've been néodlíce géogéara or merely in mine own infancy. I could not tell, for the universe as I knew it had left me.
Both the fragments which compose the whole of the earth which swim in vast historical oceans as frivilous notes of poisonious music which sing in tune and slap and swim upon the waterless ground like plastic bags swirling in the Vortex of each private island, which is a continent and where ugly bear-like natives hibernate in the winter and come out when the sun casts its shadow to see if the blue spirits have faded away with the auroras of the north. They are so silent there, like a swimming universe in the sky, an ancient temple of holiness and alien lifeform an animal rape of the atmosphere, looming over the city-lights of Calgary.
Sometimes I think of those frozen island planets, seeped in the back of my mind, where armies of swirling trash threaten to take over the land as the tides coming in from the West salvage up pieces of plastic with each carresing curl of the tide.