Poetry
from Briony Says by Munayem Mayenin, taken from the bookIndira's Heart.
If Briony were the teacher in this hall, she would ask the children,
What is the colour you have just made up?
What are you going to call it?
She would ask, What does the galaxy look like,
the galaxy you have just dreamed about?
She would ask, What is the star that shines in your dreams?
She would ask, The park where you play -
what other animals are there, that live and play there,
that only you can see? Briony would say,
let's go and make a shape that does not exist!
Lets go and chase the grass or make a butterly
from a balloon with floating wings!
Lets chase colours, lets form a rainbow without rain!
A Cautionary Tale by Hayley Shields
Don’t pick up fallen apples
Or a man with a mono-brow
But whatever you do
Don’t bet on the Prince.
He charmed the snake that tempted Eve
And made that serpent suffer.
[Or was he the snake that tempted Eve?
Did he shed his legs? then spread her legs?
then blame her?
Do you remember?]
He saved Snow White, chased Cinderella
And brought them to his chamber.
Une, deux, ménage-a-trois.
Charming can manage more.
Sleeping Beauty, she was different.
He went to her chamber
He broke into her tower
And while she slept with quiet breath
And while she slept as if in death
And while she slept she could not object
As he did what he desired.
Don’t pick up fallen apples
Or a man with a mono-brow
But whatever you do,
Whatever you do,
Never trust the Prince.
I lie with the Beast at night.
I sleep to a lullaby
Of earthy growls,
And slow-trickling slobber.
I lie with the Beast at night.
He lies with me
Not to me.
I lie with the Beast at night,
Though he could gobble me up
And eat me between
Two treacherously sticky fingers.
I lie with the Beast
And his sweat-stuck hair,
And I will live
To lie with him
Happily every night after.
Of Nihilism And Lust by Joseph Grant
At this time, I doubt that she even exists anymore
She who took speed and listened to old, skipping jazz records
She was a girl, an anarchist when there were such things, you know
Who shaved her head and bleached her skull summers ago.
I really don’t remember, but I think she gave good head
She went out with me when I used to play in the Skeletons in the clubs
I met her one night when she was wasted
I fucked her sober and she wondered who I was.
I told her that I’d meet her at the Pyramid Club, but she did not remember
She was cool though, she made me breakfast and just didn’t leave
She used to get my drugs every Sunday in Heroin Park-she said I needed a mother
She worked at the Subversive Boutique on Monday mid-afternoons, I think.
Or somewhere.
Then she’d come home and talk to herself a lot
She would then yell what an asshole or bastard I was
Depending on what mood she was in, she’d call me a number of things
Then she’d cry and tell me “It hurts so bad.” And then lock herself in the bathroom for the night.
Sometimes, in the mornings, in the dead of winter she’d get the urge to shave off all of her hair
And then beg me to make love to her
Then we’d go out for beer and Chinese food
And after we’d walk along the East River , looking for suicides bobbing up and down in the black, freezing water
Missing Muse by Anna Jacob
The best muse was misery,
I’m not sure now what to write,
Heartache has deserted me.
Despair held the fitting key,
I turned it day and night,
The best muse was misery.
Blank pages bound before me,
Unblemished in pure white,
Heartache has deserted me.
Words of laughter joy and glee,
Do not turn on my light,
The best muse was misery.
Muse, I miss you! Come to me,
Let me keep you in my sight,
Heartache has deserted me.
Without pain my pen is lonely,
Creation takes flight,
The best muse was misery.
Heartache has deserted me.
Tennis Dad by Gary Beck
[Pre-show sound track – recorded sounds of warm-up rally. At curtain, official’s preliminaries: linesman ready, players ready, play. Sound track of tennis match during the match. Mom and Dad are watching a match between their son and his opponent in a junior tournament.]
Dad: Why didn’t he rush the net? God damn it! He oughta be putting those hangers away.
Mom: He was right to stay back. He’s got to build sound ground strokes.
Dad: There you go again. As if I didn’t know that! But if he hangs around the baseline all the time, he’ll get to be one of them specialists, and they never make it big.
Mom: Borg did.
Dad: That was long ago and he was an exception. He was relentless on the court. He reminds me of this movie I saw once. It was a foreign picture in another language and I couldn’t understand a word of it. It had English words at the bottom of the screen that didn’t make much sense. It was real boring….
Mom: Then why tell me about it?
Dad: ‘Cause just as I was getting ready to walk out, this army started to march towards these other guys, who were waiting for them. They had these big old-fashioned guns with bayonets, and they were crossing a field to get at the other guys. These other guys were shooting the shit out of them, but they just kept coming. They didn’t look around, they didn’t look scared, and they didn’t curse or yell or anything. They just kept getting closer. And when they got close enough for the other guys to see their faces, the other guys started running away, ‘cause they knew these guys were animals and they were just gonna keep coming until they stuck their bayonets in them real deep. They were Swedes. Real brutes.
Mom: So what?
Dad: Borg’s a Swede.
Mom: What does that have to do with anything?
Dad: I don’t want my kid being an animal on the court.
Mom: You’re the one who’s always telling him that he’s got to be a killer out there, or he won’t get anywhere.
Dad: Sure he’s got to be a killer. But not an animal.
Mom: What’s the difference?
Dad: There’s a big difference. A killer wants to win at all cost and does everything he can to beat his opponent. An animal won’t stop until he grinds the other guy into the dust.
Mom: They sound exactly the same to me.
Dad: No. They don’t.
Mom: Yes. They do.
Dad: Aw. You don’t understand.
Mom: Then explain, mister tennis expert.
Dad: There you go again.
Mom: What?
Dad: You know.
Mom: No. I don’t.
Dad: Being sarcastic when I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.
Mom: If you didn’t yell all the time when I disagree with you I wouldn’t be sarcastic.
Dad: Ha. You admit it.
Mom: What?
Dad: You insult me, instead of being reasonable.
Mom: I can’t be reasonable with you. Every time I try, you either yell at me or call me names.
Dad: That’s not true.
Mom: Yes. It is.
Dad: No. It’s not, you dope.
Mom: See what I mean.
Dad: What?
Mom: Name calling, instead of discussing.
Dad: Aw. You twist everything around. I was just trying to make a point.
Mom: By insulting me?
Dad: I was talking about junior’s net game, when you started this argument.
Mom: You mean I dared to ask a question?
Dad: It’s how you ask it. You’ve always got an attitude.
Mom: I wonder who I got it from.
Dad: Well, you didn’t get it from me. (He ignores her disbelieving stare.) Can we get back to junior’s game?
Mom: Yes. Can I ask a question?
Dad: Yeah.
Mom: Why do you think you know enough about tennis to coach junior? You never played.
Dad: I watch it on tv all the time and I’m reading a strategy book.
Mom: If you’re serious about his becoming a tournament player, shouldn’t we get him lessons from a tennis pro?
Dad: I know enough to start him off. If it turns out he has talent and the will to win we’ll get him some lessons.
Mom: Are you qualified to judge those things?
Dad: Why not? I’m as smart as the next guy.
Mom: Shouldn’t a professional assess his potential?
Dad: I can do it.
Mom: Well I guess there’s no sense going further with that.
Dad: What does that mean?
Mom: Your mind is made up.
Dad: What’s wrong with that?
Mom: Nothing. If you know what you’re doing.
Dad: Well I do.
Mom: Did you ever ask junior what he wants?
Dad: What would he know? He’s only a kid.
Mom: It’s his life you’re deciding.
Dad: You’re blowing this out of proportion.
Mom: Am I?
Dad: Yes. It’s only a game.
Mom: But you behave like it’s life or death.
Dad: It is, if you want to be a champion. You gotta steam roller anything that gets in your way. Crush it. Pound it into the ground….
Mom: Like an animal?
Dad: Whatever it takes…. Aw. You know what I mean.
Mom: Yes. Now let’s sit down with junior tonight and find out what he wants to do.
Dad: Aw…. Alright.
Mom: And don’t try to influence him.
Dad: I wouldn’t do that!
Mom: (She ignores his indignant protest.) Then it’s settled.
Dad: Yes, dear.
(end)