Kenmore

Poem Unlimited
Geoffrey Gatza
 A Publication of

Bloomington, Illinois

Copyright ©2008 Geoffrey Gatza

ISBN: 978-1440463112
The best actors in the world, either for tragedy,
comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical,
historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-
comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or
poem unlimited: Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor
Plautus too light. For the law of writ and the
liberty, these are the only men.

Shakespeare | Hamlet | Act 2, Scene 2

You that look pale and tremble at this chance,

That are but mutes or audience to this act,
Had I but time--as this fell sergeant, death,
Is strict in his arrest--O, I could tell you--
But let it be. Horatio, I am dead;
Thou livest; report me and my cause aright
To the unsatisfied.

Shakespeare | Hamlet | Act 5, Scene 2

Kenmore
Note Be ne

On Gwion And The Wisdom Potion

Taliesin began his life as boy named Gwion Bach, a servant to the
witch Ceridwen. Ceridwen had a beautiful daughter and an ugly
son named Morfran, whose appearance no magic could cure. She
sought to give him the gift of wisdom as compensation for his
ugliness.

Using a magical cauldron, Ceridwen cooked a potion granting

wisdom and inspiration, which required cooking for a year and a
day. The first three drops of liquid from this cauldron gave wisdom;
the remaining brew was a fatal poison.

A blind man named Morda tended the fire beneath the cauldron,
while Gwion Bach stirred the concoction. Three hot drops spilled
onto Gwion's thumb as he stirred, burning him. Instinctively he
placed his thumb in his mouth, instantly earning great wisdom and
magic. It occurred to him that Ceridwen would seek revenge for
this transaction. Scared, he ran away, but all too soon her fury
unleashed in sounds of her pursuit.

As Ceridwen chased Gwion, he used his newly found magic and

turned himself into a hare. In response, she became a greyhound.
He then became a fish and jumped into a river, she then turned
into an otter. He turned into a bird, and in response she became a
hawk. Finally, he turned into a single grain of corn. She laughed
with pride and changed into a hen and ate him. It was then she
realized she was pregnant. She resolved to cut the child’s throat,
knowing it was Gwion. Once born the was so beautiful that she
couldn't go through with the deed. Instead, she placed the child
inside a leather bag and left it by the ocean.

The story of Gwion and the wisdom potion resembles the Irish
folktale of Finn and the salmon of wisdom. A blending of both is
used to form the first half of the poem.

Enoch: Devils, Giants and Dream Visions

The second section details the change of Taliesin into Isidore. This
is based in part on the apocryphal apocalyptic text, The Book of
Enoch. The source translation is taken from the first English
translation of the Bodleian/Ethiopic manuscript published in 1821
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by Professor Richard Laurence, Titled The Book of Enoch, the
prophet: an apocryphal production, supposed to have been lost for
ages; but discovered at the close of the last century in Abyssinia;
now first translated from an Ethiopic MS in the Bodleian Library.
Oxford, 1821.

The story gives witness to the end of days when two hundred
rogue angels leave heaven. They take human wives and teach
humans secret arts. In time their children grow to be giants and
revolt. For their evil deeds and the taking of human wives who
brought forth unholy children, they are sentenced to hell.

The angels plead with Isidore to intercede with God on their behalf.
And in a dream vision Isidore meets god in heaven and is given a
message of doom in a language they will understand is that of god.

As a reward for this task, Isidore is granted a walk through the

heavens guided by the archangels. He is shown heaven, hell, the
tree of knowledge and Eden.

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Ignomi ni ou s

“These tales of ratiocination owe most of their popularity to being

something in a new key. I do not mean to say that they are not
ingenious – but people think them more ingenious than they are – on
account of their method and air of method. In the "Murders in the Rue
Morgue," for instance, where is the ingenuity in unraveling a web which
you yourself... have woven for the express purpose of unraveling?”
E.A. POE on inventing the detective genera

So y ou w ould , w oul d y ou?

The story begins with the lighting of a candle, the goodbye,

Combusting paper, a canvas sky reflecting forty days of toil
Souls succor after succumbing, succumbing in a phony song
Just as phony as phony can be, swinging softly in an imagined
muslin tree

Simple story this; it’s me out walking

I meet this guy on the road near Failing Cemetery
He is fishing in the sewer grate.
I know fucking weird, right.
He’s got a tackle box and all his bobbles and buckles out on
the lawn. So what do I do but talk to the mental bugger,
have you caught anything, I say, catch anything but a cold?
He doesn’t laugh, I follow up with the old, hot enough for ya?

I don't know how to respond to that one either so

I sit by this ugly fucker and give him a good stare
Trying to judge his sanity by peering eye to eye into his soul.

Fuck all.

So I says to the fucker, what are you after there, jimmy?

He says his name’s not jimmy; well no of course it isn’t
Jimmy is the name of my penis, and you sitting there dangling …
It just seemed natural. Jimmy says his name is Fish
And that is what he is after, a fish. Well, at least your father has
A sense of humor about him; then I slap on his back, what a hoot!

16
It’s the w ay thing s cha nge

the cat peed on my favorite calvin klein t-shirt

the maroonish one with ribbing and a slight elasticity
so it holds its shape after continued washing

but smell is another matter entirely

nothing makes one scream and point like
urine

i started to run, chase the cat

she gets out the screen door
and she sees a rabbit on the lawn
she’s after it in a flash
i grab a broom and yell

it bolts into the shrubs

i’m not sure if it was hurt
so after the cat is back inside
i look to see if the bunny is ok

the bunny is sitting under the wooden porch

the gray paint is chipping in spots and water
damage has taken its toll after many years of
bbq’s and late nights with dear friends from
late spring to early fall

i remember exactly the moment i lost my mind

it was a beautiful open electric flash of knowing

to continue, the bunny was not there

under the porch was an emerald green garter snake

i thought he would make a great soup and skin belt

17
Mund ane E xtr a Mund ane

The way to
the other
Is found in
the not other

18
Whi te Wi za rd

I am watching the television

12/27/07 10:10:50 AM
Listening to iTunes on my white MacBook
While writing poetry
Benazir Bhutto has just been assassinated
A remake of REM’s hit song, End Of The World
As We Know It, set as a sea shanty begins to play.

There is an empty cup waiting.

A dark creeping shadow
Swinging with the lamp.
Tigers trump fires.

I feel strange about it but I place

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
In the DVD player and smoke a pipe.

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Th e Mi sfi ts
For Michael Kelleher

Everyday is just one day for misfits

She takes a sip from the boy’s glass
Her body flows with the ping-pong

Beauty jumps the western bar fight

A Stetson swinging full of winnings
Her mink wrap at the rodeo screams

The broken nosed cowboy in chaps gets back on his horse

Only this horse is a bull, he gets thrown but doesn’t get up
Well he does get up later

Has a beer with Marilyn

The golden ladder leads
To a haystack of her hips

Alpha and omega are in the thorn tree

Till Armageddon the wise man will
Bow down and they will throw their

Golden crowns at his feet when the man comes around

Marching to a large kettledrum in the whirlwind
Around the thorn tree

She will let him lay in her lap

Looking down at his buckled
Broken body.

We’re all horses out on a range, living wide,

Wild; to live long enough to outlive our day,
our ability to outrun

them’s that chase

and get caught
and canned

as

dog
food

20
P ois sonie r

So I say to Fish, if you catch a fish out of that sewer grate I’ll cook
it. And I’ve cooked up a few fish in my day, I don’t mind telling you.
I can tell that he is not too keen on the cooking so I don't force it.

He says that his mother assured him a fish is down there.

I say something like; maybe she meant that he was in the gutter.

No reaction, he keeps bobbing is pole in and out.

After a time he says that it is a magic fish he is hunting; magic.

It is the fish of wisdom and whoever tastes him first will gain
Wisdoms of the first water and vivid topaz thoughts of the past.

I laugh at his story.

Fish keeps fishing.

I’ll cook that fucker.

His mother has a plan; he says after fifteen minutes of silence.

It is her magic that will solve all things, making amends to me.

She was cursed by a crossweaving wizard

Old magic from a beloved wizard scorned

Dark magic, dark words spoken by candle

She was changed as I was changed, to this

If I could talk I would tell you, you are

far and away my most imaginary friend.

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Vic tory

I bought a cap gun from the corner store

Walked up on Fish and shot three times

He didn’t move
But the fish did

It jumped up and out of that sewer grate

Flipped it’s silver feathered tail, waving

I dropped the gun

bobbled out for it

only to have Fish grasp hold

of the silver fish of wisdom

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Silver Fish of Wisdom with Ginger Beurre Blanc

- caught fresh from sewer, scaled, cleaned and gutted

- de-bone and stuff belly with herbs and fennel greens

Magical Court Bouillon

2 Parsnips
2 Carrots
3 cloves of garlic
1 head of fennel
2 leeks, cleaned
1 medium celeriac

1 bottle good white white

2 quarts good fish stock

Bring to boil, add ingredients and simmer softly 25 minutes

drain and reduce temperature to 175 οF. Carefully place fish
into the liquid and poach very, very slowly until just cooked.

Remove and serve immediately with Parisian potatoes

aromatic vegetable, ginger beurre blanc and plum wine.

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ma ple ke ys

The distinctive fruit are called samaras or "maple keys". These seeds
occur in distinctive pairs each containing one seed enclosed in a
"nutlet" attached to a flattened wing of fibrous, papery tissue. They
are shaped to spin as they fall and to carry the seeds a considerable
distance on the wind. Seed maturation is usually in a few weeks to
six months after flowering, with seed dispersal shortly after
maturity. Most species require stratification in order to germinate,
and some seeds can remain dormant in the soil for several years
before germinating.

24
We b ec ome wi ser if n ot s adde r fr om our d isas te rs

The rabbit changes into a garter snake

The snake changes into a skunk
The skunk changes into a squirrel
The squirrel changes into a hen
The hen changes into a deer
The deer changes into a doe
The doe changes into a fox
The fox changes into a robin
The robin changes into a bluejay
The bluejay changes into a crow
The crow changes into a hawk
The hawk changes into an elm
The elm changes into a maple
The maple changes into a samara and spins away

25
It’ s al righ t Ma , I ’ m onl y blee ding

I follow the ugly Fish and the silver fish

To a cottage at the end of Danbury Lane.

A dog on the loose runs past my legs

A woman in a yellow slicker sweeps.

I say, the Dead End is appropriate. And, that

Church looks like a monopoly playing piece.

When I saw his face open wide

I winced at the repulsive pit that I beheld

Eyes with no glint of life, cheeks sallowed

Dappled with lice, puss, leprosy and distain

Do not fear if you hear a foreign sound to your ear

26
Cottage s , in s hor t

There are few words in Kenmore

dirtier than naturalism. Example,

The ultimate performance piece was shown at the town gazebo

A few years back: a person dying — as part of the art exhibition!

He stayed in there for six months

Living his last, a finger to the forehead.
He died three days into it and decomposed.

Poetry has been about empty spaces rather than comedic

slices of life

ever since.

Cottages, in short, are a logistical nightmare,

and this is surely the reason that most of them
today are located in depersonalized wastelands.

27
Dr op th e m r od s and re ac h

We speak in hushed tones about the names drawn up for

assassination. Guards stand outside their compounds clutching
assault rifles. Handguns rest on desks. No one can be trusted. All
sides fear the dark times that are coming to Kenmore, our spiritual
capital.

"The situation is mysterious," said Fish, the son and confidant of

the witch. She is one of the four senior most ward clerics in
Kenmore, who guide the faith and counsel its peoples. Like elder
statesmen, the four have found themselves ensnared in the conflict
between the council and an upstart young cleric.

The poisonous atmosphere of treachery and paranoia has

consequences

far beyond the alleyways of this ancient shrine city.

Kenmore may hold the key to our stability; if it descends into

violence, the entire south will almost certainly follow. Our forces
will be stretched, the chances of hope diminished.

On Saturday night, the fears of a conflict loomed larger

threatened all-out war against the council if it did not halt
operations against the witch‘s followers in Kenmore.

In charting the future, it is here they come for guidance.

It is here they first challenged the conservative council.

28
"Mother is the kitchen, where major decisions are cooked,"
Fish said.

Fish works out of a barren room in a closed-down restaurant and

hotel. Bodyguards sit in the lobby, decorated with a mural of Keats
dancing with Barack Obama as long haired poets gaze austerely
down revolution’s roads.

Fish confesses he has been in crisis mode lately.

"We are afraid the situation from now till October
won't be stable for Kenmore." Every year pilgrims
come to pray at the grave site of St. John Neuman.

Believers bury their dead in Kenmore’s cemetery,

nicknamed the Valley of Peace.
Aspiring poets flock here to study at the revered site.

“There is a tense standoff between the pilgrims and the witch.

They both hold power and popularity, and that is what makes
the situation so tense and volatile."

“They viewed mother as a rabble-rouser, able to mobilize the rural

masses for violence. The last battle battered the city's cemetery
and neighborhoods."

“Even now, shattered buildings dot the landscape."

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