waterways: poetry in the mainstream vol 21 no 3

8/8/2019 Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Vol 21 no 3

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2000

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Waterways:Poetry in the Mainstream


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Waterways: Poetry in the MainstreamMarch 2000

Punishment is a specious name,but it is in reality nothing morethan force put upon one beingby another who happens to be stronger.

from POLITICAL JUSTICE (1793)William Godwin


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WATERWAYS: Poetry in the MainstreamVolume 21 Number 3 March, 2000Designed, Edited and Published by Richard Spiegel & Barbara FisherThomas Perry, Assistant

Waterways is published 11 times a year. Subscriptions -- $25 a year. Sample issues -$2.60 (incpostage). Submissions will be returned only if accompanied by a stamped, self addressed envelWaterways, 393 St. Pauls Avenue, Staten Island, New York 10304-2127

2000, Ten Penny Players Inc.

c o n t e n t s

Ida Fasel 4-6

Terry Thomas 7

Joanne Seltzer 8

Matt Dennison 9

Will Inman 10-14

Albert Huffstickler 15-20


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detail from a portrait byHenry W

William Godwin1756-1836


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Education of a Tourist - Ida Fasel

New York to Cairo. Uneventful flight.Spectacular view of pyramids and Sphinx from hotel. Time

conflates, bunches past and present. I lose track of whereand when I am.

Ponder the mysteries of the Great Pyramid, house ofeternity, according to the Guide. Is eternity to bemeasured not by quality, only by magnificences in space-time?

Picture taken standing between paws of the Sphinx.Back off to snap the stoney, mysterious smile that hints

of ancient long-lost secrets. That smile is a one-strokepoem like a Zen ink-trace spontaneous after study,uncorrected after brushed. But she has no secrets to giveaway. Only the world-weary wisdom of desire and decay.

At the Museum of Antiquities crystal eyes stare intoeternity. Numerically, eternity is a pay-for-view, everyaugenblick. Hot, weary, regaled with Sound and Light.

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At the oldest souk in the city almost overcome byfragrant perfumes and exotic spices, in other words, smells.Everywhere cheap miniatures of the Sphinx still holding upthings stood for by things by far they are not. In the

evening board our Nile vessel.Off to the City of Light. Cruising again. Massive

temples, tombs of kings, tombs of queens, tombs of sacredbulls, ram-headed crocodile gods. More Sound and Light.

Lavish farewell dinner. Egyptian cuisine, belly dancers,whirling dervishes lest you forget the Land of Eternity.

On the way to the plane a fellah kicking cursing beating

his donkey. What is eternity but a perpetual catching upwith whats always one step ahead, the heart never runningout of human warmth? No, I wont forget. A donkey took me upthe steep path to the tombs of Beni Hasan. The lowly loyal eyes.

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Outlook for the Millennium - Ida Fasel

1. Open-Backed

Six wordsin full reviewof the century justzeroed out: so much, so little,so far.

2. Prophetic

A smallmouse shall lead usinto the wildernessahead and bring us manyoptions.

3. Prayer

If Icannot be wise,let me be clear and strong,be what I can be like a seed:more than

merely

coming to life,surviving bird and frost,but developing a fine fullblossom.

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Close Cover Before StrikingTerry Thomas

I still dream about my father

some good ones:reluctant pitch and catch,his staccato laugh at a joke;some bad:pretending to run over mewith a racing engine,the overall dread at

his faltering step.Then the glassy starejust above my headand I would firm myjaw, back and butt

for the blow. When I got

older I didnt know if therewas a change of behaviorhis or minebut I guess I didfine on firming up for everythingincluding my heart.Now hes a part of my near

and far past; maybe now,at last, I can open up more,at least in my dreams.

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Bedtime Story - Joanne Seltzer

I am a mouse. My husband is a cat.He draws me close and strokes me with his paw.

Underneath the touch that seems like velvetlurks a claw. How could there not be a claw?Not only does the rhyme demand a claw,the relationship demands one. Bad wife,you say, have you no sense of loyalty?No, none at all. In truth, I hate my life.Youd better learn to like or lump your life.

Who spoke those bitter words? I cant decidewhich bad choice will hurt the least. What ifboth of us are thinking that suicidecan substitute for murder? O dear God,why did you make me small and terrified?

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the wall - matt dennison

She screams as you knowall night long

and bangs on the walland Im sorry its your wallbut its my wall tooand there are stainswhere my handshave rested.

Across the wallyou might getthe wrong impressionbut shes crazy deaf fromtwenty years in the bedand its the meannessthat outlives us all.

I imagine your wall doesnt holdas much slack grey hate

as this rot-paper wallhas swolld up withthrough the yearswhile I walk up and down askingcan I take it no longer

halting

to lookat the handon the heavy black skilletwith the same old greaseand the same old flour

and wonderat the price and the wor

of endurance with no oneto grieve my going and hit might have beenif it ever could have bee

The funerals Tuesday angoing to be so quiet

for all of us.

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recognitions - Will Inman

mercy. i walk between tall wavesand fire, earth shakes, under. wind

roars dervish down this open stretch.hanh! all these and none of these.

just time. time works the great jaws.time picks those teeth betweenfeedings. time erodes our eyesas we watch. time and the dark sisters

dark sisters and brothers. howhard they work in, on, at us,grinding us in our own joints, so.try to see them, they wont look up.

slaves with no master but timeinhabit us against our wanting.

rare instants theyll sing our own tune,open their eyes naked in sun

such times are time true blestthen time forgets to grind. futurebegs an instant from now. we dancedark sisters and brothers turn

rainbows on spits of ribsaround fires of our hot hearts.time eats what wordless blessing,what dark god stands at fire and smiles

from Abr

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the last trek - Will Inman

i walk every day from this place sparse of treestoward a deepening forest thick with living time

i walk in to those green shadows, those blackcrypts under bent branches, i walk into the freshdark of my mother out of which i first woke intoblue sky nakeder than my own young flesh.

but now,on the far side of the woods, i come out uponbarrens, a sand place without grass or grace,stark with the skeleton of god, not a bird, not a

beetle, land bereft of water, with all its past,its very breathing time, drained away, leaving noroot to sprout a future from, crystal grains inswarms, jewels chock bright with lostness, goodonly for gizzards of birds, though naught wingedever approaches this sweep of gone, save forbuzzards, except to crouch an instant, to turn

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dark eyes rapid in all directions, to give oneterrible chirp, then to fly away as if winged sharpwith shining shadows.

i stand forest edge and look.

is this where im to meet my final escort? acrossthis dread dead place?from back in deep woods, i

hear a thrush-call. and now all the high foliage,vines, thickets, great branches, orchid togetherwith fungus swarm around me with rhythms thatonce surged and sounded where only sand lives nowits dry death. these green and wooded things

coil with that thrush-call in through my ears.im as old as birds, as young as sky, no, not evenstars can bank their orbits into the pores of mytongue at this last late edge of sand

13 Februafrom The Lucid Stone #21, Sprin

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Spider Woman, a Language of Distance - Will Inman

Have you studied the language of Spider Woman?She makes messages in the strands of her web.She does not engage with letters or syllables,ciphers or runes or marks: she writes by stretchesand connectings, by shinings and shadows, hermessage cannot be read, they communicates byfastening.

when you run into her web, shestrengthens her message by wrapping it overand over around you the way a composer canrepeat the same measure again and again tillyou feel trapped in the sound.

Spider Womanis not so concerned with harmony except at timeswhen she designs her web. She wants you to feelwelcome to enter her pattern. In fact, she wantsyou to enter her: if her message gets you, she

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will suck your juices. Her embrace is oralbut rarely sexual.

Stand back: her nearnessshivers rhythms of distance: the closer you areto her, the further you are from yourself.

Somecommunions can best be known by a healthy respectfor enough space. Though I keep my distance, Idont disturb the spiders in my windows: theyentertain uninvited flies and mosquitoes.

Let herbe herself while you take the long way around.

Down her web, she hangs sucked-dry hulls liketrophies. One of them will be whats left of herlatest mate. These are the strongest messagesin her web, her true punctuation, her ceaselessfinale.

Are there other ways to use her languages?from Red Owl, Spri

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Manpower 2 - Albert Huffstickler

Al says, laughing, Hell, I was in jail so long, when somebody says, Lets have a cup of coffee, looking around for a roll of toilet paper to build a bomb with, a bomb being a small fire you bu

can out of toilet paper to warm your coffeeor you can make toast by spearing your bread onpiece of coat hanger. They didnt feed them but twice a daymorning and noonso they had a little back for supper.

DWI, Al explained. Picked up in Columbia drunk in a lawyers car that hed gotten from his wifshacked up drunk for a week. Long, dark-haired, scoop faced. I wouldnt have gotten pickeI hadnt been following that State Patrol car.

Why were you following it?Hell, I dont know. Passed him on the shoulder finally and he come after me. I spent 38 daysI tried to call some people in Austin and couldnt get em. Two weeks later, they let me use thphone again.laughingThen they turned me over to the Travis County and I did 15 days theThe lawyer tried to claim I stole the car but his wife called the District Attorney and told himtruth and the District Attorney said, Hell, Im not taking this case to court, and threw it out

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He was back with an old girlfriend last nighta dopehead but shes been straight for a yearhstuff. Now shes working at Austin State Hospital, Alcoholic Ward.

Shes been in Bellview and everywhere. Now shes lecturing at clubs and hospitals. Me, I gueget me another job painting. I never thought Id go back to painting. Aint done it in over a y

I told him about one day when I went down to the San Jacinto day labor office broke and thisdeputy constable came in and asked if anybody wanted to move some furniture. Me and some guys said yes, so he put us in his car and drove us out into the country and stopped in front oftle shanty where a black woman had locked herself and her children inside. The constable wasing an eviction notice and we were supposed to move her furniture out into the front yard. Buwouldnt open the door and he couldnt break in and take her because of the children.

He had to get special authority from the judge to take the children and turn them over to weSo actually we didnt do anything but sit there in the car and listen while the constable arguedthe woman till he got tired and then came back to the car looking disgruntled and guilty. By talready decided that I wasnt going to do it and so had the others. But the decision wasnt nebecause the constable had to go find the judge first, so he drove us back to the day labor offpaid us for an hour and a half. But here I was, busted myself, and supposed to keep going bying some old woman out of her house.

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We laughed.

The two of us working at the furniture factory the day before, watching the cheap furniture the assembly line. A dull job. Theyd let us go at noon because there was nothing to do.

And now, this morning slow, not much doing.Nine oclock, says Al. Hell, were not going to get out, picking up the lunch packed for him Baptist Mission where hes staying for fifteen dollars a week, room and board.

See you tomorrow, All says laughing.

Yeh, see you tomorrow, I say.

Tomorrow at Manpower.

October 2from Cerberus XXVII, Arcadia F

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Credo - Albert Huffstickler

We have come upon this place of stones,walking silently, heads down.

There is no place else in sight and we are very tired.We will build here.We will see what can be fashionedof stone and the souls labor.We will make dwellings here and live out our lives.We will fashion of this place a havenso that, in times to come, men will say,They came to this place and found nothing but stoneand they made the stones blossom.

from Rustic Rub, Number Nine, 1998, North Yorkshire,

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Sometimes Things Get Better Before They Get WorseAnd Sometimes They Get Worse Before They Get Better

Albert Huffstickler

Call me the nightyou feel so aloneyour skin wont stay onand your feetwalk up the wall and disappearwhile you lie therewith a halo of dustaround your headwaiting for the clock to tickbut its gone silent on you too.Call me the nightyou cant feel your handson your bodybecause one of you has vanished.

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Call me when the nightis longer thanyour previous lifetimeand you can count the stars

in your heavenson one finger,when you close your eyesand the face yousee before you is your ownstaring back at youin horror.Call me whenyour chickens have allcome home to roostand the roost is fulland theyre still coming.

Call me whenyou cant wait any longerand know its too lateanyway and the phone

curls on your bed standlike a cobradaring you to touch it.Call me in that voiceI know so wellwhile the operator chants,Long distance pleasefrom Hell.

Jan. 3from The Black Clove Trades

Syracuse, NY

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ISSN 0197-4777

published 11 times a year since 1979very limited printingby Ten Penny Players, Inc.(a 501c3 not for profit corporation)

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waterways: poetry in the mainstream vol 21 no 3

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