for Ira Cohen
your death was so real
like being in a movie
you were buried today
& bobby said it was all very
jewish
& some little kid had ½ his body
½ his mouth blown off by a car bomb
in iraq
so they brought him here
to feed him ice cream for his birthday
alan g. & ira l. said a lone hawk hovered over your
grave as they laid you to rest – rest
& you always with the appetite of a hawk
& heart of a dove
evoked the natural world with your dinosaur bones
you sought what could never be truly represented
in the “real” world
tangible you endured
rendering the “real” thing false
evolving
involved
informed
invested in this LIFE beyond this life
always a small group of the faithful
seeking your every move
it’s too beautiful today
said the BIG RED flowers
not like yesterday – all grey & misty wet
when the breath they forced into you choked on itself
& the great machine that you were shut down
in the midst of spring’s silence
big body lost in the paradise of the JEWS
it’s a great upheaval today
said the big white, yellow & orange flowers
all confused
who are you talking to? she asked
to impending summer little girl – they answered
short skirted little girl
& the guy wearing the Disney t-shirt that says
NO MORE MR. NICE GUY
says that this Futurist’s unique forms of continuity &
space would seem like cartoons today
& Apollinaire
died of WAR & Pestilence – small fragments
of his body blown away
just disappeared into the battle stained air of metamorphosis
zero relative cube architecture
a non-manifesto-ist in a time ruled by manifestos
& great art everywhere succumbed to &
influenced by influenza
gutfreund
contrast of forms – romanticism – solidarity
& the cone itself was a symbol of the future
& your warm chromatic swirling strength
quiet feet in the corridor
“what’s happening to lakshmi” you say
“she’s falling off the page”
“the pillow is falling off the bed”
“my leg is falling off the bed”
“why don’t i get a fucking blood connection”
“ i need a fucking shot”
“i’m gonna punch you in the nose”
“i don’t want the pillow to fall”
let it fall – i say – “fuck you” you say – bag ½ full of piss
the afternoon rush is quieting down
she sweeps silently along the corridor
it cannot be true
what the old Nicaraguan poet
incanted
what the long gone scientists
claim
that we all evolved from a
single cell
you & the hawk perhaps
the ice cream cone
the muddy rainbow
there are unstoppable counterfeiters
out there
hence uncountable counterfeits
remnants
all that is left of original civilization
the inside story of a vital brain
closing doors while opening minds
you leave it all behind now
NOW behind you now
waiting to play your song
waiting for the world to begin again
born of mutes
an automatic son – your links to the very origin
land of the free – free links to the world
the universe whose hands you are now in
traveler wherein you travel with your autobiography
beneath your arm/your skin
& our biographies as well within this one/celled DNA-circus
waiting for you to bring toward your chin
hidden behind your long white beard
GOD or something like that
anyway
see-er / translator of traditions
here/now the angel of death finally annoyed
kissed you on the forehead – & the skin peeled off its lips
& you surrendered said hello to the bright light
your shoulders lightening – the pillow falling
your vocabulary communing with the SEASONS
solutions – your very memory multi-layered
multi-celled lingering in the substance
& you threw the dice
said farewell to the color of music
said hello to the rumor of otherness & immortality
left behind the deep clarity of your voice
the reflective rewinding of a journey
& its steps
& you slipped the Akashic Record beneath
your cape
kissed the little boy of WAR on the forehead
took a lick of his ice cream
threatened to stick a pencil up the nurse’s ass
set your wings in motion
& said FUCK YOU to DEATH – death
HERE I AM!
steve dalachinsky was born in 1946, Brooklyn, New York. His work has appeared extensively in journals on & off line. He is included in such
anthologies as Beat Indeed, The Haiku Moment, Up is Up But So is Down: NYUDowntown Literary Anthology, the Unbearables anthologies: Help Yourself and the forthcoming Big Book of Sex (of which he is co-editor) and the esteemed Outlaw Bible of American Poetry. He has written liner notes for the CDs of many artists including Anthony Braxton, Charles Gayle, James “Blood” Ulmer, RashiedAli, Roy Campbell, Matthew Shipp and Roscoe Mitchell. His 1999 CD, Incomplete
Direction (Knitting Factory Records), a collection of his poetry read in collaboration with various musicians, such as William Parker, Matthew Shipp, Daniel Carter, Sabir Mateen, Thurston Moore (SonicYouth), Vernon Reid (Living Colour) has garnered much praise.
Recent chapbooks include Musicology (Editions Pioche, Paris 2005), Trial and Error in Paris (Loudmouth Collective 2003), Lautreamont’s Laments (Furniture Press 2005), In Glorious Black and White (Ugly Duckling Presse 2005), St. Lucie (King of Mice Press 2005), Are We Not MEN & Fake Book (2 books of collage – 8 Page Press 2005), Dream Book (Avantcular Press 2005), Christ Amongst the Fishes (A book of
collages, Oilcan Press 2009), Insomnia Poems (Propaganda Press 2009), Invasion of the Animal People (Propaganda Press 2010) & the Mantis :the collected poems for Cecil Taylor 1966-2009 (Iniquity Press 2010). His books include A Superintendent’s Eyes (Hozomeen Press 2000) and PEN Oakland National Book Award winning book The
Final Nite (complete notes from a Charles Gayle Notebook, Ugly Duckling Presse 2006) & Reaching into the Unknown (A collaboration book project with a photographer Jacques Bisceglia, RogueArt 2009). The CD Phenomena of Interference, a collaboration with pianist Matthew Shipp was released by Hopscotch Records 2005). He has read throughout the N.Y. area, the U.S., Japan and Europe, including France and Germany. He writes for the Brooklyn Rail as a contributing writer. He is active in the mail-art circuit & has shown his collages in Poets’ Collages shows etc.