The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Fri 2/8/2008)

[RetroLounge]

Meditation on The Consolation of Philosophy

And on that final night I tore eye-holes
in a black pillowcase, slipped it over my head,
made love to myself in the mirror,
and couldn't bring myself to finish.
I've begun telling the truth and now
I need objective help. Certain things
I need to do can't be accomplished
without a circumspect accomplice.
A girlfriend. Back in the good old days
those condemned to death hustled up
cash to tip their executioner; a sharper
blade, a meditated stroke, etc, but the last
woman I bade wear a black pillowcase
while she made love to me didn't (make
love, wear the hood) even though
I put 10 dollars on the night stand
before services rendered. My surrender,
of sorts, to the animal largesse lurking
behind the puzzled genius of the hood,
and who'll complain if the blade's on its fifth
neck of the day, or your executioner
shows up drunk? You? "Off with your....
arm. Damn. Here we go." Look, I'm not
really into that kinky stuff, but a body
requires service. Take Boethius, whom
I haven't read. He wrote his uplifting
Consolation of Philosophy in prison,
then they cinched a wet leather helmet
on his head, and tossed him to the sun.
I bet when the leather dried, shrank,
cut in, I bet it gave, a bit, as the convict's
blood got it wet; enough for false hope,
a peek at slack jawed Romans standing
around with clean hands. Boethius
got lucky. I mean, he never had a chance
to take it all back, to plead for exile
and promise to burn his manuscripts.
What would the sun say to that? It wouldn't
be good. You can't reason with a star,
friend, or the people you put in your will
or your bed. That's why we give advanced
directives to those who handle our bodies
during the few hopeful seconds they have
call to handle them--sex, hospitalization,
death in beds, closets, coffins, coffee tins
(like your Uncle Mike)--it doesn't matter:
Someone has to promise that they'll pull
the plug or man the screws, and then
follow through, no matter how badly,
when the time comes, we want them not to.

Josh Bell

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Josh Bell's first book is No Planets Strike, Zoo Press/University of Nebraska Press, 2005. He received his M.F.A. from the Iowa Writers' Workshop, where he was a Teaching-Writing Fellow and Paul Engle Postgraduate Fellow. He was the Diane Middlebrook Fellow at the University of Wisconsin's Creative Writing Institute, 2003-04, and in the Summer of 2006 was a Walter Dakin Fellow at the Sewanee Writer's Conference. His poems have appeared in such magazines as 9th Letter, Boston Review, Hotel Amerika, Indiana Review, Triquarterly, Verse, and Volt. His poems have been reprinted in such recent anthologies as Legitimate Dangers: American Poets of the New Century (Sarabande) and Imaginary Poets: 22 Master Poets Create 22 Master Poets (Tupelo Press). New poems are forthcoming in the anthologies The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror (St. Martin's) and Third Rail: Rock and Roll Poetry (MTV Books). While at Columbia, he is finishing his doctoral dissertation for the University of Cincinnati, where he was University Distinguished Graduate Fellow.



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:hi:

RL

[xchrom]

1. brilliant!

:applause:

[RetroLounge]

4. Get his book! Really!

It was the best new book of poetry I've found in recent yeears!

:hi:

RL

[hisownpetard]

2. Things that make you go, "hmmm."

Hmmmm.

Thanks for posting, RL.
(Hope you're feeling better!!)

[RetroLounge]

3. If you do not have his book "No Planet Strike"

Don't walk, RUN out and get it. I'm SERIES!!! It is just so amazing...

I saw him read with local poet Matt Cook and had it signed.

One of the best nights of Poetry ever!

RL