Doesn't
Anyone Know How To Play This Game*....
Where
are the New York poets?
Under
what edifice do they lie like
newts,
wet and proud
On
bubble pink paper a poetry calendar
announces
readings in italics
But I
expected more
I
expected colossal welcomings upon my arrival
Mad,
rushing priests of prose
conducting
cabals of free love and revolution
I
implore you thieves, " Death notices!"
Do not
fool with this
Do not
plan gigs and put up flyers!
Do not
send out press releases and publish pamphlets!
Do not
allow cameras and journalists into the games!
I beg
of you to show yourselves to me
Give me
a throw of the random bones
Let me
place my feeble legs upon the shores of your shoulders
My
hands steadying my body with pianist fingers
entwined
in your knotty mane
My
spine unfolding, extending, raising my head
high
above the metropolis
The air
clear and salty
The stars
delicious
My
whole being infused with the challenge of art and the freedom of life...
New
York poets are Stengel's team full of spirit and spit
Leading
the league in errors, newborn, stumbling and eager
And I'm
on the bench in a borrowed uniform
Drumming
my feet, Kneading my mitt and screaming
“Put me
in coach, put me in! Doesn’t anyone know how to play this game?”
....
*Casey
Stengel....
First
Manager of the NYMets baseball team.....
....