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Our featured artist this month is Jeff Paine, one of PWLF's most enjoyable
poets. It is always a treat to hear Jeff read his poems, and for that reason,
it's even more of a treat to hear him tell his life story. . .
"I was born in a small cabin in a deep, dark
woods...no, wait a minute, that was someone else.
My name is Jeff and I’m a recovering Decaturite. And yes, we do have a
12-step program for former residents of Decatur, Illinois. The first step is to
admit that you’re from "The Pride of the Prairie." The second step
is to put your foot down, hard, and preferably on the accelerator, until you are
a good distance away. Doesn’t matter which direction, just so long as you pick
one. In all my life, although I’ve visited many places around our nation, I’ve
never lived more than 55 miles from the place of my birth. And that’s not
nearly far enough.
For a writer, I had a horrible childhood: none of my family drank to excess
or did drugs, my parent’s marriage was solid then and still is, my siblings
and I got along reasonably well, we didn’t argue much with our parents (who in
turn found little reason to yell at us), and there was always plenty of food on
the table and clothes for us to wear. Yeah, I know. Where’s the pathos, the
broken childhood, the emotional trauma, the struggle? The closest I came to real
trouble in my life was the repeated threats against my person for being a
"long-haired pinko commie hippie," by many of the older rednecks in my
hometown.
Yet, for my entire (well, at least since I graduated from college) adult
life, I’ve been writing as my profession: first for a newspaper, and more
recently for a small state agency. I write fiction for the Illinois Department
of Nuclear Safety. You know, annual reports, newsletters, public relations
handouts, that sort of thing: fact driven, but unaffected by the constraints of
reality.
In my spare time, I’ve done some freelance writing, and mainly for my own
amusement I’ve written some poetry and prose. About three years ago, I began
to get involved with PWLF, and thanks to the encouragement of fellow writers
such as (initially) Dave Pitchford, Job Conger and Ryan Reeves, and (later) a
great many others, I now feel no qualms at all about presenting my material for
public consumption and/or ridicule.
Anyway, I am quite honored to be the featured artist on the PWLF web page,
and I hope you’ll enjoy the selections I’ve assembled for your
consideration. Since I know almost nothing about poetry, and make no pretense
toward being literary (or literate), please enjoy them without great
expectations. If you smile or laugh, or if I slip in some illumination (however
dim), then I’ll consider my mission accomplished. If not, well, then please
accept my apologies."
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Amendment I: Expression
Freedom of
choice words
pithy and polite
or political and correct
inferred meanings interred
interned
in turn deferred
referred to
scribbled on a page
uttered in the air
for me to pick and place
and you
to apprehend
comprehend
to whatever end you
can’t see what I see
past the words I choose
use
meanings lose:
does it really matter
if it’s my fault,
that I’m too direct or oblique
or if it’s yours,
that you’re too sensitive or obtuse
criticism cuts deeply
both ways
validates this fact:
you have missed
my meaning and
opposed to freely choosing
better served these words
would be
had I remained silent
or more careful with my
freedom of choice words
Amendment II: Arms
Can you have it
both ways?
Can you use words as craft and art
and be unaccountable for the reaction they start?
A writer
knowing that words are loaded
weapons with meaning and baggage
all their own for every person to use
freely choose
Words can be artistic works unto themselves
utilitarian ornate or
plain loud penetrating silenced or
lightly soaking in
like a soft rain.
Unlike guns but like sharp blades
some words can help and heal
but like guns and all blades
others can maim destroy
terrorize terrify kill
Intentionally or sometimes
they do
so without our intention...
That they heal or harm
only when they reach their
target and not before
makes them no less
our words
Writers:
As we would choose
weapons for a duel
or select for heavy labor
only the proper tools,
so we must answer
account for words we have chosen
that stray from our intent
hit other targets unmarked;
if this is so
then we have failed
are no better than
any careless fool
at the trigger of a gun.
(Inspired by the ratings success and front-page
morning-after coverage
of the
first Survivor finale episode.)
Hooo-wheeee!
Wasn’t that a time!
Front page spectacle and all
had us on the edge
of our seats tuned in
for that amazing finale.
Legions stand
neglected and neglectful
myth no longer abides
nor is fiction enough
and reality is even
losing its appeal
to the lower court of
the mass attention span.
What we need is continued
cheap bread
and circuses
ever more bread and circuses
just as the Romans did when
the hordes came politely knocking
at the Coliseum’s gates
In a hundred years
and a thousand more
and maybe ten thousand after that
they’ll look back
amazed
and still talk about it:
that we spent our wealth and time so
well maybe we didn’t
solve all our problems
But man oh man
did we ever put on a show!
Hooo-Wheee!
Now wasn’t that a time!?
September 10, 2001
There are so many
wonders of human effort
here.
And then there are the buildings
and roads
and other things
they have built.
(With no apologies at all to Lewis Carroll)
Inspiration
Twas hidden
and the writhing poems
did not rhyme and meter
on the page
esoteric were the daffodils
though by indolence outraged!
Beware the Ides of March, My Boy
the days that bite, the weeks that pass
beware the baleful winter weather
and shun the frumious Equinox!
He took his vorpal pen in hand
longtime the perfect verse he sought
so rested he front the dun TV
and sat awhile with writer’s block
But as he uffish sat he thought,
the month of March
with ides ablaze
went wiffling by without his knowledge
and passed by as a day
One two, One two
and through and through
the vorpal pen went snicker-snack
he wrote it deft, and with it read
went galumphing back
And hast thou harvested
the perfect parody?
Read to your friends, my beamish boy!
Oh, Frabjous Day! Caloo! Calay!
He chortled in his joy!
Twas brillig
and the writhing poems
did rhyme and meter
on the page
esoteric were the daffodils
and by ten-worder challenges, dismayed!
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Some write
of an elixir
as if some magic is found
in the fragrant brewed liquid
of an uncommon bean.
Aroma divine and
darkly acid taste, bitter
that infuses
lifeblood
for those both mundane and
of a bohemian life
style
Habit
addiction
taste
supported
by the poverty of mountain farmers
peasants in poor and distant lands
growing a cash crop
the cash for which
they never see.
Product of gunboat diplomacy
and mega-corporate business practices
governments
goaded on by
the captains of enterprise
capitalism
wealth
have instigated war and
fomented revolution
destabilized currencies
undermined elections
toppled duly elected constitutional governments
all to maintain the international trade empires
fleets of ships and trucks spewing
pollutants
carbon dioxide
global warming
ecological degradation
species extinction
reduction in biodiversity
reduction in human diversity
so we can have
the availability
the habit
the addiction
The already-wealthy grow richer
while the poor are kept in grinding poverty
So that everyone who wants
can have that steaming cup of
Joe
Java
or whatever you may call it
the caffeinated high
exotic taste
the addict’s fix
U.S. consumption, 1994
twenty-plus gallons per capita
roughly 100 billion steaming mugfuls
about one-quarter of what
the overly numerous humans of the world
consume
drunk by less than five percent of the
human population
Perhaps $50 billion retail value—
do the farmers
(the ones in the field, not the landowners)
even get
a penny a cup?
Of course, the same can be said of
tobacco
tea
marijuana
cocoa (to satiate our demand
for sweet chocolate and
our demand for brain candy)
sugar
opium
bananas and other fruit
alcohol
spices (some of which combine well with coffee).
Oh, there’s processing and packaging
and that transportation network to maintain
and marketing—
a variety of costs:
of maintaining favorable governments,
and favorable government policies,
of putting down native insurrections,
and farmers’ rebellions,
(usually over low prices paid,
and high prices for purchases)
and labor movements,
(All in all, keeping the pathways
of commerce open
and well-lubricated
takes money
lots and lots of money)
and those pesky intellectual bohemian
writers
artists
thinkers
who often start revolutions
over coffee.
A man sits
at first not reading
just sitting
drinking coffee
Watching
(Why?)
It is Saturday morning
a downtown coffee house
A young couple
(early 20s, if that)
sit
at a table across from him
drinking coffee
eating banana-nut bread
talking earnestly to each other
while minding the baby
they carried in together
Farther away
toward the back
a group
first two
then five
ten, then
fifteen
or more
A boisterous company
creative sorts
the kind that used to come to coffee houses
When Kerouac
was young
and novel
The man
older, short, trim and fit
watches and listens
smiling
(Why? Remembering?)
Eventually
he loses interest in
the good-natured wordplay
of budding writers and
artists
performers
each and all
desperately seeking interaction
justification
acknowledgement
positive feedback
surcease
for the terrible demanding muse
that drives them
The man picks up a newspaper
reads of the day’s past
events
He is still sitting there
reading and
drinking coffee
when the creative company
disbands and
departs
Next week
he will see them
again
(Why?)
Walking
at night, in the dark
I try not to look
into that window
on the second story
I have looked
you know
but I try not to
because sometimes you are there
You might be there
and then
where would I be
standing on the sidewalk
looking into that window
on the second story
My angle is not good
of the room I see
mostly ceiling
a light with fan blades
stirring slowly
the corner of a picture
framed
the wall
papered
the light is not good
though the darkness in which
I stand makes
the window on the second story
sharply defined
illuminated
I have seen you
not all of you
there posing
as if for a lover
or perhaps
only for yourself reflected
practicing
in a mirror I cannot see
through that window
on the second story
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Give a man a fish
you feed him for today
but if you teach him how to fish
he can feed himself for a lifetime
Of course,
he’ll need a pole, some line, tackle
and bait, definitely bait.
So, if you give a man a fish
you feed him for today,
but if you teach him how to fish
and give him a pole, some line,
tackle, and a source of bait,
THEN he can feed himself
for a lifetime
Well, maybe a net would be better
that way he could catch enough fish
not only to feed himself
and his family, but also sell fish
to others and thus,
not only feed, but support himself as well
Okay, if you give a man a fish
you feed him for today,
but if you teach him how to fish,
and see to it that he gets a full fishing outfit,
or maybe a net,
then he can feed himself
and others too,
for a lifetime.
Come to think of it, at the very least
he’s going to need a fishing license.
And, you can’t use a net just anywhere,
so he might need a boat
to get out into deep water.
And if he has to have a boat,
he’s probably got to have
a license for it.
And a commercial permit,
if he’s going to sell to others,
and of course there will be health
inspectors and fees for that.
And if he’s going commercial, then
he’ll have to have some way to keep
the fish fresh until they get
to market, won’t he?
Alright, already!
If you give a man a fish,
you feed him for today...
And frankly, he’s got to have access to a body
of water that has fish
in sufficient size and number
that he can hope to catch some every day
to feed himself
and maybe others too,
for a lifetime, and of course, what if the water
is polluted, or the fish carry disease or
are tainted with mercury or some other
deadly chemical, aren’t we then
sentencing him and his family
and those he sells fish to,
to suffering and eventual death?
Okay, look, if you give a man a fish
you feed him for today
but if you teach a man to fish,
and make sure he’s got the right equipment
and all the right forms
and a place to fish
and a safe environment
and maybe insurance, and health care...
Oh, the hell with it,
just give the man a fish!
But what if he doesn’t like fish?
Hear us, oh you god or gods (or goddess or goddesses, whether you be singular
or plural), semigods (or goddesses), demigods (or goddesses), hemigods (or
goddesses), semidemigods (or goddesses), semidemihemigods (or goddesses),
deities, avatars, entities, beings, guides, forces, spirits, individuals,
characters, creatures, persons, personas, personages, souls, energies,
potencies, elementals, animas’, animus’, pneumae, psyches, apparitions,
edilions, phantoms, phantasms, revandants, ghosts, ghastlies, shades, shadows,
spectres, wraiths, souls, urges, demiurges, semiurges, hemiurges, semidemiurges,
semidemihemiurges, demons, semidemons, hemidemons, demidemons, semihemidemons,
semidemihemidemons, angels, archangels, Charlie’s angels, principalities,
powers, virtues, dominions, thrones, cherubim, seraphim, succubi, incubi,
naiads, dryads, commercial ads, wights, noumenae, haunts, faeries, elves,
sprites, gnomes, pixies, wee folk and, or, anyone or anything else (including,
but not limited to, so-called "natural" beings, such as humans or deer
or raccoons and so on, and so-called "supernatural" beings, such as
dragons, unicorns, hyppogriffins, unicorns and suchlike) that I might have
missed,
that may (or may not...or both) be present here or hereabouts, now or
nowabouts, and be that as it may,
we friends who are gathered here this evening in comradarie to break bread
and repast and share food and drink and tales and love and laughter
on this the solstice, symbolic of the beginning and end, or perhaps the
middle, or maybe the one-quarter or three-quarter mark of the naturally measured
year, or ten days short of the end of this and the beginning of the next
artificial year (so what’s that, 97.3 or so percent of the year?), whichever
one you or we or anyone else does or may hold to, and regardless of which way,
the changing of the seasons and the continuation of time, no matter how it is
experienced, counted and noted, and
whether you have helped or will help us, have hindered or will hinder us, or
have been or will be entirely indifferent to us, we (both individually and
collectively) thank and honor you (both individually and collectively, as
necessary and appropriate), for your gifts and lessons of the past and those of
the future.
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