I Am A Dancer I

(MY MOTHER DIED Aug 29 2018)BOLD_Owen_07

friends
(most are women)
have told me,”you think
too much”, “you ask
to many deep questions”,
“You’re a bit weird”
“not like most men”
I’ve always felt
that was up for discussion,
obvious.

I’m a dancer

my mother died in August.
we had an awkward relationship

I like science fiction.
I’ve always wanted to understand
quantum physics.
I heard that Albert Einstein’s
theory was proven
in the trenches of WWI.
and before that you needed
a graduate degree to understand
the physics of the universe.
and since that E=MC2
is understood by highschool students.

I’ve wanted to translate
my knowledge
into simpler formulas
for easier relationships.

I’m a dancer.

When I was 16
I watched my mother storm in
pick up a length of wood
and head my way.
A quiet voice
stood me up
and commanded
unflinching resolve
I held her eyes
she brought it down
on my shoulder.
‘Maybe it broke’
My father quiet
to my resolve.
“Don’t hit your mother.”

I walked 20 miles
through the night
to see a nun
in a convent
avoiding car lights
on country roads
I arrived at dawn
I waited until 7
I was hungry
She made me tea.
I told her my story.
She asked me if
there was anything
else.
I was 16
I was devastated
I was steel
I was the wolf
scouring forest trails
I said “No”
I got up to go.
She said, “Goodbye”.

I went to university
and studied physiotherapy
and asked deep questions
and joined the Baha’i Faith
and the new earth order
and that was a bit weird
and even there,
still not like most men
and not like most women.
and married
and begot 3 sons
and spent some hours
each week helping
on my father’s farm
and burning out at work
and getting fired up
and for fifteen years
taking holidays
to have conversations
with politicians
about rural health

I saw a signpost
Performance Community
and something glimmer
in the distance
like a bright new
city of the future
and took that track

I’m a dancer

These past 14 years
I’ve had lunch with my mother
and father, or coffee
every week
helping around the farm,
being frustrated with them
finding a way to accept
no apology
finding a way to say,
“I love you.”
finding a way to tear them
away from their farm
his workshops,
her orchards.

In his dementia
in a house in town
my father remembered
“that bloke came around again”.
he fell and broke his hip
I sat with him in emergency.
He said, “It’s time”
I glibly, “Time for a cuppa?”
He gave me a sour look,
a ‘fuck off’
I felt I’d disappointed him.
He died.

There’s not much for a wolf
in a modern society
– pickings at the edges

I don’t know whether
my mother knew
I am a dancer.

My mother died in August.
We buried her in September.
Her friends noted to me
how lovely she was
to be with.

Sadness tinges
I didn’t forget
not to go around for lunch
or coffee.

 

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TRAIL OF TEARS

Chattanooga_Tn_0264

Are we ever able to accommodate
or are we only ever
going to grab our chance
to forge a trail of tears?

Did it matter at all that
the Celts were over-run by the Romans
(who am I?)
or that the Cherokees were / are
put out by the new world
Americans?

We have museums to our dismay.
Museums that tell pithy stories
for children
so that adults don’t need
to grow up.

The stories have to start long,
long ago in paleo days
the longer away the better
so far across time that our
hearts don’t even care
when confronted by the
living museums nestled by
the graves of the survivors
taking a tourist
dollar to keep old craft alive.

So lovely.

The stories have to finish with
the proud image of ones who
made it good in the world
where the tears have all dried up
on sculptured faces near casinos.

Malcolm X Boulevard Harlem June 2018

NY_Harlem_0026

A long lean room
bound by an unclad red brick wall
and a smoothly painted plaster board
wall with hanging art and plants
and advertising coffee and food,
was a short step of relief
off the broad street and footpaths.

The summer sun and humidity
climbed with the circuitous
walk through the panhandlers
and the fast movers out of the 125
subway stop to the Markus Garvey park,
up the small hill and back
to the Malcolm X boulevard
towards Central Park.

The crowd thinned to a
few retailers sitting under
apartment buildings.
In Il Caffe Latte pairs of white people
took coffee and brunch.
Two black women ran the kitchen.
A young white man served patrons.
Jazz played quietly thru speakers –
Miles, Coleman and others.

A black man came in, ordered coffee to go.
I wondered if he was busy
or whether I / we left a bad impression.

A white young yuppie type
came in, ordered coffees and
rushed out.
He had ginger hair.
I didn’t care what he thought.

Down the road
outside Harlem Coffee Co,
two young black yuppie types
stretched their legs at the sidewalk
table, drinking lattes at ease.

I JUST WANT A GUN

Sitting in convivial conversation
at the evening meal in west Asheville

pop …….. pop. ……. Pop….

‘How was your day?’’

Pop… pop…. Pop… pop …. Pop..

‘’Is that?’’
‘’Yeh, sounds like gunfire’’
‘’Oh, the police just turned up…

Pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop..pop…

at my daughter’s place’’

Poppopopopoopopopoppoppopopop

‘’What ARE they doing!?’’
‘’Can you even shoot in a neighbourhood?’’
‘’Must be the new guys that moved
in down the road.’’
‘’Someone from her apartment complex
made a complaint. She’s freaking out’’
‘’Yeh, we are outside the city limits, here.’’

Popppoppopopopppopppopppppppppppppoppopopoppppoopopopppopopooppop!

‘’They are probably target shooting
against the hillside behind their house.’’

Epigenetics is the environmental encoding
onto DNA after significant events. It can
express itself several generations later.
620,000 of the ancestors of eastern US Americans
died in the (un)civil war.
The north sustained more casualties than the south.
The south lost the war.

‘’(I) just want a gun.’’

How Shall We Go?

Not only are politicians
out of touch
with the people.
People are out of touch
with the politicians.
Not only are the wealthy
out of touch
with the workers.
The workers are out of touch
with the wealthy.
This (attitude),
the outworn shibboleth
can no longer prevail.
It will now disperse
like the vapour rising
from the forests in full
morning sun
as you come out
as you absorb the heat
as you allow yourself
to rise, evanescent,
from all circumstances.