gershon hepner Poems

DEPRESSION, BREAKDOWNS, GRANDIOSE INSECURITY


Depressions, breakdowns, grandiose insecurity
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Fiction makes a better job of truth
than reminiscences that are strictly factual;
the alien, corny story of a girl called Ruth
is not diminished, being virtual, not actual.
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In the upper range of superficiality I sing,
a counter-tenor high above the bass
whose voice proclaims that of profundity he is the king,
regarding what is superficial base.
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Having squandered glory to false idols,
our duty is to reinterpret history,
providing its sound track with new subtitles,
recasting villains in the murder mystery.
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Four kids and wife, a seder.
One son is a day trader.
and one is a Jewish doctor,
whose wife, although he mocked her,
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Rather than talking about what is wrong
with me, I involute and hide
in poems, where the things for which I long
are washed by words. Though time and tide
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As to the Internet we rush,
we have no time to stand and shush.
Reading from the printed page
is something from a bygone age,
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The secret is out, it’s very delicious;
the story is ripe, so let’s now be vicious,
discussing together the details that, gory,
make what once was secret a stunning new story.
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You’re the world’s greatest listener,
and not a farbisseneh,
unlike those dour creatures
whom Kleinzahler features,
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Only when ephemeral does time
embody its true essence,
with impermanence its paradigm,
evoking evanescence.
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