Fodor Not Fyodor - O'haran Evocations/Loose Associations Urbed Regarding Empire's End, Inflections As Such Poem by Warren Falcon

Etcetera. Etcetera. Etcetera. - Robert Creeley

Forgive us our cleverness. We've all come to ruin by our goddamned cleverness. - Norman Nightingale

The problem is that many of us [most of us] are metaphorically impaired. - Gay Hendricks

I'm fated to die with compassions
In the crooked streets" - Sergei Yesenin

I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. - Frank O'Hara


*

so consider

Central Park

subway stairs
pissed spat on
fed sun there upon
does sink

grasses (summer's)
evergreen
even-shadowed when


benched midnight
wakes

nightstick
cop taps
bared soles
hard

says
once only

move along
'no thing' slumbers
here but

(ambitious)

said cop
foreshadowed
preeminant
fondles Imaginists
in 'is back pocket

nods east
toward Yesenin's
grave the
garland rope
that stole
Motherland's
love

chanting

"bust this

not justice"


Sergei swung

eventual

unsung

(his suspenders
ironically on)

by wire his
neck did
suspend
as did his
trousers

endly

no more
winkles paired
or parried

trousers legs
loosed at last

(without clouds
or fame***)

(they)
billow the
always looser
breezes
unhinged

un-
ending yet
suggestive

(inches above
dead boots never
if ever ensouled

or socked)


TARRY NOT

*

streetlight (lamp
no more orphan
glows)

few passersby
up to no good
go

or not up to
any manageble thing
at all

they
but go

(no)things
themselves

loveliness
(theirs)is
parked swept up
groomed


sky machines
cypher domed
horizon crowned
w/scrapers i.e.

man's grim
insistence
vertical up

leapers

contrails

no more chimney
sweeps sooted

coaled

petrol-eum
now gums up
all works

*

Petrograd

(petrol grade

how damnable
are your clever-
nesses)

now Saint Petersburg

(not one sister
city)

purges between
shrubs and
out of mis-
placed long
necked lilies

breathes
vodka and sex

grim chorus
pigeon-churned
Icon of Our Lady

(O the lilies white)

drapes drips
robed smeared
candle smoke

sags

fagged
ghosts

conjugal wax
in inkless sky


who is it
mispells

O mispells

repeately

the Holy Name

uses abreviations

H N

for brevity's
not Breviary's
sake

but (rather)

symbol's rendered
to sign alone

*

Kiosk white white
latticed enlaced
pink roses greet
darkness

TOURISTS WELCOMED

(but no one here
may there indwell but still)

Fodor
not
Fyodor

burnt hair

singed dawn

continental drift

at day's end

spent bereft

a deaf ear's
always urban


a penny for a
think


"reductionism can be confused for beauty"**


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Fodor - is a publisher of English language travel and tourism information and the first relatively professional producer of travel guidebooks. Inexpensive, geared toward everyday consumerist tourism of nations/culture the world over. BURP

Fyodor - the first name of iconic Russian novelist extraordinaire, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Sergie Yesenin - sometimes spelled as Esenin; Russian: Серге́й Алекса́ндрович Есе́нин, IPA: [sʲɪrˈgʲej ɐlʲɪkˈsandrəvʲɪtɕ jɪˈsʲenʲɪn]; 3 October [O.S.21 September] 1895 - 28 December 1925)was a Russian lyric poet. He is one of the most popular and well-known Russian poets of the 20th century.From wikipedia.com:

"On 28th December 1925, Yesenin was found dead in the room in the Hotel Angleterre in St Petersburg. His last poem Goodbye my friend, goodbye (До свиданья, друг мой, до свиданья)according to Wolf Ehrlich was written by him the day before he died. Yesenin complained that there was no ink in the room, and he was forced to write with his blood.


Farewell, my good friend, farewell.
In my heart, forever, you'll stay.
May the fated parting foretell
That again we'll meet up someday.
Let no words, no handshakes ensue,
No saddened brows in remorse, -
To die, in this life, is not new,
And living's no newer, of course.

According to his biographers, the poet was in a state of depression and committed suicide by hanging."


**Jacob Shores-Argüello, American poet

***trousers loosed (sans clouds***)- an alusion to Russian poet Vladimir Mayakovsky's now classic poem "A Cloud In Trousers":

If you want—
I'll rage from meat
—and, like the sky changing its tones—
if you want—
I'll be irreproachably tender,
not a man, but—a cloud in trousers!