Russell Edson Poems
|41.||A Historical Breakfast||1/13/2003|
|44.||Ape And Coffee||1/13/2003|
|46.||A Performance At Hog Theater||1/13/2003|
|51.||On The Eating Of Mice||1/13/2003|
|52.||A Stone Is Nobody's||1/13/2003|
|53.||One Lonely Afternoon||1/13/2003|
Comments about Russell Edson
You haven't finished your ape, said mother to father,
who had monkey hair and blood on his whiskers.
I've had enough monkey, cried father.
You didn't eat the hands, and I went to all the
trouble to make onion rings for its fingers, said mother.
I'll just nibble on its forehead, and then I've had enough,
I stuffed its nose with garlic, just like you like it, said
Why don't you have the butcher cut these apes up? You lay
the whole thing on the table every night; the same fractured
skull, the same singed ...
In his travels he comes to a bridge made entirely of bones.
Before crossing he writes a letter to his mother: Dear mother,
guess what? the ape accidentally bit off one of his hands while
eating a banana. Just now I am at the foot of a bone bridge. I
shall be crossing it shortly. I don't know if I shall find hills and
valleys made of flesh on the other side, or simply constant
night, villages of sleep. The ape is scolding me for not teaching
him better. I am letting him wear my pith