Poetry: Selections from John Yamrus

he was

fully aware

of what Matisse had said

about

how painters

have to begin by first

cutting out their tongues,

which is why

when

the cops

finally broke down the door,

the

first place

they looked

was

the stove.

Tammy looked at him

and said

you’re one

of the good guys...

 

you don’t

drink more than you should

 

and

as far as i know

ya ain’t murdered anyone.

 

Billy

smiled and said

while i've never officially murdered anyone,

 

there was

that little incident

with the three monkeys,

the goat and the can of lima beans...

 

but

they never

made the charges stick.

 

the lima beans, though,

that’s another

story.

since the reading

was

for a group

of aspiring writers,

 

the host

asked me to

start off by giving the

audience a writing challenge of sorts,

 

something

to think about

while i was reading.

 

i thought

that was stupid

and crazy and counter-productive.

 

it was

bad enough

having to read my poems,

 

which

i hate doing,

 

because...

 

well...

 

i

just hate it,

but that’s the job.

 

so i

waited till the end.

 

and then

i told them

to go home and

look in a mirror and

write about what they saw.

 

i

told them

how to reach me

 

and said

i don’t care

how they write it

or what they write;

just write something.

 

anything.

 

that was

a week ago,

and i’m still waiting.

 

some

challenges,

it seems, can’t be met.

 

i’m

just glad

that i met mine.

she said

put

yourself

in my place...

or put yourself in a corner.

 

i don’t

give a shit

what you do...

 

sure,

it’s mean

and bad and evil,

but it gets under your skin,

 

and it stays there.

 

so,

just go away!

 

and

he did.

every man

loves

the smell

of his own farts.

 

Billings was different.

 

his

were so bad

he had to get up

and leave the room.

 

that’s

probably why

he never got married.

 

it was horrible.

 

no woman

stayed very long.

 

even his dog ran away.  

 

twice.

 

which was

okay with Billings.

 

he didn’t mind

being alone.

 

he

liked

the quiet.

 

it

gave him

time to think.

 

and listen to his music.

 

no one

liked his music either.

 

life,

for Billings,

was almost perfect.

 

if he

could only

get used to the

smell of his own farts.

Don looked at him

and said

he needed a

good woman to

kick his ass now and then.

 

he said

it kept him in line.

 

being

neither good

nor a woman, but still

the best friend Don ever had,

 

he

beat the

shit out of Don,

finished his drink and

 

walked

on out the door.

her mouth

was a

ruined white flower.

 

she

had to

be 80 or more,

 

but

she stood there,

in the back of the room,

 

while i

read my poems

to a couple of dozen students

 

who only

looked tired and bored.

 

i wasn’t into it

and neither were they,

and all i could see was this mop

 

of

stringy

grey hair

 

and

a face that

kept urging me on.

no amount of scrubbing

would

ever remove

the smell of burnt cabbage,

old paint, grease

and regret

from walls which seemed

to be closing in on every side,

 

which

was okay

with Tommy...

he’d seen worse.

 

besides,

there was always Janey...

 

one day

she just might come back.

 

that thought

was enough to keep him together,

and it made all the difference in the world.

this zine

came

in the mail today

and the look and feel

and tone of it

made me

think of d.a.levy

and the ragged

renegade stuff

he used to put out

and this one

was just like it

with the pages

printed sideways

and the words over-lapping

and it was all

so wonderful and

crazy and

wild

that the

only thing missing

was d.a. levy

himself.

he

knew

it

 

as sure

as

 

he

knew

 

anything

 

no

summer

 

is

endless

John Yamrus’s career spans more than 50 years as a working writer. He has published 35 books (29 volumes of poetry, 2 novels, 3 volumes of non-fiction and a children’s book). He has also had nearly 3,000 poems published in magazines and anthologies around the world. A book of his selected poems was just released in Albania, translated into that language by Fadil Bajraj, who is best known for his translations of Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Bukowski, Ginsberg, Pound and others. A number of Yamrus’s books and poems are taught in college and university courses. His most recent book is Selected Poems: The Directors (Concrete Mist Press)