Poetry: Selections from John Yamrus

it was 

freshman year 
at high school and the 
first real party i’d been invited to.
 
it was 
maybe 1966 
in someone’s basement 
 
and 
all i remember 
was the room was small and dark 
 
and 
some guy 
picked up a guitar 
and played “Wipeout” 
 
and 
the girls smiled 
and the guys were jealous 
 
and i 
felt as odd, 
uncomfortable and 
 
out 
of place 
as i still do now.



contrary

to
popular opinion,
 
the
internet
has ruined
poetry
for
 
the world.
 
it
has
fooled
 
way
too many people
 
into
thinking
they
can
do
 
this.



even

before
the hour sounds,
 
we
are already
 
sitting
with the dead.



i
 
made
the mistake
 
of 
complimenting him 
 
on 
his poetry.
 
on
the strength
 
of 
one poem,
he wanted me
to introduce him to
 
my 
publisher.
 
when 
i refused,
when i said
i’m sorry, but
i just don’t do that,
he went crazy on me.
 
instantly,
 
went from
 
hit 
to shit.
 
more
than anything
he so desperately
 
wanted 
his fifteen minutes
 
of 
fame.
 
well...
here you go, buddy...
 
here 
you go.



i worked in a phone room once...

selling 
light bulbs
over the phone.
 
can you
imagine that?
 
god-damn light bulbs.
 
it 
was in
this little office
on the second floor
 
above 
a pool room,
 
with 
folding tables set up
with chairs and maybe 16 phones.
 
we each 
had a stack of sheets
with names of prospects.
 
don’t know 
where they got the names 
 
or 
why, 
 
because 
it didn’t matter.
 
because 
no one ever bought the bulbs.
 
don’t 
even remember 
 
how 
we were 
supposed to take an order 
 
and
all i did
was dial the phone,
 
make 
my pitch and
wait for them to hang up.
 
which they always did.
 
the job 
lasted maybe 
a couple of days
before i got tired of it
 
and 
stopped going.
 
the 
whole place
smelled of sweat 
 
and 
desperation
 
and 
a certain
kind of failure
you never can forget. 



Nelly Big Bang

loved poetry.
 
loved
Charley Parker.
 
loved 
funny hats,
 
old 
mirrors
 
and dogs.
 
Nelly Big Bang
 
loved
standing in
the sun as it shone
 
through
the window,
shining, bright 
and gold on the floor
of the asylum where he died.



it was

freshman year 
at high school and the 
first real party i’d been invited to.
 
it was 
maybe 1966 
in someone’s basement 
 
and 
all i remember 
was the room was small and dark 
 
and 
some guy 
picked up a guitar 
and played “Wipeout” 
 
and 
the girls smiled 
and the guys were jealous 
 
and i 
felt as odd, 
uncomfortable and 
 
out 
of place 
as i still do now.





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 books are Selected Poems: The Directors Cut (Concrete Mist Press) and Twenty Four Poems (Meat For Tea Press).

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