You Need to Have an Iron Rear

By Amy Baranski

It’s 20 after noon and I feel like I’ve wasted the morning away though I haven’t really. I fried bacon and eggs, returned the zipcar I borrowed overnight, forced my husband to take photos of my new blogging leaf with his iphone, washed dishes, knocked on the Baumgart’s door about 3 times, blogged once, retrieved a baseball for Levi, lost a game of checkers to Tallulah, and talked to Dad. Yet I feel guiltily unproductive. Now I’m sitting back at my computer working on my second cup of coffee with old photos scattered about and fretting over where I’ve misplaced my keys.

The sun always makes me feel equal parts anxious and lazy. Even though I’m alone for most of the bright beautiful sunshiny day faced with the very indoor task of uncluttering a very indoor home, it’s all good.

With the Stones rendition of Just My Imagination and the glint of the sun in this room my mind has floated back to Lake Shasta where I once spent 2 weeks floating on a houseboat with my newly married sister learning how to kneeboard and inner tube without cracking a rib. There’s nothing quite as thrilling as the rushing water fanning out along your sides as you pull yourself up to kneeling or standing position while the speedboat races along dragging you behind. I like that feeling of speed and struggling to find yourself in it.

Melissa and I figured July would be good for something low key because we were going to be busy with summer vacations etc. But as it turns out April through June dragged me behind them flailing. I somehow emerged from the deepening lake of gardening tasks and an acid work environment. Poetry month may have better been served in April… Bygones.

It’s actually memorize a poem month. And, hopefully it’s more than one.

I’ve always been impressed by people who’ve memorized lyrics, whether it be songs, poems or stories. And, I’ve wanted to try my hand and accumulating a bank of literature that I can call forth as easily and strongly as the memory of say blasting through a warm lake on a hot summer day. I’ve only ever memorized 2 poems, which I can half-heartedly call forth today. One is The New Kid on the Block by Jack Prelutsky. The other is a sonnet by William Shakespeare, When in Disgrace with Fortune and Men’s Eyes.

So I just took the last 5 minutes to memorize a new poem by Jack Prelutsky which I will try to rewrite accurately here:

You Need to Have An Iron Rear

You need to have an iron rear
to sit upon a cactus,
or otherwise, at least a year
of very painful practice.

Yay! I did it. Now let’s see if I can remember it tonight.

Résumé

Résumé

Behind where I blog.

By Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
you might as well live.

One of my favorite poems yet.  I cannot wait to read more of her works.

Last night I hosted a night of Poetry and Poker.  We fired up the grill out behind the Boathouse (the name of our apartment building), we used the one that sits near the flagstone patio that Amy built.  It is such a sweet little spot.  We feasted on grilled burgers and sausages, grilled corn, coleslaw, tomato salad and an amazingly beautiful salad from lettuce that Amy grew.

After dinner we all sat around the table and shared some poetry.  Amy started us off with a piece by Jack Prelutsky called "The New Kid on the Block."  The kids in the room shared a few pieces, Lily read at least four of her original works.  Carol also read an original poem, with vivid imagery of a soldier's cemetery and reflections on war.  I found an old notebook from when Jamie and I lived in Bellingham and read the lyrics to one of Jamie's songs he wrote back when he was first learning to play the guitar.

There was lots of snapping and hushed clapping, you know poetry kind of noises.

At that point is was time for poker.  There were five weary, bleary stragglers left at the table and we all anted in.  Mostly, we played Texas Hold 'Em and at one point, about an hour in, I made a fatal mistake.

"Wow!  I think I might actually win my first game of poker." I said aloud, my self consciousness wishing I hadn't before the sentence was over.

The choice to fold on a crucial hand, where had I stayed in I would have won, started my decent into Loser-ville last night.  But how could I have known that Bob was working on a piece for the "Bluffington Post."  (a pun from Jamie last night...we contemplated pun month during the night.)

In the end, I lost.  And here, a poem on losing (sounds more like baseball, but still fitting.  And especially if you are a Mariner's fan...)


Losing the Game
BY DIANE ACKERMAN

Ichiro.

On the face of this midfielder,
a saint’s passion.

Sweat brilliantines his hair
flat as a seal pup’s fur.

Thorns rake one knee, and fatigue
is a train whistle that never quits.

In his mind, the falcon of defeat
slips off its own hood

and sails into the vapory cold December,
hangs like a crucifixion over the field,

then slants down the wide thermal
of his shame. Today 2 + 2 is algebra,

and nothing will transmute
his base metal to gold leaf.

When crowd and players have gone,
he watches the sun set

under a tumultuous bruise of sky,
below the empty grin of the bleachers,

deep into the valley,
a ghastly, yellow bile draining out.


-Melissa