Friday, November 2, 2012

An Obituary Has More News Than This Day

K at Thursday Night Pints told us about her past five days in Kettering Ohio, a suburb of Dayton. She was helping take care of her three-year-old niece while her kid sister and her husband dealt with the premature birth of the niece's kid brother. She said, about motherfucking POTUS 12, I thought the constant ads in DC aimed at Virginians was incessant, I don't know how Ohioans stand it. L said, honestly, whose mind is going to be changed at this point. I said, it's whip and homestretch, the one thing that could hurt is not being seen as gutting as many live golden retriever puppies on live TV as your opponent, and that's as much for the loser's martyr's mantra as changing minds. D said, Sandy was a godsend to both Obama and Romney, it solidifies Obama's victory, it gives Republicans the if-but-for-Sandy narrative for midterms and 2016. Silence. L said, I remember voting for Kennedy in 1960, my first vote, I teared-up. D's first was LBJ in 1964, mine Carter in 1980, K's Dukakis in 1988. Dukakis, L snorted, all snorted at L's snort. Christ, we're idiots, said L. K bought round. Very good times.

Today's music via friend Greyhoos. I was completely unaware of Terry Callier, I saw news of his death on some of the music blogs I read, then Greyhoos posted a tribute. I sent him an email asking for places to start, he Kindly provided.


Bruce Smith

An obituary has more news than this day,
brilliant, acid yellow and silver
off the water at land’s end. The disparate
prismatic things blind you as they fin
their way across the surface of the water.
This light cannot inform you of your dying.

Fish of lustrous nothing, fish of desire,
fish whose push and syllable
can make things happen,
fish whose ecstatic hunger
is no longer news, and fish whose mouth
zeroes the multitudes, the hosts
who wait for their analogies
and something nice to eat, the billions
the waves commemorate in their breaking
down to their knees on the shore,
their cloacal sound. Now
how can I stay singular?
How can even ore part die
when I split and split
like the smallest animal
in the ocean until I’m famous
in my dismemberment, splendid
in my hunger, and anonymous—
so that naming one
is like naming one runnel
the sea, or one drop of blood
the intoxicating passion?

I keep the multitudes in mind
when I hear daily that one
has murdered another. A news
more silver than given,
more light than anything
captured. And I hold them all
in mind—the fulgence, the data,
and the death, or else I lose it,
that package of slippery fish,
that don’t die exactly but smell
in a heaven so low we can hear
the moans and feel the circles
and bite in each cell. 


  1. Wow, I had no knowledge of that. (In my defense, I don't work at the main VA building, and when I had to go there semi-recently, none of that was in evidence.)

  2. Yeah, that seemed far away from the Indian place we eat (and need to again soon).

  3. Agreed. (Also, it appears baseball season done came and went.)

  4. Thanks for the pome. With the Internets they are less than a penyeach! I will contact you sub rosa about grub.

    I figured you to be a John Anderson kind of guy. Our Rubidity knows no bounds . . . .

  5. I don't have a functional television and just turn the volume down on the Youtubes so I've survived the onslaught of ads all right. I am kind of sick of getting visited by Clinton and Springsteen though.