Sign Outside a Funeral Home
Martin Bros.
Coffee’s on.
Come in and
say hello.
Sign Outside a Funeral Home
Martin Bros.
Coffee’s on.
Come in and
say hello.
Magic
If life is
an illus
ion, who’s watch
ing the show?
Slim is experimenting with a form, 12 syllables, 4 lines, it doesn’t always work out neatly. He was thinking of calling it a “quatrain”, but that has a familiar ring to it.
Bodyguards
Grey Owl is on the move.
He’s heading for the washroom.
Second time tonight.
The seal is broken.
I repeat.
The seal is broken.
A few weeks back, Slim was about to board a plane when he realized that he had brought nothing to read on the flight. He rushed to the nearest airport shop where he was confronted with a row of paperbacks. Each paperback had the author’s name and the book title in embossed gold letters on the front cover; in each case, the author’s name was equal in size to the book’s title. He became fixated on the name, “Danielle Steel” – its one broad vowel, its five slender vowels, four of them “e’s”; and what about all those “l’s”! It was like a little poem in itself.
His flight was called for the last time, so Slim quickly grabbed “Sycamore Row” by John Grisham and boarded the flight.
This is a great book, not great as in “the Great American Novel” or “great literature” but great as in “Great Britain” or the “Great Divide”. In other words it’s big, about 1.75 inches thick. Slim found the first half inch to be tough going. It’s a simple enough story at first. A small town Mississippi businessman, Seth Hubbard, suffering from an incurable disease hangs himself. Shortly after, Jake Brigance, a local lawyer receives a handwritten will in which Seth leaves most of his considerable wealth to Lettie, his black housekeeper, contradicting a previous will in which everything was left to his children. Naturally, the children are not pleased and everyone starts to lawyer up.
This book is packed with the characters, some of whom could be called “stock” or perhaps, “restocked”. It’s as if Grisham went to Character Depot and picked up a bunch of characters that other novelists had returned. There is a crusty, cranky judge and a couple of cranky, crusty older lawyers with or recovering from a drink problem. There is a black lawyer with a whole pack of race cards in his back pocket. The main character, Jake, also a lawyer, has one major flaw and that is that he has no flaws. The housekeeper, Lettie, is saintly and beyond reproach. Seth’s children and their children are venal, money grabbing losers who had no time for Seth when he was alive. Jake’s wife is long suffering and uncomplaining and of course there is a cafe on the town square where blue collar workers, farmers and deputies gather for breakfast in the morning and there’s a waitress called Dell who trades insults with the customers and knows everyone’s business.
While reading about this café, called The Coffee Shop, Slim has a series of revelations. Dell is described as “a gum-smacking, sassy gal” who, while pouring Jake’s coffee, manages to “bump him with her ample ass – the same routine six mornings a week”. Slim realizes that Grisham has actually assigned a physical attribute to one of his characters. Dell’s ass is “ample”. He realizes then that he has no idea what the main character, Jake, looks like. Is he tall, short, fat, skinny? Does he have black, blond, brown, grey hair? Is he bald? What does Jakes’ wife Carla look like? So far she is nothing more than five letters on a page. He then realizes that the only reason he knows that Dell’s ass is ample is because Grisham needs that ass to perform an action and that action would not have the same effect if Dell’s ass wasn’t ample. He can’t risk not describing Dell’s ass.
By the way, who says “sassy gal” anymore? Elsewhere in the book, Grisham describes a prostitute in the bar which Simeon – Lettie’s no-good, drinking, gambling, philandering husband – hangs out, as “comely”; as in “as I walked out one morning, I met a comely maiden, on her way to the county fair”. It’s like he’s picking up his adjectives at a rural flea market.
Across the square from The Coffee Shop is the Tea Shoppe. This is where the white collar workers gather to discuss “interest rates and world politics” as opposed to “football, local politics and bass fishing”. What a neatly polarized world this is – black people, white people, blue collar, white collar. The poor white collar workers don’t get to discuss bass fishing and they have to meet in a café with an Olde Worlde name which further establishes them as effete and pretentious. Jake, on the other hand, though white collar, is accepted at the blue collar café, so right away we know he is authentic, he is to be trusted.
Chapter 17 takes place in the Tea Shoppe and here Grisham dispenses with names as well as adjectives. Nearly the whole chapter is taken up with a discussion between a lawyer, a banker, a merchant, an insurance agent and a realtor. These characters exist to provide background and update the reader on what is happening with the main characters. Lettie, for example, and her fast growing collection of family members have moved into a bigger house and there is a long discussion about how she can afford the rent. The merchant is there to ask the questions while the realtor, banker and lawyer are there to provide answers based on their respective professional expertise. The lawyer then takes center stage to answer questions on legal aspects of the case so that the reader is informed enough to understand what is going to happen in subsequent chapters. These characters then disappear.
This chapter gives perhaps the best insight into Grisham’s modus operandi. Every word he writes must serve or advance the plot, if it doesn’t, it is not required. After all, he has a town full of characters to keep moving and a story to tell and complex legal issues to convey in an understandable way and only 600 pages to do it in and Slim finds it irritating to be manipulated so obviously. At every turn, he can hear the whirring and clunking and banging and clanging of the mechanism driving this monster of a book but that’s not what really bothers him. What really bothers him is that he cannot put the book down. He really wants to know if Lettie gets her fortune and he is worried that her loser husband will gamble it all away and what about Jake? Will he make enough money from the case to buy that dream home for Carla? Will Jake, Carla and their daughter Hanna be safe because this guy who burned down Jake’s last house has just been released from prison and has a score to settle with Jake and Slim cares about them and he is nearly 300 pages away from finding out!
In which, Slim ignores his own advice. See Slim’s Advice Part 2.
A Clear Day in Late October
A clear day in late October
is like a call from the Governor,
a stay of execution.
It is just such a day,
the leaves on the trees bordering the soccer field
have abandoned that chlorophyll thing
and are leaking yellows and reds
like a paint store catalogue;
on the side lines, the soccer dads
bark and pace like chain-linked hounds
like dogs locked in parked cars on a sunny day,
while in the bushes, Thwarted Ambition
waits to join them
on the long journey home.
Photo: Chlorophyll molecule (Chlorophyll-a-3D-vdw, licensed under public domain)
In which, Slim delivers a poem for aspiring poets.
So, after his outburst in the pub (see Slim’s Advice Part 1), Slim comes up to me, mutters an apology and mumbles something about having to learn how to control his anger.
“No problem” I said” it worked out fine in the end”
For a moment, there was a feeling between us that approximated warmth.
“Anyway,” he said “I wrote a poem for aspiring poets”
“Is it inspiring?”
Slim looked puzzled.
“You know, an inspiring poem for aspiring poets”.
My wordplay seemed to irritate Slim immensely. That warm feeling evaporated like sweat in the desert.
Here’s the poem!
Slim’s Advice
Avoid autumn and death,
They’ve been done before;
There’s little more to say
On either score.
Also, waves like marathon runners
Collapsing on the shore,
The inexorable march of time,
Don’t go through that door.
By the way, as you have probably guessed the delicate-looking guy in the picture is John Keats, who pretty much nailed “Autumn” in 1819 at the age of 24.
Unsolicited Advice
Life is full
of quiet
nights, seek out
the loud ones.
The Pope Throws a Punch
There it is
In all the newspapers
All over the internet
Like a live action Charlie Hebdo cartoon:
A photo showing the pontiff
Throwing a playful punch
At Doctor Gasparri,
A Vatican official;
The leader of one of God’s major franchises
Implying that violence
Is an understandable response to insult.
I know, I know, I know
He was only joking
Lighten up for Christ’s sake.
He was caught in the yes but trap
The rush to qualify, explain, diminish a barbaric act
That seems to follow hard upon the event.
Worse still is the search for equivalent wrongs
The slaughter of innocents by US drones, for example
As if by some weird mathematics
One wrong can reduce the other to zero
That one wrong plus one wrong
Is not equal to two.
I ‘m talking to Slim, or I should say, he’s talking to me about Manchester United and their new Dutch coach, Louis Van Gaal. Slim is disappointed in the team’s progress since Van Gaal’s appointment at the beginning of the season. He is convinced that their problems are due to the coach’s stubborn insistence on playing three centre-backs.
“It’s just too much inertia, too much plod, no team can take the weight of three centre backs plus a slow holding midfielder like Michael Carrick. Also, wing backs?? Who knows how to play that position? Antonio Valencia, maybe, but who else, certainly not Danny Blind…he doesn’t have the speed.”
Slim has the bit between his teeth and from my experience, it can stay there a long time. I look past Slim along the bar and out through the window, there’s a construction crew outside working on a hole in the road. It’s a sunny day. I need to interrupt or this will turn into a rant that lasts the whole lunch.
“Talking about games” (awkward, I know) “have you any advice for people starting out in the poetry game”
“It’s not a f***king game”.
“Business, then, the poetry business”
“It’s certainly not a business, you hardly ever get paid and when you do, it would be barely enough to pay for this lunch”
“Why do you write, then? Slim looks thoughtful.
“I write poetry for the same reason that a dog licks his balls.”
“And that is?”
“Because I can and because I like to.”
“Wait a minute”, I said,” you can…”
“For Chrissake’, Slim roared, and banged his glass on the bar,
”I’m outta here!”
A guy in a business suit at the other end of the bar looks up from his newspaper. I stare at the full pitcher of pale ale and the mound of nachos covered in melted cheese, jalapeno peppers, diced olives, tomatoes, onions and topped off with something called shredded beef although it looks suspiciously like cat food sitting on the bar in front of me. I have an image in my head that I would really like to erase. The door to the bar opens and a lady wearing a hard hat and a high vis vest enters. Her hair is bleached blond and her face is red and weather beaten, she’s carrying a sign that says “Stop” on one side and “Slow” on the other. The “Slow” side faces towards me. I take this as a sign.
“Would you like some nachos,” I say “I’ve got guacamole”.
To be continued.
Trumped
I get it now
Donald T
Is a performance artist
Like that guy in Beijing
Sucking dust out of the air
With a vacuum cleaner
Or maybe he’s one of those mirrors
In an old fairy tale
Reflecting only
The worst in ourselves.
Slim is on vacation. He emailed this. I think he’s enjoying himself, it’s hard to tell.
Las Vegas
tattooed junkie
frantic call box
all that glitters
raddled toupee
prime rib buffet
entertainers
not so prime
cadillac
fossil fool
hot spot
for the uncool
synthetic jewel
neutral desert
Poet’s Corner 6 and 2 have been revised!
Slim has been listening to the new U2 album over the Christmas. He has this to say:
In Praise of Bono
Bono forces a download
on the unsuspecting public
And the internet hounds
Begin to bay
Begin to e-bay
It’s a publicity stunt
Bono’s a c**t
Uproar about the download
Furor about the force
As if their phones were temples
Meant for higher discourse
The inanity
The humanity
And the critics weigh in
U2 are old school
Uncool
Have lost their edge
(Tho’ they still have the Edge)
While they rave about Tom Petty
Or some jingle jangle substitute
And pretend to admire Arcade Fire
Well I bought the CD
(Yes, bought)
And as far as I can judge
It’s a lighthouse
In a sea of mediocrity
A beacon
In a sea of soporific sludge.
Steady there, Slim.
I was thinking of doing a list blog, entitled “My Pet Hates”. I asked Slim for a contribution. This is what he offered.
My Pet Hates
I don’t know what
My pet hates
I don’t have a pet
That communicates
A new poem by Slim in which I detect a shortening of ironic distance.
Driving Home with Leonard
Despite what he says
not everybody knows,
not everybody knows
like Leonard knows.
Not everybody knows
that the best songs
are about loss,
about endings;
about so long
ways to say goodbye
closing time,
and that age
can be laughed about
but not at,
if I had a hat
I would raise it to Mr. Cohen
perched up there alone
in his ancient tower.
Seville to Madrid
Remember that song “The Letter” by the Box Tops, in which the singer (Alex Chilton), requests a ticket for an airplane? He doesn’t have time to take a fast train, because his baby just wrote him a letter.
I was thinking about this on the fast train, “the AVE”, from Seville to Madrid. We arrived in the Seville train station at 12:15 pm, boarded the train at 12:45 pm and were due in Madrid city center at 3:20 pm: a total of 3 hours and 5 minutes from station to station. The flight time from Seville to Madrid is 1 hour and five minutes. Allow 2 hours to check in and clear security at the airport, plus an additional 30 minutes at least for the taxi ride from the airport into the center of Madrid at the other end and you are looking at a total of 3 hours and 35 minutes total. I had to conclude that if Mr. Chilton was in Seville and his baby was in Madrid, he would have got to see her sooner by taking a fast train.
It has to be said also, that although Mr. Chilton didn’t care how much money he had to spend to put his lonely days behind him, he would have saved money by taking the fast train. A non-stop flight one way from Seville to Madrid costs about $175, the one way train fare costs approximately $105.
A more patient man could make the journey in six hours by bus for about $35.
This was my first post and it got no attention whatsoever, re-discovered it and thought I would give it another outing! Prices may have changed a little.
Seville to Madrid
Remember that song “The Letter” by the Box Tops, in which the singer (Alex Chilton), requests a ticket for an airplane? He doesn’t have time to take a fast train, because his baby just wrote him a letter.
I was thinking about this on the fast train, “the AVE”, from Seville to Madrid. We arrived in the Seville train station at 12:15 pm, boarded the train at 12:45 pm and were due in Madrid city center at 3:20 pm: a total of 3 hours and 5 minutes from station to station. The flight time from Seville to Madrid is 1 hour and five minutes. Allow 2 hours to check in and clear security at the airport, plus an additional 30 minutes at least for the taxi ride from the airport into the center of Madrid at the other end and you are looking at a total of 3 hours and 35 minutes total. I had to conclude that if Mr. Chilton was in Seville and his baby was in Madrid, he would have got to see her sooner by taking a fast train.
It has to be said also, that although Mr. Chilton didn’t care how much money he had to spend to put his lonely days behind him, he would have saved money by taking the fast train. A non-stop flight one way from Seville to Madrid costs about $175, the one way train fare costs approximately $105.
A more patient man could make the journey in six hours by bus for about $35.