[Published on the Dead Beats Literary Blog, December 12, 2012]
WALKING NORTH BEACH
[San Francisco, 2007]
Walking round North Beach
I realize that I am late—
fifty years too late.
I’ve missed all the right
eras, nothing left for my
kind, no place for us
who hear the diff’rent
drummer; who search for the beat,
the beat that pulses
beneath suburban
streets, unheard, unfelt by most;
who sit in quiet
corners at football
parties, bored, wanting to scream
a sonnet, or speak
only in haiku—
anything but endless blather
of suburban males.
So I walk North Beach
searching for something to fix
my soul, my trapped soul—
trapped by my psyche,
damn responsible psyche—
soul yearning to roam,
to wander and watch
life; writing all life, being
life—living, living, living.
God! I wish I could
yawp from the rooftops! I wish
I knew how to howl.
Showing posts with label Dead Beats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dead Beats. Show all posts
Friday, December 14, 2012
THE FRUIT YOU OFFER ME
[published on the Dead Beats Literary Blog, December 12, 2012]
THE FRUIT YOU OFFER ME
If we had all eternity,
and could spend all time in Eden;
if we could live our lives in bliss,
and innocent simplicity;
if that could be ours forever—
I still would eat your ripened fruit;
and know that it was good.
If we could walk in Eden’s groves,
in presence of almighty God,
who promised all we’d ever need,
kept safe from want through all our years;
if that could be ours forever—
I still would taste your sweet delights,
and would not feel ashamed.
If eating from the tree of life
meant that we’d be cast from Eden;
if sipping nectar from your rose
led to exile from God’s presence
and mortal life of pain and toil—
I still would eat life’s fruit with you,
and always feel fulfilled.
THE FRUIT YOU OFFER ME
If we had all eternity,
and could spend all time in Eden;
if we could live our lives in bliss,
and innocent simplicity;
if that could be ours forever—
I still would eat your ripened fruit;
and know that it was good.
If we could walk in Eden’s groves,
in presence of almighty God,
who promised all we’d ever need,
kept safe from want through all our years;
if that could be ours forever—
I still would taste your sweet delights,
and would not feel ashamed.
If eating from the tree of life
meant that we’d be cast from Eden;
if sipping nectar from your rose
led to exile from God’s presence
and mortal life of pain and toil—
I still would eat life’s fruit with you,
and always feel fulfilled.
Walking North Beach with the Dead Beats
Two more poems of mine were posted on the Dead Beats Literary Blog: "Walking North Beach" and "The Fruit You Offer Me," although I'll have to admit that based on the e-mail the editors sent me, I don't think they intended to post the latter poem. It wasn't separated out with the title in bold, but rather was presented as if it was an appendage to the "Walking North Beach." No matter. Any posting is a good posting.
I'm glad they selected to post "Walking North Beach" as it seemed so apt for their site. The poem came to mind as I was, as the title clearly suggests, walking through North Beach in San Francisco. North Beach was, of course, the hang out of the Beat poets. Whenever I am in San Francisco (which so far has been all of two times), I go to North Beach to buy a book or two at City Lights Books, to eat dinner, drink coffee (or beer), and simply hang out soaking up the ambience and the history that is there. The poem is a rumination on being out of place and out of time; of not quite fitting in; of being out of step with peers. You can read it here: http://www.deadbeats.eu/post/37797018778/walking-north-beach-by-michael-ratcliffe
"The Fruit You Offer Me" is a poem of a different nature and theme compared to "Walking North Beach." I wrote it for my wife, Kathy. It draws upon the story of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. At one level, it's a love poem. At another, is a poem of defiance, in which the speaker is essentially saying he doesn't care that blind obedience to God will result in a life of simplicity and bliss, free from want or toil, he will risk expulsion from paradise in order to exercise free will and live life to its fullest. You can find the poem at the link above, after you walk through North Beach.
I'm glad they selected to post "Walking North Beach" as it seemed so apt for their site. The poem came to mind as I was, as the title clearly suggests, walking through North Beach in San Francisco. North Beach was, of course, the hang out of the Beat poets. Whenever I am in San Francisco (which so far has been all of two times), I go to North Beach to buy a book or two at City Lights Books, to eat dinner, drink coffee (or beer), and simply hang out soaking up the ambience and the history that is there. The poem is a rumination on being out of place and out of time; of not quite fitting in; of being out of step with peers. You can read it here: http://www.deadbeats.eu/post/37797018778/walking-north-beach-by-michael-ratcliffe
"The Fruit You Offer Me" is a poem of a different nature and theme compared to "Walking North Beach." I wrote it for my wife, Kathy. It draws upon the story of Adam and Eve and their expulsion from the Garden of Eden. At one level, it's a love poem. At another, is a poem of defiance, in which the speaker is essentially saying he doesn't care that blind obedience to God will result in a life of simplicity and bliss, free from want or toil, he will risk expulsion from paradise in order to exercise free will and live life to its fullest. You can find the poem at the link above, after you walk through North Beach.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
FRIDAY PRAYERS
[Published on the Dead Beats Literary Blog, October 16, 2012]
FRIDAY PRAYERS
Late afternoon sun behind him,
his cab parked at the curb
outside the station;
his rug laid neatly on the sidewalk
between the parking meters,
he stands,eyes closed,
right hand on the left across his chest,
making his intentions known to his heart,
unaware of commuters
walking past, on their way home.
He bows, hands on knees,
and says, Allahu akbar—God is great—
then kneels and bows, head to ground.
He rises to his knees, then bows again,
continuing his prayers
as pedestrians pass by.
Prayers over, he rolls his rug,
and returns to his cab,
to wait for a fare.
Peace be upon us
and the mercy of Allah.
FRIDAY PRAYERS
Late afternoon sun behind him,
his cab parked at the curb
outside the station;
his rug laid neatly on the sidewalk
between the parking meters,
he stands,eyes closed,
right hand on the left across his chest,
making his intentions known to his heart,
unaware of commuters
walking past, on their way home.
He bows, hands on knees,
and says, Allahu akbar—God is great—
then kneels and bows, head to ground.
He rises to his knees, then bows again,
continuing his prayers
as pedestrians pass by.
Prayers over, he rolls his rug,
and returns to his cab,
to wait for a fare.
Peace be upon us
and the mercy of Allah.
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