Napomo 17: April 1-6
“April, Come She Will”
Ah, the cool, dark mornings
between the ice-fanged winter winds
and suffocating calm
of sun-bludgeon summer.
4.01.17
April Showers
I woke to the low-pitched rumble
of thunder a few miles away.
The first rain came later, small
but steady, no thunder, glazing
and slickening the pavements,
silvering the grass. Once I left
to buy the week's gasoline
and groceries, the thunder
was close and the rain came
in undulating waves of saturating wet.
Poor shoes, poor socks and feet,
poor rain disheveled hair.
April spit its greeting, toe to head.
04.02.17
April 1964- April 1973
It was an exciting time to be alive.
We had the Beatles and the Stones,
The Kinks, The Who, The Moody Blues,
Pink Floyd, The Beach Boys,
Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King.
We had Dylan, Jefferson Airplane,
Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Joni Mitchell,
Led Zeppelin, and the Draft. We had Bowie.
We had grass and LSD, McCarthy,
the Weather Underground, Humphrey,
McGovern/ Eagleton/ Shriver, Nixon,
Viet Nam. We had Woodstock and the Moon,
Kent State and Cambodia.
We had been convinced in school
that we would change the world.
We did. But not for the better, it seems.
04.03.17
April Costello
We never met but I admired her face
and presence across the cafeteria
and at random spots along the corridors
of W.H. Gaston Junior High circa
1965. Raven hair in waves down
to mid back, luminescent ivory skin,
and wide, expressive ebony eyes.
Picture a splendid mash-up between
the young Katie Holmes and Grace Slick
on the cover of Surrealistic Pillow.
She illuminated my erotic dreams.
Once I heard her sing You Really Got Me
along with the Kinks on her
transistor radio. The song remains.
04.04.17
April 1967
It is gone now, that first poem,
written in a fever of recognition:
her beauty, her grace, her eyes
which made me smile then and do now.
I suspect it was a bad poem.
I suspect I should have stopped with it.
I suspect it must have opened
something in me susceptible to beauty
and the power one feels
in seeing and declaiming it
on the private space of the page
after the last chord fades
and the Easter concert crowd
drift from Lee Park for home
and dinner and the pale
mimicry of the divine
in ball point strokes
on lined white paper.
04.05.17
April 6, 2017
Nothing has gone as planned.
The pictured triumphs- personal,
aesthetic, professional- never solidified.
The great career became middling
and then ended in surrender
to the work and ways of late capital's
wizards of finance. When shit hit the fan,
I was buried in it, twice. I never could
regain my better notions of myself
and any power to contribute beyond
showing up on time to push through
the small routines of a middle station.
Casualties along the way were wives
and families I failed. I failed
and now, a clinging subsistence
the vagaries of politics and profit
may well un-finger, knuckle
by stressed and aching knuckle.
04.06.17
Ah, the cool, dark mornings
between the ice-fanged winter winds
and suffocating calm
of sun-bludgeon summer.
4.01.17
April Showers
I woke to the low-pitched rumble
of thunder a few miles away.
The first rain came later, small
but steady, no thunder, glazing
and slickening the pavements,
silvering the grass. Once I left
to buy the week's gasoline
and groceries, the thunder
was close and the rain came
in undulating waves of saturating wet.
Poor shoes, poor socks and feet,
poor rain disheveled hair.
April spit its greeting, toe to head.
04.02.17
April 1964- April 1973
It was an exciting time to be alive.
We had the Beatles and the Stones,
The Kinks, The Who, The Moody Blues,
Pink Floyd, The Beach Boys,
Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King.
We had Dylan, Jefferson Airplane,
Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Joni Mitchell,
Led Zeppelin, and the Draft. We had Bowie.
We had grass and LSD, McCarthy,
the Weather Underground, Humphrey,
McGovern/ Eagleton/ Shriver, Nixon,
Viet Nam. We had Woodstock and the Moon,
Kent State and Cambodia.
We had been convinced in school
that we would change the world.
We did. But not for the better, it seems.
04.03.17
April Costello
We never met but I admired her face
and presence across the cafeteria
and at random spots along the corridors
of W.H. Gaston Junior High circa
1965. Raven hair in waves down
to mid back, luminescent ivory skin,
and wide, expressive ebony eyes.
Picture a splendid mash-up between
the young Katie Holmes and Grace Slick
on the cover of Surrealistic Pillow.
She illuminated my erotic dreams.
Once I heard her sing You Really Got Me
along with the Kinks on her
transistor radio. The song remains.
04.04.17
April 1967
It is gone now, that first poem,
written in a fever of recognition:
her beauty, her grace, her eyes
which made me smile then and do now.
I suspect it was a bad poem.
I suspect I should have stopped with it.
I suspect it must have opened
something in me susceptible to beauty
and the power one feels
in seeing and declaiming it
on the private space of the page
after the last chord fades
and the Easter concert crowd
drift from Lee Park for home
and dinner and the pale
mimicry of the divine
in ball point strokes
on lined white paper.
04.05.17
April 6, 2017
Nothing has gone as planned.
The pictured triumphs- personal,
aesthetic, professional- never solidified.
The great career became middling
and then ended in surrender
to the work and ways of late capital's
wizards of finance. When shit hit the fan,
I was buried in it, twice. I never could
regain my better notions of myself
and any power to contribute beyond
showing up on time to push through
the small routines of a middle station.
Casualties along the way were wives
and families I failed. I failed
and now, a clinging subsistence
the vagaries of politics and profit
may well un-finger, knuckle
by stressed and aching knuckle.
04.06.17
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Author's Note
1st installment
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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"April, Come She Will” is a beauty. **
Thank you for opening the profane drawer in April 6, 2017, permitting me a "holy shit, but these are marvelous!" All of them. A narrative seasonal autobio. Your best yet, Gary,for me, anyway.
"drawer" should be "door".
*
Thank you, Rachna.
Thank you, Matt.
Thank you, Jerry.
Nice set! You've been busy. "
April 1964- April 1973" is my favorite one **
Favorite lines: "We had been convinced in school / that we would change the world. / We did. But not for the better, it seems.
"April 1964-April 1973" makes a great connection with Vince Bell, "All the Way to the Moon" - on Texas Plates:
"That’s one small step...
for man.
One giant leap for mankind." (-Neil Armstrong)
“Take a good look in the mirror what you see in me is you." (-Charles Manson)
Monty Python's Flying Circus, "Love Me Do".
Digital revolution,
microprocess CPU,
Vietnam, Rolling Stones, Reggae music.
Ali - Frasier, Watergate,
Bruce Lee, the IRA,
Cartels of oil producing nations.
Children of the men,
the men that went to the moon.
"Black holes suggest Gods play dice, and
throw them where they can't be seen." (-Stephen Hawking)
Elvis has left the building,
artificial genes.
Fundamental terrorism, right wing zealotry,
car bombs in Lebanon, car bombs in Oklahoma.
Sony Walkman, Three Mile island, Sandinista Nicaragua,
Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome.
Children of the men,
the men that went to the moon.
Solid fuel booster rockets,
Black Monday, MTV,
CD's, Madonna, virtual reality.
Junk bonds, cold fusion, Exxon Valdez,
Cold War blows by an angry world at peace.
Bankrupt multinationals, superconductivity.
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on Soviet TV.
Legalized euthanasia, monotheistic holy war,
the largest manmade structure in the world is a landfill.
~
*
"April 6, 2017" is a strong piece.
"Nothing has gone as planned."
And yet it looked promising ... Nice poem.
"April Costello"
Thank you, Arturo.
Thank you, Sam.
Thank you, Erika.
Thank you, Kitty.
"April Costello" for me.
Thank you, Bill.