Charles A Perrone

Sixty Years Apart

     In memoriam Haroldo de Campos (1929-2003)

The good medical doctor 

resident of New Jersey 

averred that

So much depended on

a glazed red wheelbarrow

And we came to believe it

Six decades later

a visiting doctor of letters

warned that if you didn't

apply ten coats of varnish

to the front door

the paint would burst

in the hot Texas sun

And his observation remains

virtually unnoticed

 

Sans titre

1.

within the covers as dark as they may be in the fluttering future

stark lines to record the whiteness of the hospital bed sheets

to engrave the stone-grey spirit of the baptismal fount as well

to capture the roundness of initial chips from gold-sheen chalice

lest you fail to remember to remember all shades of saints' days

with or without smoke-filled hazes of observation or avoidance

a reason to keep the blackness of a marital tuxedo intact for in fact

it may be back when slacks of extremities have reached their limits

2. 

azure dog-eared pamphlets

smooth cat-eyed marbles

shiny duck-tailed headgear

four funny fox-tailed ferns

dozens of den-friendly clocks

following fields of sheared fur

private pictures of pleasure

all planning to return for more

3.

 the profile of the guitar

is shapely and sexy

and truths are played out

in chromatic changes

letters lilting wilting rising surprising

rounding the globe

and lifting to the skies

ready to descend

re-made into entries and lobes

4.

the drab cardboard is only an easel for the finger paints

of the enthusiastic children at the table who love all the colors

and how they feel as free figures emerge from their imaginations

even before the first one is all envisioned and turned to be born

5.

flash sun and flush moon are one celestial bodies be flesh

hip tips digits palms hands waving from the shore to the lore

hot hairs and stairs on end the moistening lips

the glistening eyes the Xs on the calendar

the wood-grain shelves nearly complete for a one-day stain at least

Things I have never done:

I have never recognized the meaning of "rising to the occasion."

I have never slept through a potentially apocalyptic event.

I have never walked a mile in the shoes of a false prophet.

I have never entered a prize-heavy hot-dog eating competition.

I have never won the inflated jackpot of an institutional lottery.

I have never purchased a ticket for travel to the moon itself.

I have never discovered the remains of an unknown dinosaur.

I have never expressed preference for imperfect over participles.

I have never completed the running of an urban marathon.

I have never ever traveled to any site of nuclear devastation.

I have never joked about the expression "died 'n' gone to heaven."

I have never taken a class proposing to explain the Beaux Arts.

I have never imagined or composed a musical piece à la Mozart.

I have never terminated the elaboration of an actual novella.

I have never reviewed an end-stopped French-language film.

I have never ended a lyric instance with the vocabular item fin.