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EOAGH Chapbooks
Tell me this grove will protect me
From World Trade Towers Lightning forking the brain
(Mine Mine)
Why are there trains under the grass
And my butt is wet
Why do you constantly interrupt yourself
My rhythm is the rhythm of interruption
I walked down Wall Street tonight and it felt
As if someone was walking inside me
Another person taking steps for me
Fuck you who told me I couldn’t write
September Eleventh poetry I’m moving
To Eleventh Street I’m breathing again
The world will become a new City
People will hug in the street Elizabethanly
We will invent a new language together
Queen Elizabeth will return from her coven
Covent Garden and all will sing opera La Boheme
on the steps of the Federal Building joining hands
Why are there trains rumbling beneath this grass
The Love Interest Woman will not die of T.B. at the end
of La Boheme the snow will go away
and we will find it again in our pencilcases
when we awake firstgraders sweating the first day of
first grade and Happy Birthday William Carlos Williams
September Seventeenth Two Thousand and Ten
How old would you be today what would you say
about the towers would you believe me if I told you
the unburied dead of Wall Street one of them
walked in me took my steps is this my flesh
peripheral vision greenery wolverines gnawing at me
and vomiting me up a new man with powers to heal
Wolfman Librarian Wolfman Wolfman Librarian Wolfman
Welcome to the world to heal Happy Birthday
Librarian Wolfman go to heal
Now Wolfman Librarian go to heal or else
lose all your fur and emerge pink
with a pus groaning along your collarbones--
Aliens! but not from the video games--The Alien
you are is here can you hear him you are him
Wolfman Librarian you are her you are not a man
a Wolfman or a Librarian
You are a woman Welcome to your first assignment of healing the whole world listening to all the cries of the world KUAN YIN BODHISATTVA no you aren't her you are a manifestation of her are you you are Wolfman Librarian wake up you want to know why there are kerosene torches by the fountain ask one ask the flames ask the flames lie down and nap and find yourself after years of searching napping on the grass the subway rumbling beneath you seven earthquakes have happened and entering from the left Snowman Ice-age How cute of you to bring in The Snowman From The Machine Snowman Ex Machina to wrap up the ending but I just cut his head off with my frisbee. Bill, happy birthday, Dr. Owl, Do you believe Don't you know I felt a spirit
of the unburied Twin Towers dead
walking inside me on Wall Street and I could not
wake up for long enough to tell you
I must pause and nap
My Wolfman paws tearing apart the notebook
given to me by the librarian gone fishing
I'm not listening I'm letting the talk dead
through me The dead talking to me
remove my eardrums and replace them
with earbuds Walkman Disco Fist
throbbing in my head I release you
and get my eardrums back
The peripheral greenery wolverines
are eating me and vomiting me up
onto a mound where pieces of me
are sucking at each other and sticking together
to form a new man with the power to heal
everybody even with his trembling actor hands
Wolfman Librarian, a man is walking inside you
who jumped from the South Tower 54th floor
who is he he just jumped again you are
jumping together
SPLAT NO NO NO
you are scaring yourself too much
Wolfman END OF HORRORSHOW Librarian
you look very suspicious in your big beard
and grey backpack are you a suicide bomber
No I’m Wolfman Librarian HEAL IN MY GLOW.
A saxophone player blows NAIMA
by John Coltrane on the Twin Towers side of
this park. He plays me home
just when I thought I would have to
listen to the dead forever.
But I’m already home.
But I only know it because of
his saxophone.
The wolverines are gone
sitting on the grass how do you feel
Like the trains rumbling beneath
my feet are turning leaves.
That’s nice but how do you feel now
about preferring nothing, having no opinions.
That’s just a lot of Zen shit.
I love my companions, that’s all, I’m Wolfman
Librarian and I’m a woman
Don't let this dick fool you.
It is a pen I fuck with
The dick is just there for show.
NO NO NO
Fuck now Wolfman Librarian Fuck Me now
Wolfman
Aria Aria Aria
fuck me now.
Peripheral greenery wolverines are eating me
and vomit me up into a pile
where I become a new man
Wolfman Librarian
To heal. To heal. To heal.
Wolfman Librarian,
heal thyself.
Know thyself.
Self Self Self
always changing, is time itself
Then who are you with this
trembling pair of actor hands? I don’t know.
Not Wolfman Librarian
Not Not Wolfman Librarian
I go I go I go
to find a pile of healing snow
to jump into
but all I find is grass to sit on
with trains rumbling beneath
in the deep the unseen
Hades eating his own pomegranate crown
spanking Persephone across his lap
She's crying she's me
I'm crying I'm me
NOT Persephone or Wolfman Librarian
only me. It's sweet.
But you can't forget or escape death
by becoming somebody else.
But I'm not myself either
I'm time, not separate from anything else
The circular fountain, the antique kerosene torches,
The cellophane rectangle of a cigarette pack
reflecting light from grey sky on grass.
The sky's not grey. You look up: patches of blue.
Get new shoes. You need better traction to walk
through rain on slippery Manhattan streets Wolfman Librarian of Manhattan here to heal The 9/11 11.9 September 11
th
dead and play them home with the trombone pieces lodged in your throat you are choking cough it up you vomit yourself up out of yourself and wolverines in peripheral greenery are here to suckle your red thread until white milk bursts forth and you sing together beneath the trees wordless songs and learn to breathe awake again. Now the sky is grey. The patches of blue are going. Only the water spirits are protecting you by this circle fountain. Rise, thank them, and move on. The clouds are rolling through the typewriter sun. I really am Wolfman Librarian for the porpoises of this poem sunning on the rocks by the fountain I put them there with imagination--
Not mine Not yours The property of
Nobody
And Wolfman Librarian
Librarian of the Sun
arranging burning libraries in the sky into one light of
knowledge on a ledge in the Kaukases
Eagle Eagle have another bite of me
Knowledge is better than pate’
and whatever I have to pay for it it’s okay
even your beak in my liver is
lightning lightning
lightning even is my birthmark
My book this cloud evaporating
as The Sun reads it closely
a close reading opening The Cloud’s anus miraculous
with his Solar Speculum
inside the humans are in utero
you can see by the way they’re
screaming
in the shadow of buildings not there
even nine years later.
We will never heal. That’s okay.
Our wound gives us something to do.
Dress it. Undress it. Have babies with it.
The firstborn is Wolfman Librarian
not daughter not son
but moon and sun and lightning
the train rumbling under the grass
and rising to walk before you pass out
is your only task right now.
If I had legs I would
But peripheral greenery wolverines eat me
and vomit me up and I am reforming
as a new man Wolfman Librarian
knocked down 7 times
Getting up eight
here to heal you
even if you don’t want me and curse me
here to heal you, Wolfman Librarian,
here to heal even you
yourself hairy and trembling with your
actor hands hearing every
distress signal from the three billion
broken sailboats inside.
The peripheral greenery wolverines
are eating me and vomiting me up
onto a mound where pieces of me
are sucking at each other
and sticking together
to form a new being
with power to heal
every being
by hearing its word
for help in 3 billion
languages
and listening to it
descending glistening
on wet wolf fur steps
to heal everybody
with his trembling Wolfman hands
no more librarian
only night now on
on
on
OM OM OM
–9/17/2010
________________________________________________________________
Filip Marinovich is the author of Zero Readership (UDP 2008) and And If You Don’t Go Crazy I’ll Meet You Here Tomorrow (UDP 2011). He wrote and directed the plays Skin Around The Earth, Throne Room Snow, and The Karma Bookshop for his theater company Comet Party. His work has been published in Brooklyn Rail, Aufgabe, Village Zendo Journal, and 6×6. He is a poet living on earth for the moment.
Cover photo: “Wolf Angel,” by Filip Marinovich. Author Photo by Tim Peterson (Trace).
Watch a video of Marinovich reading this poem at Occupy Wall Street.
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