[New-Poetry] The poet Grumman

[Anny Ballardini]

The opposite Bob, I do not think this is a good poem, I think it was written
in haste and by grabbing words here and there without any logical or
personally-felt sequence.
Best regards,

Anny

On Thu, May 28, 2009 at 2:39 PM, Bob Grumman <bobgrumman at nut-n-but.net>wrote:

>  *The Coming of the Undividuationality*
>
> They only rise a few feet into the air, but they all do so at the same
> time,
> these garbage men of America's deuce-dim cities and towns,
> and their farts are of many colors and long-lasting,
> propelling them them languidly through the street-glare and horns
> the morning is huddling away from.  The long-invisible
> poetry of commerce's bug-proud idea-less edifices glitters briefly
> each time one of the garbagemen shivers in and through it, but
> the few people entering the dawn ignore them as they spindle
> into the abandoned garbage trucks, singing autumnal songs
> in the language of cocker spaniels, poodles, beagles
> and spiders that cathedral into the limpid politics
> that the farts of the still-stony-faced garbage men have now become.
> Slowly, all the nations of the world edify into the deepest heart of a
> peace
> that will last  the entire three millenia it will take for the garbagemen
> to reach the blueberry south of the next morning.
>
> The oaks' and the maples' attention ripens into that peace, solidifying it,
> and the chrysanthemums, humming back to the previous April, liquify it.
> Housewives, free at last, billow out of their kitchen-windows
> with spray-bottles aglow with found children's knowledge of rainbows
> eradicating all possibility of bacterial contamination
>
> while all the world's guns
> marry each other, as do the world's knives, each same with same,
> for division has been exiled to the armpits of the now-smiling garbagemen
> The oaks' and the maples' attention draws highways out of the marriages
> that no one sees or hears but which nonetheless somehow play banjos.  It is
> holy
> in a way nothing ever before has been holy, the harmony awakening
> through the cities and towns and into the countryside.
> The oceans inhale it, and convert it to revivals of *Fiddler on the Roof*,
> with all the parts played by milkmen from the thirties, and cheese of many
> flavors.
> The rivers worship it into revivals of *Hair*, housecats taking all the
> roles,
> and the lakes and ponds
> slowly make it into laws flavoring the rights of dandelions.
>
> In the Last Silence of the garbagemen's farts, Anny pronounces it,
> "wonderful."
>
>
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>


-- 
Anny Ballardini
http://annyballardini.blogspot.com/
http://www.fieralingue.it/modules.php?name=poetshome
http://www.lulu.com/content/5806078
http://www.moriapoetry.com/ebooks.html
I Tell You: One must still have chaos in one to give birth to a dancing
star!
Friedrich Nietzsche
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