December 2016
Neil Ellman
ellmans@comcast.net
ellmans@comcast.net
I am a poet from New Jersey, which almost seems a contradiction in terms, but the state has an active and renowned artistic community. Having published more than 1,200 poems, many of which are ekphrastic, I have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and the Rhysling Award. My latest chapbook, Mind Over Matta (Flutter Press, 2015), is based on the creations of one of my favorite artists, Roberto Matta Echauren, a Chilean abstract surrealist.
THREE POEMS BASED ON PAINTINGS BY PHILLIP GUSTON (1913-1980)
As it Goes
As it goes, it goes
nowhere, everywhere
however it’s told
standing still
running in circles
around a clock
milling about
a coffee shop
in the middle of the night
marching off to war
to the beat
of an indifferent drum
as it goes, it goes
however it’s told
this way and that
whichever way
the wind blows
and the orders are given
out of control
following the road
not taken and not
toward something
or other
without any thought
as it goes, it goes.
The Deluge
After the rains bathed the ground
in the holy water of the clouds
trees were torn from their roots
children swept from their beds
and corpses freed of their graves
to slide downhill on stumbling feet.
Market and basilica isles
were filled with flotsam,
prayers and sacraments
the streets strewn with the litter
of men and gods
hope a mountain and a miracle
too far away.
The prophecy of rain has come
to cleanse the earth of stain
and drown it in the depths
of its regret.
Talking
I a shameless reprobate
talking to you
as honestly as I can
and always will.
Everything I do
every gesture and grimace
everything I hold
and the way I hold it
in my outstretched hand
reaches for heaven
with my rosaries
as if I could climb
each bead
on a ladder of sincerity
but, too, for another cigarette
and a hit of cocaine
to die too soon
it speaks to what I am.
I a shameless reprobate
talking to you
as honestly as I can
and always will.
Everything I do
every gesture and grimace
everything I hold
and the way I hold it
in my outstretched hand
reaches for heaven
with my rosaries
as if I could climb
each bead
on a ladder of sincerity
but, too, for another cigarette
and a hit of cocaine
to die too soon
it speaks to what I am.
©2016 Neil Ellman
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